Time Echoes

by Bryan Davis

  The author dropped to his knees. Clutching his thinning gray hair with both hands, he shouted into the rising vapors. “I knew this would happen! Why didn’t I stop it?”

  The first man joined us, short and stocky with a full beard and weary gray eyes. “I dreamed about it, too,” he whispered to me. “Did you?”

  I glanced at the mirror, now tucked under my arm, but I couldn’t feel it. All sensation had drained away. My limbs, my body, even my face and hands were numb. Staring at the devastation, I could barely find strength to speak. “I saw it before it happened.”

  He scanned the other survivors. “I think we all did. The ones who lived, I mean.”

  I looked at each survivor — a young woman in seventies-style green pants standing petrified as she watched the fires burn, a middle-aged woman in a navy blue business suit weeping as she talked to Kelly, and a young couple sitting together in a sobbing huddle. “You’re probably right.”

  He extended a hand. “Name’s John, but my friends call me Jack.”

  I shook his hot, sweaty hand. “I’m Nathan.”

  “I suppose we should have said something about the nightmares. Maybe if all of us had spoken up, they might have listened.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. Don’t blame yourself.”

  As fire engines roared close and a helicopter beat its blades overhead, I turned back to Kelly. She held the camera in her hands, the strap still around her neck as she snapped a picture of the crash scene. The flash lit up, though in the mid-afternoon sun it didn’t seem as bright as usual.

  When she lowered the camera, her voice matched her teary, anguished eyes. “One of the survivors asked me to take some pictures for her. I hope it’s okay.” She showed me a business card. “I have her address.”

  “I guess it won’t hurt anything, but I don’t know how you’re going to get the pictures to her. She’s dead in our world, and I’m not sure if we’ll ever come back to Earth Yellow.”

  Kelly picked up the violin case, opened it, and nodded toward the saddlebag at her feet. “I found this near where we landed.”

  I laid the violin and bow in the case, closed the lid, and fastened the latches, then stuffed the case and mirror into the bag and picked it up. “Let’s walk. The terminal’s not far.”

  Staring at the airport buildings, I strode toward them, not wanting to look back as turmoil raged in my wake — blaring sirens, shouting rescue workers, and sizzling fires, a Danse Macabre performed on the strings of demonic violins. And I failed to prevent it.

  Yet, the girl in red helped me save a few lives, including our own. The mystery surrounding her grew ever deeper. Since I had no answers, it probably wouldn’t do any good to talk about her recent appearance, at least not yet.

  Kelly’s voice seeped into the flow of sounds. “Are you all right?”

  “How could I be all right?” I winced. My words were too harsh. Heaving a deep sigh, I added, “I’m sorry.”

  Her cool fingers slid into my free hand. “It’s not your fault.”

  I grasped them gratefully. “I know.” But that was all I could say. Death loomed over my mind like a shadow — dark, empty, icy cold. And now I had to go to my parents’ funeral.

  After following an access road that led us to the front of the terminal building, we found the motorcycles where we had left them, leaning on their stands with the helmets still in place. Cars had parked in every lane, halting the flow of traffic. People milled around. Their conversations buzzed, wordless in my ears. A few uniformed men and women hurried from place to place, some barking into walkie-talkies, but Simon was nowhere in sight.

  I slipped my helmet on, attached the bag to the red motorcycle, and dug out the keys. “Still got your keys?”

  “Right here.” She displayed them in her hand.

  “Then let’s go.”

  She mounted the blue bike, her helmet already on and her dirty beige slacks and blue polo shirt rippling in the breeze.

  I straddled the seat. “We’d better not travel together. Just stay close enough to keep me in sight.”

  “Why?”

  “Word’s going to get out that we survived. I said something about the engine to the gate clerk. If they think I had anything to do with the crash, they’ll be on the lookout for two teenagers traveling together.”

  She nodded. “Got it.”

  I dug into my pocket, pulled out a wad of dollar bills, and pushed them into her hand. “For tolls.”

  With my grip tight on the handlebars, I started the motorcycle and weaved through the lanes of parked vehicles. When I approached the front, I reached a row of airport security cars. Apparently they had intentionally blocked the access road to halt the flow of traffic.

  As I passed one of the cars, its siren squawked. When Kelly scooted by, the officer lowered his window and shouted over the motorcycles’ rumble. “Stop! Pull over to the sidewalk!”

  Kelly gave the engine a shot of gas and raced away. I roared after her, keeping watch in my rearview mirror. The police car’s blue lights flashed to life, and its siren howled as the officer gave chase.

  When I caught up with Kelly, she shouted. “Ever done any dirt biking?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Get ready.”

  When we came upon a merge lane where cars entered our road from an upcoming overpass, she slowed, spun a one-eighty, and headed into the entry curve in the wrong direction.

  I swung around and tore after her. As cars blared their horns and darted out of the way, I checked my mirror and caught a glimpse of the patrol car skidding to a halt back on the main road.

  Once we reached the left side of the four-lane highway, Kelly crossed the two oncoming lanes, hugged a guard rail that lined the median on the right, and rumbled across the overpass, still going in the wrong direction. Again, I followed. I dodged a car, a minibus, and a pickup truck before reaching the median and taking off after her.

  She angled her bike through a narrow gap in the rail and kept going, this time in the same direction as the cars already speeding along. Keeping close behind, I looked back. No one followed.

  After cruising far enough to get out of sight of the officer, Kelly pulled into a restaurant lot and parked behind the building. She cut her engine and leaned her head on the handlebars.

  I hit the brakes hard and skidded to her side. “You okay?” I asked as I shut down my bike.

  She lifted her head. “Just tired. You?”

  “Same.” I looked around the vacant lot. The restaurant was either closed or out of business.

  A wailing police car screamed past, then another. I peeked around the corner. A third cruiser came by at a slower speed. An officer looked our way, scanning the front parking lot.

  I pulled back. “We’d better cut through some side streets and get out of here.”

  I wheeled my motorcycle around and headed away from the main road. We pushed our bikes up a gravel embankment and over a set of railroad tracks. Once across, we ran down the other side and onto a residential street.

  Now hidden from the highway by the railroad berm, I turned toward the airport. “If we head that way, we’ll eventually get to Interstate eighty-eight. Since we were last seen heading north, they’ll focus their search on that side of town.”

  She started her engine. “I’m right behind you.”

  “Remember. Not too close.”

  After meandering through the neighborhood, I came upon a ramp to the main highway and headed west, careful to stay just under the speed limit. In my rearview mirror, Kelly merged into the right lane and fell behind a little farther every few seconds.

  As I zipped along, I kept an eye on her as she followed from about a half-mile back. Letting out a sigh, I shook my head. She was an unbelievable combination of female charm, sharp wits, and ice-water coolness. Most girls would’ve scrunched into a fetal curl and cried like a baby, but even locked inside a doomed jet already falling from the sky, she never lost her head. She even sang Amazing Grace. What an incre
dible girl!

  Yet, ghosts haunted her, phantoms from the past. They haunted me as well. Although I had no right to act as her judge, doubts about her past plagued me. If I were ever to want a relationship with her, could I exorcise the phantoms?

  I shook my head hard. Why was I ruminating about this? I had just witnessed extreme carnage, a disaster that killed hundreds and devastated the lives of many more. And here I was dwelling on issues that were trivial by comparison. I had to get back on track, refocus on finishing this crazy journey. I had to stop Mictar and rescue the Earth Blue versions of my parents.

  Now that my brain had fought off the distractions, I gave myself a nod of approval, though I knew I was lying to myself. Even in the aftermath of disaster, I couldn’t shake the notion that Kelly was knocking on the door of my heart. Before much longer I would have to decide whether or not to let her in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I set the motorcycle’s kickstand, unzipped the saddle pack, and glanced around at the broken trees and scattered branches. No sign of Dr. Simon.

  After Kelly parked her bike next to mine, she shuffled through the debris toward the tri-fold mirror. In the reflection, the Earth Blue scene had disappeared. Now it showed only the mangled forest surrounding us.

  “You have to play the piece,” Kelly said, the Quattro mirror under an arm and the camera strap still around her neck.

  “I know. And it’s cloudy. Let’s hope the sun comes out in time.” I pulled the violin case from the bag and fumbled with the clasps.

  Kelly grasped my hand. “Nathan, you’re trembling.”

  I looked at my shaking fingers. “I guess I am.” Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves. In this state, I would never be able to play the Carmen Fantasy. I flipped up the latches and withdrew Mom’s violin. Since I didn’t remember much of the piece, the doorway to Earth Blue had to open in a hurry.

  As I laid the bow over the strings, Kelly gave me a firm nod. “You can do this.”

  “I’m glad someone thinks so.” I set my feet and watched myself in the tri-fold mirror. After starting with a short mid-range stroke, I ran my fingers across the neck and ended the series with a sweet high note. After another quick mid-range stroke, I played a second rapid run from the high to the low registers, then moved to a slower melody that lasted about fifteen seconds.

  I paused and stared at the mirror. My own image gawked back at me, my shirt tail hanging out on one side and my dirty hair locked in a rigid windswept pose.

  “I can’t remember any more.”

  She clutched the camera tightly. “You have to remember. We don’t have any choice.”

  “I know. I know.” I took in a deep breath and began again, playing the same notes, but, after a long pause, I lowered the bow. “It’s no use, I — ”

  “Nathan.” She stared at the Quattro mirror, wide-eyed. “Look.” As she turned it toward me, she smiled. “Help has arrived.”

  The reflection showed Mom dressed in gray sweats, standing in a home studio with her violin in playing position. Next to her stood a younger version of me, maybe two years my junior, also with a violin in hand as we both looked at sheet music on a stand. Mom spoke, but no sound came forth.

  Kelly gave voice to the image. “Your mother says, ‘Watch my fingers, Nathan.’ ”

  My throat clamped shut. I couldn’t reply. I shuffled close and readied my bow again, squinting at Mom’s hands. After the first note, her fingers glided along the neck, then stopped as she spoke again.

  Kelly whispered, “Now you try it.”

  I played the notes, this time with perfect precision.

  Mom tucked her violin and clapped. Then, lifting her violin and bow, she played the next few measures. Her fingers seemed to caress her instrument as a gentle angel would pet a lamb. She paused and pointed her bow at the younger version of me.

  This time, I didn’t wait for a command. I played the notes flawlessly, copying Mom’s tender touch.

  The tri-fold mirror image slowly darkened.

  Kelly held the mirror steady. “She says she’s going to play the rest all the way through, so watch carefully.”

  I set my bow and leaned close. As she played the rapid-fire measures, sweat moistened my forehead. “It’s so fast. I’ll never be able to copy it just by watching.”

  “Yes, you can, Nathan. I believe in you!”

  I looked at Kelly. “Did you say that, or did my mom?”

  “I said it.” Kelly bit her lip before continuing. “You’re the best, Nathan. I’ve never met anyone like you. I know you can do this.”

  My mind drifted back to that day I stood with Mom, looking at her in wonder as she played this intricate piece with blinding speed and flawless beauty. As she leaned toward my reflected self and blew on his knuckles, the entire image seemed to envelop me, bringing her face so close that her fair skin and jet black hair loomed like a protective mother eagle.

  Kelly gave life to Mom’s words. “May the breath of God fill your soul with the melody of everlasting love.”

  Shivers ran up my arm, across my shoulders, and into my other hand. As Mom straightened and readied herself again, my fingers seemed charged with energy, begging to fly into action.

  Francesca Shepherd played. Nathan Shepherd answered. Though her reflected instrument sang in silence, I channeled the sound to the same violin, feeling her energy and passion flow through my fingers as each note rang clear and true.

  The celebration of musical zeal threaded rapid runs across the ebony fingerboard, and the reflection in the tri-fold mirror altered with the same fervor. Within seconds, the telescope room on Earth Blue took shape.

  Kelly’s voice seemed a distant echo. “It’s working!”

  Mom played the last measure with dazzling flair. I copied her movements and added a dip of my body and an accentuated vibrato as I pushed the bow through the final note.

  The moment I finished, Mom bowed toward me. Tears welling, I bowed in return, barely able to restrain the spasms in my chest as I gazed at her gleaming eyes, her rose-petal cheeks, and her lovely smile.

  She laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “Well played, my son, an aria of strings for our heavenly Father.”

  The touch brought an electrified jolt, shocking me back to reality. I turned to Kelly. “Did you say that?”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she lowered the mirror and embraced me. “I couldn’t say it,” she whispered as she brushed her lips across my cheek. “You must have heard her yourself.”

  She pulled my wrist gently. “Come on. We can’t wait for the sun. We’ll have to use the camera.”

  After laying the violin in its case and packing it and the Quattro mirror in the saddlebag, I stood with her in front of the tri-fold. When Kelly raised the camera to her eye, a hint of brightening crossed the storm-ravaged field. The sun edged under the bank of clouds and aimed its beams directly at the mirror.

  The rays bounced from the polished glass. The middle pane directed a beam straight out while the other two mirror panels angled the light, intersecting their reflections with the central radiant shaft.

  At the point where the beams met, a vertical halo of brilliant colors formed, a six-foot-high, oval-shaped rainbow that pulsed at twice the frequency of a beating heart.

  I grabbed the saddlebag and pulled Kelly’s hand. “Jump for the colors.”

  We leaped together into the halo. The rainbow enveloped us in a wash of yellow, blue, and red, altering the grass at our feet into a blaze of hues, as if a frenzied artist had brushed every color from his palette across the littered field.

  In the reflection, the telescope room expanded and swarmed over us. The familiar perimeter walls bent around our bodies, the tour entry door on one side and the elevator on the other. Soon, everything settled, and we were once again standing under the high-arching, reflective dome.

  Kelly leaned close and whispered, “Looks like we’re alone.”

  “You’re not.” The pert female voice came from u
nder the computer desk. Daryl Blue emerged with the shotgun clutched in both hands.

  Clara Blue followed, wincing as she straightened slowly. “Tight squeeze under there.”

  “We heard someone coming,” Daryl said, “so we scooped up all our stuff, turned out the lights, and hid. We think it was Mictar, but we never saw him.”

  “I take it you delivered Francesca,” Clara said.

  “We did.” I lowered the saddle pack to the floor. “She’s in good hands.”

  Daryl gave me the shotgun, then reached into her pocket and transferred four shells to my pocket one by one. “Earth Red has sped up in comparison to Earth Blue, so you have to hurry.”

  “Let’s send them home,” Clara said. “I’ll hang on to the other mirror for safekeeping.”

  Daryl sat at the desk and reached for the laptop’s mouse pad. “Click your heels together, Kelly-kins, and remember to say your line.”

  Kelly picked up the saddle pack and looked at her feet. “You mean, ‘There’s no place like home’?”

  “You got it.”

  “All right. Just for you.” Kelly clicked her heels together. “There’s no place like home.”

  “Perfect!” Daryl waved. “Have a good trip.”

  The room’s lights flashed on. As before, the image in the mirror above seemed to descend and spread out, enveloping us in its grasp. Everything morphed into warped shapes and intermixing colors.

  Seconds later, the scene cleared, revealing the telescope room once again with Clara and Daryl staring at us. If not for their different clothes and the lack of a dead man lying on the floor, it would have been impossible to tell that we had transported at all.

  Clara Red ran and embraced me. “We have to hurry,” she said. “According to the schedule on the computer, Interfinity is showing the telescope to a tour group in ten minutes.”

  Daryl Red typed madly on the laptop’s keyboard. “I’m restoring the computer to how we found it.” After a final tap, the mirror above transformed into a view of the morning sky, dark blue, with hints of orange filtering in from one side.