by Gary Hoover
It had been over a year ago. Jeff came home from baseball practice, pushed open the front door he had an immediate sense that something just wasn’t . . . ‘right’.
Jeff’s mom, Marie, was upset. It was 7 PM and Jeff Senior hadn’t come home yet. Not particularly unusual . . . unless you knew Dr. Browning. He was always exactly where he was supposed to be – reliable without fail. He didn’t just wander off places. He had left his lab at 3:00 PM, and told a late-working grad student that he was headed home.
Marie got home at 5:00 expecting her husband to be home - as he always was when he said he would be.
After a number of phone calls that confirmed he had, indeed, left for home several hours earlier, Marie knew something was wrong.
She called the police, but they told her he was probably out for a beer with some friends and would return shortly. They told her to call again the next day if, by chance, he didn’t show up later that evening.
He never did show up.
Not the next hour . . . not the next day . . . not the next week.
The media latched onto the story and set up camp for a few weeks, and the police did their best. Nearly everyone agreed that Dr. Browning simply wasn’t the sort of person who would just run away without a word. The police felt sure there was foul play of some sort . . . but they didn’t have any clues.
It seemed he had just vanished.
The last person to see him was a grad student. “We were getting good results and he was looking forward to the next readings. He was in a great mood, and he seemed his normal self that afternoon.” The grad-student had told police.
He had walked to work, so there was no car to offer clues.
The police were absolutely baffled.
Dr. Browning was a good-natured man who had no enemies. He was financially comfortable, but by no means rich enough to attract kidnappers. It was broad daylight and nobody in the area reported any unusual activity of any kind. He was a responsible, loving husband and father who didn’t have any debts, girlfriends or anything else that might entice him to run away.
The best guess investigators could offer was that he was a victim of a random crime that got out of hand and his attacker had successfully hidden the body without leaving any traces.
Jeff stretched against the stairs. He tried to focus on the feeling of the sun on his skin.
Even after a year and several months, there was still a feeling of uncertain confusion. Jeff and his mother kept hoping Jeffrey Sr. would walk through the door any minute . . . but both of them seemed to know – somewhere deep in their subconscious – he would never come back.
Since they had to at least pretend there was hope - even when hope began to seem irrational - they never got the chance to really be sad or angry.
Jeff looked up and down the street - almost feeling that if he looked hard enough he’d see his father walking home.
It felt like there was something he should do.
It was almost as if he could have an answer if he thought hard enough. Jeff always thought that of his father - that Dr. Browning could figure anything out if he just thought about it hard enough.
Jeff felt like there was something . . .
A force pulling him . . .
He shook his head to clear his mind.
An ant was making its way toward Jeff’s sneaker. Its antennae twisted and twitched as it meandered – seemingly aimlessly but never stopping. Something kept it going.
Jeff wondered if it had any concept of what was going on around it. Does it have any sort of primitive understanding at all or is it simply being driven by chemical signals? Do I have any understanding or am I just using a different form of those primitive signals?
Jeff shifted the position of his sneaker and held it over the ant. The ant seemed to pause. Does it know that its life is in my hands? Does it know that with one, small move I can crush it . . . for no better reason than for my own amusement?
Jeff mentally commanded the ant to stop.
It didn’t.
Jeff mentally commanded it to turn left.
It didn’t.
And as the ant wandered, so did Jeff’s mind.
He thought back to a time when he was 7 or 8. He and his father were walking through a flea market and he found a set of matching lockets. Jeff thought they were the coolest things: “Can we get them daddy?”
His father was reluctant at first - thinking it was a waste and just two more things to clutter drawers - but he softened when he looked into his son’s eyes.
When they got home, they cut two small photos: One of Jeff Junior for Jeff Senior’s locket and vice versa.
For a year, they each wore their lockets day and night . . . but one day . . . Jeff Jr. decided he was too old for something so silly. He took it off and left it on his dresser.
A few days later, Dr. Browning noticed Jeff wasn’t wearing it. “Where’s your locket?” he asked pulling his own out of his shirt by the chain and opening it.
“. . . Ummmm, I’m not a little kid anymore, you know dad,”
His father smiled as he admired the photo in his with a father’s pride. “Well . . . If you don’t mind . . . I think I might keep wearing mine. I’ve become sort of . . . attached . . . to it.”
“Sure, I don’t care.” Jeff shrugged.
“Do you think I could have yours - to keep safe in case you ever want it later?” His father asked.
“Sure.” Jeff ran to his room and found the locket on the corner of his dresser where he left it. He ran back to his father’s office.
His father extended an open hand. He had huge hands with long, spindly fingers. He had been quite a piano player when he was younger.
Jeff dropped the locket and watched his father’s long fingers close. They both looked at the hand for a few moments. Jeff felt embarrassed. His father felt a little sad, but also sort of proud that Jeff wasn’t a ‘little kid anymore’.
Dr. Browning opened a desk drawer and dropped the locket. “I’ll just leave it right here in case you ever change your mind.”
Jeff’s upper lip trembled a bit as he thought back to that moment about 4 years ago. The locket suddenly seemed to mean so much more than it had back then. Back then, it was just a stupid toy he had outgrown. Now it was all he had left of his father . . .
. . . But did he even have it?
He assumed it was still in the drawer . . . or had his father moved it?
He panicked for a moment realizing the locket might very well be just as lost as his father. It suddenly seemed so important and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
Suddenly, the locket seemed like the most important thing in the world.
Chapter 6:
“Don’t bother your father while he’s working,” his mother would warn sternly whenever she caught Jeff in Dr. Browning’s office.
The office was an amazing place to a little kid. It was filled with electronic gadgets - radio parts, lasers, computers.
Some of the gadgets were related to Dr. Browning’s work, but most of them were just toys or junk that he found interesting. He could always justify playing with toys - plasma balls, parabolic mirrors etc. - by telling himself and others that they sparked his mind. He often came up with his most creative ideas by playing with a diverse range of toys that helped him get past road-blocks in his thought.
“Necessity may be the mother of invention, but doing something because it might be cool is the weird, drunken uncle of invention. Sometimes weird, drunken uncles will teach you things your mother won’t,” Jeff’s father once told him with a wink.
Dr. Browning never seemed to mind when Jeff bothered him while he was ‘working’, but he was always very specific in his warnings that Jeff should NEVER go in there alone.
Some of the devices were delicate . . .
. . . Some were even dangerous.
Jeff’s father also had rivals who wouldn’t mind getting a peek at his notes and experiments, so he generally kept the office locked
when he wasn’t there.
Jeff tried the door just to see.
Locked.
It had been open when the police had been there, so Jeff thought there was a chance his mother had left it unlocked.
. . . In fact, that had been one of the things that had puzzled the police.
The office was unlocked, and the keys were on the desk.
They thought that might have been a clue, but even that little bit of information - while interesting - didn’t seem to get them anywhere. His wallet was gone, and the police theorized that he had stopped home before going back out for something.
Jeff headed to his parent’s room.
His mother had kept things as they had been.
Jeff’s father’s dresser still had photos of Jeff and Jeff’s mom. Back behind the photos, there was a small wooden box where Dr. Browning kept his loose change, keys and other odds and ends. Jeff hoped his mom had put the keys back there after the police had left.
Apparently she had.
Jeff grabbed a set of keys that were clearly labeled: “University - Lab“, “University - Classroom“, “Home - Front Door“, “University - Office” . . . and the one Jeff was looking for - “Home - Lab/Office”.
Jeff smiled to himself. His father always seemed to be organized far beyond what most people would consider practical.
Jeff went back to the office and inserted the key.
It didn’t seem quite right. Jeff jiggled it and tried a few times then looked at the label - “Home - Lab/Office” - That should be right . . . but it clearly wasn‘t working.
He went back to the box on his father’s dresser and checked for any loose keys.
Nope.
Jeff tried to think like his father. His father was very bright, very organized and very efficient.
He’d want the key to be easy to get to when he needed it. He wouldn’t want to have to come all the way back to his room just because he forgot to get the key. He’d probably keep it somewhere close to the office . . . but where? He wouldn’t want it to be too obvious, otherwise what would be the point of locking it at all?
Jeff looked for hiding places near the office door. He moved a few plants, felt around the door frame, but couldn’t find anything.
He stood there stumped. Think, think, think like dad.
He looked around and tried to imagine he was his father. He’d want it convenient . . . but not too convenient. Maybe a little farther away.
Jeff went down the hall checking behind some picture frames.
Jeff tried to think about times he had seen his father open the office, but he had never seen him getting keys out of hiding places.
His mother would know where it was. She had locked it after the police were there. Did she put it somewhere else?
. . . Damn it! It can’t be that hard.
Why would he even change the lock in the first place? After he changed the lock, why would he keep the old key?
. . . Wait a minute . . .
Jeff pulled the keys back out of his pocket.
He tried the “University - Classroom” one . . . Nope. The “Home - Front Door” didn’t seem to work either.
Then he tried the “University - Office”
. . . And . . .
. . . It worked!
Genius!
Jeff smiled considering his father’s thought process. He didn’t need to label the keys accurately. He could easily remember that “University - Office” unlocked his home office, but if someone who was up to no good got his keys, he, like Jeff, would try the one labeled “Home - Lab/Office”, and, when that didn’t work, he’d go looking elsewhere, just like Jeff had done, never realizing that he had the correct key in his hand.
If Dr. Browning had labeled them: “A, B, C . . .” or simply left them un-labeled, someone would try all of them until he found the right one.
Brilliant.
Chapter 7:
Jeff flicked the light-switch and headed for the desk. He pulled the bottom desk drawer and found the locket exactly where he had seen his father put it those many years ago.
Yes! Jeff felt a warmth wash over him as he put the chain over his head and dropped the locket into his shirt. He knew it was just his imagination, but the warmth almost felt like a real, physical sensation.
But as the initial relief and feeling of “rightness” began to fade he began to get uncomfortable. This was the first time he had ever been in the office alone. He felt like he shouldn’t be there. It felt wrong . . . but his curiosity began to get the better of him.
There was a quarter ‘floating’ over a parabolic mirror. Jeff knew it was an illusion and not actually there . . . but he reached for it anyway. He smiled as his finger slipped through the image. It brought back memories of being in the office with his father. He felt like his father was a magician back then. There seemed nothing he couldn’t do.
Beside the parabolic mirror was an odd electronic device that looked like a large, metal doughnut covered with electronic components. It had wires and conduits that were plugged into some sort of power source/controller several feet away.
Jeff poked his finger into the opening in the toroid, but then quickly withdrew it and jumped back as the device whirred to life.
That’s Cool, he thought as the initial surprise wore off. There was a ring of blue lights around the top edge of the toroid, and the unit was emitting a low-frequency, fluctuating hum.
Jeff slowly edged his hand back toward the opening. I’m an idiot, he confessed to himself but didn’t back off. He put his fingers into the opening. He half expected to feel an electric shock, but didn’t feel anything.
. . . And that was the really strange part.
He didn’t feel anything.
His fingers should have hit the table surface, but there seemed to be a hole cut in the table . . . which wouldn’t have been too unusual except that Jeff could swear he had seen the table surface through the toroid before it had whirred to life.
Without withdrawing his hand, he leaned down and looked at the underside of the table. It seemed completely intact. He knocked on it with his free hand in the approximate spot his finger-tips should have been.
“That’s freaky!” Jeff said aloud.
He stood back up and looked down into the device. The blue lights caused strange shadows and made it difficult to see clearly . . . but it looked like his fingers were stretched out into thin, corkscrewing ribbons.
Jeff jerked his hand out of the device when he saw that. He looked at it and shook it vigorously. It looked and felt fine.
“Wow!”
Jeff looked into the opening. It just looked pitch black within the blue glowing ring, but he clearly could not see the table surface which he should have been able to see.
He brought his hand back to the opening and tentatively pushed his finger-tips back into the opening. This time he watched closely, and this time he could clearly see his fingers ‘stretch’. It looked like long, thin banners unfurling in a gently blowing breeze. They stretched and waved and looked to be extended at least 10 inches or more.
This time Jeff laughed.
Amazing.
Looks like dad came up with something even better than the parabolic mirror. This is really cool, he thought. He wondered what his father’s plans were. Was he planning on selling it as a novelty?
Jeff wiggled his fingers and watched waves of movement travel through the “ribbons” his fingers had become.
Awesome!
He withdrew his hand and looked at it again. It still seemed fine.
Jeff ran his eyes from the toroid up the conduits to the control box wondering if he could figure out how it worked.
Not a chance.
It just seemed a jumble of wires switches and knobs. There weren’t any labels or instructions. Jeff looked around to see if there were any notes that might explain it. There were pages and pages of notes scattered around the office, but nothing Jeff could understand - mostly mathematical equations that just
looked like gibberish.
Jeff nosed around some more. He picked up a small laser that had some serious looking coils attached. Jeff considered trying to turn it on, but thought better of it.
Then he saw it.
In a dark corner of the office was a much larger version of the toroid he had seen on the table. This one seemed very similar but scaled up to the point that the opening was about three feet in diameter.
Jeff approached it slowly, almost nervously.
He got on his knees and began to examine it. Being careful not to touch anything, he moved, twisted, stretched – examined it from as many angles as were possible from his stationary, kneeling position. He could clearly see the floor through the opening in this one just as - he thought - he had seen the table through the smaller one before it had switched itself on.
Jeff made sure he was solidly on the ground. His knees were planted, and he was leaning on his left arm.
He slowly . . . slowly . . . extremely slowly . . . brought his right arm toward the opening.
As the tips of his fingers began to break the plane of the opening, blue lights around the rim - very similar to what he had seen on the smaller one - clicked on with a hum that was similar but louder. The otherwise dimly lit office was glowing with the blue light of the odd device.
Beyond the plane defined by the bottom of the blue lights, the interior of the toroid had turned a complete, utter black. He could see his fingertips beginning to stretch and waver in the black field, but – again - they felt completely normal.
He began to get a little bolder and leaned in a little closer. He put his hand in slightly farther and his fingers seemed to stretch so much that he couldn’t see their tips anymore. They were waving and flapping like ribbons of flesh.
He shifted his weight and continued to lower his arm into the opening. His actual fingers (not the ones that appeared stretched by optical illusion) should have been within inches of the floor.
He got to the point where he was sure that he should be contacting the floor, but just kept going. There didn’t seem to be anything there anymore. He continued to lean in until the tips of his fingers were at least a foot beyond where the floor should have been.
