by Grant Fausey
And everything went white.
EIGHT: Steps in Time
• • •
Krydal Starr awoke, the gentle breeze of another time upon her face; her body sun-soaked on a California beach. The traces of sunset glittered off her hair as the flames of a rekindled fire flickered to life in the pit of her love. Her hands swept across the sand, pressing hard against the warmth, fulfilling the need between her thighs; her back arched in rhythm to the sun-crested waves. She rolled across the beach in a moment of ecstasy, passionately intertwined in her lover’s arms; consumed by the soft kiss of his lips as she gazed upon his eyes. The old woman was gone; whisked away in a moment of bliss, only to be replaced with an irresistible, intoxicating sensation of lust and love. She was free of torment and longing, returning to the days before her fatal encounter with Indigo.
Her lover pulled her from the ground, taking her in his arms as he carried her aloft; her face nestled upon his bare shoulder, against the warmth of his chest; his arms wrapped around her. He moved like the wind across the beach, sitting down with her on a wind-smoothed surface at the bonfire’s edge. He slid with her into the sand; his back against the smoothed roughness of a polished island of driftwood surrounded by the hum of old friends, as if they had always been there in the laughter. But it was just a dream, a simple happening in her mind. A part of the struggle to discover where she was and what was happening to her. She focused on the handsome, square-jawed man who held her in his arms, and cuddled to him. Lovers reunited in a union of spirit. He was dressed in bathing trunks. But she didn’t remember him. He wasn’t her beloved, Indigo; at least, not yet. The big guy was there too. He went about his business unnoticed, unaware of her … looking delightful in his yellow-flowered, Hawaiian shirt, and tight fitting trunks. She adored the muscle bound fool, facing off against him whenever possible! But he was different––too busy flirting with the pristine, brown-eyed beauty next to him to notice her, and that made Krydal jealous. She cuddled even further into the arms of her mystery man, silently unfulfilled, absorbed in the moment of pleasure, wanting more. It had been so long.
The next morning, Krydal awoke to find her lover next to her, no less cuddly than a Teddy bear. She stared at him for the longest time, love radiating in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the universe or that it had reset itself. Time as she imagined it no longer existed; altered by her own actions in a coexisting future as she lay there half covered with a sheet, her leg exposed atop his. The young man stirred, arising from his slumber; his attention on a songbird perched on the windowsill, blessed by the morning’s light: Its red breast visible against the glare of the sun. The mystery man felt the caress of the sweet melody, drawn to the dawn as he felt the warmth of another atop him, the smooth curve of her firm breasts against his body; the gentle touch of her hand against his back as he rolled over to face her. He drew her near to him out of a dream, the feeling surreal as if he had awakened in two places at the same time.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” said the young, dark-haired beauty. She remembered the night before, the encounter on the beach, the mysterious awakening within her, as if nothing of the previous life had ever happened. Her lover yawned: disoriented. Perhaps, wondering how he had come to be in such a place.
Jake Ramious reached up and rolled her over on top of him; his leg between hers as their lips met in passion. “A little hung over are we?” asked Krydal. “Oh––what’s gotten into you this morning?” The freighter pilot toyed with her hair, feeling the bare curve of her breasts against his chest, only to have their moment of intimacy interrupted. An alarm clock rattled the nightstand next to him.
“Damn,” he said, shocked back to reality. “I’m late.”
“No you’re not,” insisted Krydal. “Not yet anyway. It’s still early.”
Jake sank back into his pillow, gazed up into the young woman’s eyes and pulled the sheet across him exposing his thigh; the light of a new day slipping through the sheer curtains above him unto the bed. She was lovely, he thought, wondering how he had inspired her into bed with him. Something had obviously happened between them he couldn’t remember: an earth shattering event that altered his life in such a way that it had slipped his mind. If only he could recall the actions of the night before, maybe get a grip on reality. “I love you––” he said softly under his breath, thinking out loud. There would be consequences to his actions. She looked over at him and smiled. Pristine. Beautiful.
“You’re crazy,” whispered the young woman playfully nibbling at his ear. “I just met you!”
“Right,” he said leaning in to kiss her softly. She ran her fingers across the curve of his head, pushing back his messy hair. “Now c’mon, or we will be late!”
“Mummm …” said Krydal.
Jake’s eyes went wide, sober. He rolled off the bed wondering what had gotten him into such a predicament. At least, now he was one up on her, even if she didn’t respond. “Do you smell that?” he asked, his nose to the air, the odor was strong with the aroma of fresh baked Terra-root, a hint of mixed vegetables, and the smell of a good-sized rubble rat smoldering over an open flame. The scent was invigorating, but short lived. Krydal didn’t smell anything; he was definitely alone in his fine dining.
Jake headed for the bathroom. The pilot glimpsed his face in the mirror and immediately choked on his toothbrush. He was white as a ghost, the figure of an old man.
“Babe?” He squirmed shaken by the vision. Krydal glanced over at him curiously, seeing his indigo blue toothbrush slip from between his lips.
“You all right?” asked the young woman.
“You change out my toothbrush, Babe?” The hotshot young pilot stuttered, murmuring as he played off his comments.
“What?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Changing out my toothbrush.” Crimson pulled a towel from the rack, tucked the bath sheet between her breasts and smiled at him. “I … needed a new one.”
“Wasn’t me––” she answered walking away. “I just met you, remember?” Jake glared at her. “Must have been one of your other girlfriends.”
“What––don’t joke about that!”
“Nevertheless, it wasn’t me.”
The pilot looked at her visibly distressed. “You probably forgot; that’s all.”
“Maybe––but damn … I must’ve really been drunk last night.”
“You were!”
Jake followed her into the bedroom, pulling on his shirt. “If you ask me,” he said. “There’s something really strange going on here.” Krydal slipped her towel to the floor, flinging the garment with her foot before crawling across the mattress behind him on her hands and knees, dressed in nothing but a pair of panties. “You okay–– did I do something?”
“No … it’s not you.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Her breasts were staring him in the face. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Everything,” he said nose to nose with her.
Krydal pushed him off the mattress and dropped to the floor, straddling him. Jake reached under the bed retrieving his sneakers.
“What do you mean?” The pilot groaned. “What’s not right?”
The young woman’s playful smile fizzled into one of concern. Something wasn’t right; Jake was definitely not himself. “All right you,” said Krydal playfully. “What’s this about––you miss me? You didn’t seem to mind me being on top last night!”
Jake pushed her away and sat up. Krydal rolled off of him, said: “I supposed it’s me.”
Jake looked over at her stone cold. “Why would you think that?”
Krydal reached for her housecoat and pulled the robe off the floor, covering her naked breast. Jake made a beeline for the door like a scared puppy, stepping off the landing into the hallway. “Wait––” she insisted. “Don’t leave, not like this.”
Jake stopped, and turned around to face her, his eyes glossy white. His body damned near translucent, li
ke a ghost. The ground quivered beneath his feet. “Jake––” shouted the young woman; her hands cupped over her mouth, frightened by his transformation. “Oh, my God what’s happening to me?” The pilot looked down to see his body in a state of flux, transparent, as if he existed somewhere else: another place, another time.
Krydal reached out to him, but baulked. Her reality shifted right in front of her. The floor shuddered giving way. There was an earthquake beneath her feet and she panicked. Jake glared at her form where he stood in the middle of a street bazaar, confronted with an odd-looking, tarp-covered contraption. He watched his girlfriend vanish from right in front of him, replaced by hoards of unusual species: everything from Hyderon Moraines to Kalamarian Nudles and their offspring. “Get out of the way,” yelled an angry shopkeeper, bellowing from the depths of the crowd. “Get out of the way!”
Jake shuffled. He took a step out of the oncoming traffic. Everyone was jumbled together in one small corner of the universe. The pilot flew across the crowd, narrowly escaping the square feet of an old street urchin as she plowed past him, a loaf of fresh baked bread in one hand; an orange colored fruit in the other. “Jake––” said the old woman. “Is that really you?”
“Krydal?” The pursuit came to an abrupt halt, the participants wadding through a bushel of toppled blood red citrus. The old woman wailed like a guard dog, panting, and out of breath. She was afraid; on the run form an angry floorwalker, whose words were nothing more than a heated mishmash of twisted body language and tumbled fruit carts.
“Easy there friend,” said Jake, dodging the grocer in a near collision with a four-legged contraption. The pilot’s eyes went wide. There above him, staring down from atop the skeleton of an elephant, mechanized with an arrangement of cables and mechanical components was a beastly creature with long fangs, a bubble-shaped head and the profile of an octopus. Its tentacle arms were covered in the traditional garb of a Mollian slug. He looked more like a museum exhibit than a transport captain.
The grocer came up empty handed, confronted with the ear-wrenching squeal of screeching tires and Crimson’s voice blaring at him out of the crowd. “What a freak of nature you are,” said the young hotshot completely freaked out. Jake stood there like he was naked in the shower, jolted by the nervous twitch of an old woman with a wild hairdo and toothless smile, completely unaware of his surroundings. “Do I know you?” he asked the old woman. Crimson reached out and grabbed him by the arm, pressing hard to see if he was real or not. Jake did a double take. He didn’t know whether to run or stay and face the consequences. At least, she was happy to see him.
“Am I dead?” he asked, feeling a little like he was hunting the white rabbit. Crimson screamed, dropped her garments, exposing several rusty old archeological instruments to the cobblestone street.
“Don’t interfere,” said a voice in his head. “You don’t want to chance altering the past, not again. Even if it seems indiscriminate, it could be a pivotal point in some temporal occurrence that will alter the future. You’re a visitor here!”
“What?”
“You’re witnessing a part of history, remember?”
“How?”
“No messing with the past!” Jake got the message, but from where––the old woman? The pilot knew something had happened to him. He just didn’t know what. How he had traveled the course of time to end up here was anyone’s guess. There had to be some genetic flaw in his makeup, if he wasn’t dreaming or experiencing some sort of past life regression, he was crazy. He had spent the night with a beautiful woman, now he was faced with her grandmother. It didn’t make sense. The old woman was crazier than a hoot owl and had apparently spent one too many days in the sun. He was hallucinating––yeah, that what it was! He was no longer alone in his nightmare.
“Looks like its already been messed with!” Said Jake, finally. His attention was on a middle-aged, blue-eyed professional woman dressed in a business pantsuit and heels. She jetted past him in a terrible rush with an unruly twenty year old brunette in tow. Apparently, she was a hand full. But her eyes told a different story; she was under the influence of something. Maybe a special blend of transit narcotic. Whatever it was, it was wearing off. Either way, she had Jake’s attention. There was always the possibility she was being held against her will. After all, it was his nightmare.
“What about these two?” The old woman looked at him out of the corner of her eye, grabbed his arm before he could go anywhere.
“Whatever they’re up too,” slighted the old street urchin. “It’s outside our influence. You’re only here to observe.”
“Observe what?”
“The event.”
“What event?” asked the pilot!
“Damn it––”exclaimed Reta Jordan, the businesswoman was on the move. “She’s coming out of the transit block.”
“What … out here in the open?” A wide-eyed philanthropist, book under his arm; dressed in a turn of the century bowler and dark gray topcoat, walked out of the hazy fog behind Jake like a detective materializing out of thin air.
He took his place in the crowd. “Yes out here in the open,” argued the brunette. “Get a hold of her arms, will you?” The young woman scraped her feet along the pavement, much like a sick puppy.
“All right––” said the man under his breath. “Let me have her.” He was trying not to look too conspicuous as he took her by the arm. The young woman stumbled, a sleepy walk. Unquestionably, she was fighting the influence of whatever drug-induced state she was under. Chattering, she was beginning to show signs of being afraid. Jake assumed it was some sort of human trafficking. The Inland Empire was notorious for such ventures. Only this time, the young woman caught her benefactor square-in-the-jaw, hitting him with her back swing, which sent the book under his arm flying across the cobblestone street as she bolted for open territory.
“Don’t let her get away!” yelled the businesswoman, but it was too late. The young brunette was already on her way through the crowd.
“Forget the girl,” snarled Reuben, sprinting to reclaim the book before it flopped open to reveal the blank interior pages. “She won’t get far!”
Obviously, the young woman wasn’t the only thing on their agenda. Anxiety was rampant and it took some effort to overcome. But when push came to shove, the dark-haired, middle-aged businesswoman managed to catch up to her younger constituent and pull her into an alley without too much trouble. “Get the book,” shouted the businessman again, but it was too late. The manuscript was already on the ground, open-faced in the middle of the street. Its pages radiated a golden light. “Holy shit,” shrieked the gentlemen. “I’ll take that!”
A tall, sly-looking fellow outfitted in golden lace-trimmed robes, a layers of fine silk, and the traditional headgear of the Umalotan clan looked up at Reuben and smiled. He already had the book in his possession, plucking the text from the ground before returning it to his person.
“Interesting book you have here,” said the entrepreneur. “Would you care to sell it friend?” The bookseller read the inscription. “A rare copy I would imagine?” The correspondent watched the dark-skinned man flip the book end-over-end and cover-to-cover, as he tried to explain the golden light emitting from under the end folds.
“Yes,” answered Reuben genuinely afraid. “Almost as valuable as another tale of Two Worlds.”
“You all right?” asked the pilot, helping the old woman gather up her belongings before she was paralyzed with fear. They were standing under the shadow of something gigantic. A young boy, in his early-teens, jaunted past Jake carrying a box of foodstuffs, bread, fresh greens, along with a variety of fruits and vegetables. The pilot remembered him out of the corner of his mind. The lad looked damn familiar as he weaved back and forth through the crowd.
“We gotta go, or they’ll find us here,” said the old woman, taking refuge behind the pilot. Her line of sight was on a large, four-legged mechanical predator. The beast lumbered out into the center of the street, t
owering over Jake like a stone statue in the middle of town square. The animal’s shadow draped over the wayward pilot from across the platform, up the side of a makeshift storefront before revealing the silhouette of a sleek, hybrid panther-like dog-shaped thing that snarled at the crowd, dipping and curling at the first sign of resistance.
“Halt where you are, rogues,” said the Transit Authority Tracker, sniffing the air. The beast moved with the grandeur of a Great Dane. The crowd, however, ran for their lives in a state of panic.
“I’m no rogue,” defended the man with the book, his voice echoing against the thunder of the beast’s wail.
“Transportation of hazardous materials is a violation of conveyance treaties and is subject to confiscation.”
“What––this book?” The man rebutted the accusation, standing his ground. He held up the manuscript, deliberately flaunting the empty pages. “You can’t be serious, friend! Since when is literature considered …”
“Surrender the book,” snarled the Tracker. Reta did a number, looking at the beast from where she stood in an alley with the young woman on her arm. It was now or never. The crowd was in a panic. The perfect time to sprint, and make good her escape. As far as she was concerned, the book wasn’t worth dying over. Especially, under the pointed hooves of a Hound Tracker, the beasts weren’t known for their tolerance.
No point in waiting around to see the outcome, thought the old woman. She already knew the man was dead. The hound would offer no defense for his actions. She heard the beast leap into the attack, and cringed. The animal’s talons outstretched, long fangs driving their way into the man’s fragile carcass, the beast tore him form limb-to-limb in a bloody bath of crushing bones and raw sewage. It was enough to make her throw-up. The patron was instantly subdued, ending the episode without a struggle. The book, however, flipped open, landing face up in front of Jake. The freighter pilot looked down at the manuscript then to the Tracker. The beast inched toward him millimeters from his face glaring at him through deep inset eyes, tempting him to pick up the manuscript. Glowing red orbs revealed the devil within. It was as if Jake had confronted the monster in another life. The machine had an uncanny resemblance to the devil himself.
