The Time Eater

by Aaron J. French

  “It’s nothing like that, Norma,” Annabelle said, starting to cry. “I swear we’re telling the truth.”

  Norma mm-hmmed, then got up from the chair, clutching her bag. “Very good acting, dear, but the joke’s over. If you’ll excuse me, I have a patient to treat.” She turned her back, heading for the stairs.

  Something’s not right here, I thought. She’s supposed to listen, understand, help us. I was sure she knew more about this but it’s clear she’s as scared as the rest of us. She could get hurt up there.

  I lunged from my seat, stood before the stairs, blocking her. She looked startled, frightened—furious.

  “We won’t be requiring your services anymore, Norma,” I said.

  “That isn’t up to you, Mr. Borough. The hospital has assigned me to James, and if you prevent me from seeing him I’ll have no choice but to report back to Doc Sanderson and the other doctors. If I tell them about this demon business, they’re likely to find you unfit to care for James. They’ll come and take him back to the hospital. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not. But we’re telling the truth. James is under attack.”

  She raised her medical bag. “You’re right, he is under attack. From withdrawals. He should have had his morphine shot before eleven.”

  For some reason, the mention of morphine set my blood boiling. All I could think about was the crucifixion image James had showed me, his arms a pincushion of hypodermic needles. I was sure James—the real James—had been trying to tell me something.

  “He doesn’t need narcotics,” I said.

  She chuckled. “Narcotics? The morphine keeps him out of pain. You want him to suffer, that it? How about bathing him, helping him to the bathroom. You gonna do that?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  She scoffed and tried to pass but I refused to let her up the stairs. “Good day to you, Norma,” I said.

  She had been looking at my feet, but now her head lifted, ever so slowly, and as she did a shadow passed over the room, darkening it. She glared at me, eyes turning black, and instead of pupils she had mini solar systems, sockets full of darkness, planets, and stars.

  Suddenly I understood. It’s got her under its spell, controlling her thoughts and actions like it controls James’s thoughts and actions. For how long? Always? Just this morning?

  My brain began whirring, spinning, puzzling it all out. I realized she had probably been doing its bidding this whole time, keeping James deranged and weak by pumping him full of morphine. James’s proclamation of I want to live made more sense to me. Smothered as he was beneath a blanket of dope and darkness, he was desperately trying to break out.

  The first step was getting him off the drugs and away from this Time Eater henchwoman.

  She let out a scream that vibrated the picture frames on the wall and came at me, claws to my face. Her mouth, now swinging down unnaturally and displaying pointy stars for teeth, emit a stream of canine drool. The sight of her flickering with darkness froze me in place. I failed to evade her attacks, and she crashed into me, teeth and nails tearing, wailing an awful cry.

  I shouted as pain pierced my flesh. Norma’s exaggerated mouth came closing down around the front of my skull. My eyes beheld the deep, dark vision of her soul, an endless void, a sea of emptiness in which stars burned, planets rolled, and meteors streamed like falling embers.

  Faces appeared in the black and scowled at me; some of them wore cone-shaped white cloth hats and swung nooses overhead like lassos. I felt myself being pulled into some forgotten nether place, a place from where I might never emerge again.

  Just as the vision overwhelmed me, a tremendous impact shook the fabric of my reality. The world vibrated like a tuning fork. Stars and planets veered off course to go crashing into the black sea. The hateful faces shouted, then slowly dissolved and dispersed, until at last a ray of light spilt the mold, guiding out, away, to freedom.

  I blinked, looked up, and saw Annabelle crouching over me. In one quivering hand she held a baking pin. Her face was a mess of terror and shock. She whispered to me, “Is it, did it… is she gone? I hit—” and then it became too much and she dropped the baking pin and collapsed to her knees, weeping.

  In a daze I got to my feet, body aching. I noticed with a grunt of disgust that my front was covered in a slimy brackish liquid. When I tried wiping it from my clothes it evaporated into thin air. A moment later, I was no longer covered in it.

  I stood beside Annabelle and placed a hand on her shoulder. Strands of black hair spilled between my fingers. She was sobbing, holding her face. I did my best to console her.

  “I smashed her,” she said, somewhere between shock and amazement. “I took the baking pin out of the cupboard, crept behind her and let her have it! God—Norma!”

  She burst into tears again, but I said, “You did the right thing, Annabelle. You saved my life.”

  Sniffling, she said, “I know. I did. But don’t you understand? It felt horrible! I even liked her! But when I hit her I screamed in rage that I hated her, hated her so much, and all I felt inside was murderous rage. I probably killed her. Is she going to die? Oh god oh god oh god…”

  “Come on. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “But I’m a bad person!” she said. “Evil, wicked! I didn’t even know I could feel like that—”

  I helped her off the floor and escorted her into the living room. For a moment, I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if any trace of the nurse remained, but the stairs were spotless and vacant. Norma had simply vanished.

  There was a leather wraparound couch in front of the Plasma screen. Before it sat a glass table piled with Reader’s Digest and various golfing magazines. I got her over to the couch, then opened the blinds, letting in the sun.

  I sat next to her, leaned back, and she curled into my lap, bringing up her knees. She cried like a baby. I knew this was her big release. Everything had been building inside her and now she was full and had to let it out. My job was to be there while she did it.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said finally, then chuckled. “I’m losing my mind. Is that it?”

  My turn to chuckle. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since coming here, it’s that we’re all losing our minds.”

  She slugged my arm. “But is all this real?”

  “None of it is real. Everything we think is real is just an illusion.”

  “That doesn’t help.”

  “It’s the truth. Trying to figure out what is and isn’t real will ensure you actually do lose your mind. The best approach is to deal with it as it comes. That’s what I’ve found.”

  She nodded, considering. “I suppose you’re right. It’s all so complicated, like I fell down the rabbit hole of Alice in Wonderland.”

  “The comparison is not far-off. Look, I have some experience with this. In college I lived primarily in a world where magic existed. It was little magic, play magic, and sure it worked but it never dismantled reality the way the Time Eater does. The Time Eater is more than magic; it’s something else.”

  “What’s the Time Eater?”

  “The thing behind reality. The being James and I summoned that night at Ohio State.”

  “It eats time?”

  “I’m not sure what it does with time. But in my mind, that’s the only word I have for it. Anyway, it certainly does something to time. Mutates it, distorts it.”

  Annabelle was shaking her head. “I don’t know. I’m glad you’re here. I think I’d fall apart if you weren’t.”

  I held her closer. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to ride this out together and bring James back.”

  “We are?”

  I nodded. “He said something last night. He said, ‘I want to live,’ just like that. We had been talking about Celeste, how the divorce had changed him, crippled him, left him in a place where he felt like dying.”

  “What about his tumor? The month to live and everything?”

&n
bsp; “I believe he brought that on himself, that his misery was so great after Celeste left him that his body expressed his remorse as a tumor.”

  She scrunched her eyebrows. “I agree that a person’s lifestyle can affect their health, but I used to be a nurse, Roger. I’ve never seen anything like what you’re describing.”

  “That may be true. But please keep in mind that you’ve never seen a Time Eater before, either, and now you have.”

  “Touché.”

  “My point is that James’s unbalanced condition brought on a terminal illness, and since he was so despondent about the divorce and where his life ended up afterward, he accepted his one month to live with open arms. He already wanted to die anyway. He dug himself a hole up there in the spare bedroom, got hooked on morphine, and waited for death. But only one problem: he didn’t anticipate the return of the Time Eater. Now reality has been shunted, thrown off-course, and we’re all spiraling into the unknown.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We contact this guy.” I reached into my pocket and took out the business card Alexander had given me. I handed it to Annabelle, who turned it over, unconvinced.

  “An acupuncturist?”

  I nodded.

  With a scoff, she said, “All that Oriental Medicine stuff is a joke.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is. When Jon and I were together, we had this ongoing laugh about it. A lot of the girls who were nurses at the hospital were always running off to study so-called Oriental Medicine. They thought they wouldn’t have to change bedpans or prescribe medication, that they could just stick needles in people and they’d get better. Jon thought it was the biggest scam ever.”

  “Do you think it’s a scam?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “I did, especially with Jon. And the girls who went to study it usually came back to the hospital, tails between their legs. But honestly I don’t really know how I feel about it. I know it isn’t respected among Western doctors.”

  “All they respect is the narcotic and the knife.”

  “Oh come on, that’s a little harsh.” Her eyes strayed back to the business card. She read it aloud, the words lingering in the air. I could tell she was struggling to give it a chance. When she handed it back, she said, “At this point, I’ll try anything.”

  “Good, because in order for this to work we’ve got to believe it will work.”

  “Explain that.”

  “How ’bout some coffee?”

  We got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen. Annabelle brewed another pot of joe. We sat at the table, not speaking, waiting for the coffee to finish. After our mugs were filled, we got back to our conversation.

  “I’m convinced this is all linked to James’s impending death,” I said. “He hated himself, he wanted to die, and so he got sick and the Time Eater showed up. Until now, he’s been letting the being possess him at will, to work its madness through him. But last night, after I had a long talk with him, his attitude changed. He told me seriously that he wanted to live. This is the crucial point. If we can get James back into the realm of the living, the Time Eater should return from whence it came.”

  “And you think this funky acupuncturist can help?”

  “I do, but only now that James has decided he wants to live. Only because he’s shifted his intention. Now, we must shift ours.”

  “But of course I want James to live!” she said.

  “I know. I’m asking you to imagine that it’s possible for him to live. I want you to forget this one-month crap—and forget the rest of Western medicine, while you’re at it. We’re entering into a totally different zone. We have to remain open as we make the transition. Can you do it?”

  She smiled and took my hand. “With you, I can do anything. But tell me, where did you get that business card?”

  “I went to an occult bookstore in the city yesterday and told the owner the whole story.”

  “You did? When, with my car?”

  I nodded.

  “And he believed you?

  More nodding. “When I told him about James, he gave me the card and told me to call the acupuncturist.”

  “So what are we waiting for?” She retrieved her phone from the countertop and gave it to me.

  I dialed. After a few rings, a woman with a thick Chinese accent answered.

  “Is this the office of Li Xi?” I asked.

  A pause, then: “How you know dat?”

  “I got his business card from Alexander at Cosmos, Psyche, and Higher Worlds. My friend has fallen ill and Alexander seemed to think Li Xi could help.”

  “Ah. OK. You come in one hour thirty minutes. The doctor will see you then. You come alone.”

  She rattled off an address in the city, which I repeated to Annabelle, who wrote it down on a paper towel. I hung up and said, “Looks like I’m going back into the city.”

  “Now?”

  “That’s what the woman said. I can see the doctor in an hour and a half.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “She said to come alone.”

  “Why? I don’t want to stay by myself with James. Couldn’t I wait in the car?”

  “You could. But who knows how long this will take, it could be hours, and why risk it? She said to come alone, so I think I’d better do as she says.”

  “What will I do?”

  I squeezed her hand. “Just stay out of his room and you’ll be fine. No matter what, even if he calls for you and says he’s dying, you stay out.”

  She nodded, eyes turned down. “I’ll be safe as long as I stay out of there, huh?”

  “That’s right. Haven’t you got some work you could do?”

  “Piles of it. But it hardly seems relevant now.”

  “That’s not true. When we make it through this, you’ll still need to have clients and be able to pay your bills. Work might get your mind off things.”

  She brought my hand to her lips, kissed it. Despite all that had happened, the feeling sent a jolt of pleasure through me. I smiled at her, touching her face. The more time we spent together, the more I felt myself falling for her.

  She got up and took the car keys off their little peg on the wall. “Do you think it needs gas?”

  “Probably. I’ll fill it up on the way.”

  She handed me the directions and I plugged them into my smartphone. Then she walked me to the door. The noon sun was rising high above the buildings. Trees lining the road swished in the wind.

  “Promise you’ll come back?” she said.

  “I promise.”

  She leaned down for a kiss, then waved and vanished into the house. I got into the car and headed toward the skyscrapers in the distance.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I had been through Chinatown plenty of times, but usually on the way to somewhere else. It took me forever to find the right streets, even longer the right area, and even longer to park the car. By the time my feet touched the grimy cement, the sun was veering off toward the west.

  The streets were congested with traffic: tourists, businessmen, shoppers. A healthy mixture of different Asian groups, with a smattering of whites and blacks thrown in. Cars and taxis plunged down the roadways, honking, flicking cigarette butts.

  The shop fronts bustled with activity, and food was everywhere, little trinkets by the sidewalk, clothes and picture frames, bottles of herbs, key chains, glass display cases of jewelry. Music and bootleg DVDs, porn, smut animation, Buddhist pamphlets, chopsticks and Chinese bowls, a life-size cardboard cutout of Mao Zedong. After what felt like ages, I located the correct address and turned down an alley.

  Instantly it got quieter, darker, smellier. Dumpsters flanked a potholed strip of asphalt, over which a stream of foul liquid coursed. I saw rats and roaches rummaging in the stacked trash bags.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  As I started walking, one of the doors banged open and a short, muscular Asian wearing a red and white headband plunged out. He was in the m
iddle of shouting at someone, but when he saw me he stopped. He had a cigarette in the corner or his mouth, eyes like two round bolts. He puffed on the cigarette, hurling a bag of trash onto one of the piles. Insects and vermin scattered. He took another look and vanished back inside.

  I started walking again. The farther I went down the alley, the darker and quieter it got, like I was leaving the city behind. A small red door at the end had the numbers I was looking for, along with a sign that said Acupuncture. I pressed the round buzzer and waited.

  When the door swung open, my eyes gazed upon the most gorgeous Asian woman I had ever seen. She was short, thin, and pale, with long hair and mischievous eyes. She wore a loose-hanging silver top that left little to the imagination.

  “Mr. Borough?” she said.

  “Yes—”

  Before I could ask how she knew my name, one of her tiny hands shot over the threshold and pulled me in. The door slammed closed with a resounding clang. I was standing in an office, walls lined with books and posters. Chinoiserie style lamps and fans hung from the ceiling; a bonsai tree in the corner of the room displayed its branches proudly; in the other corner, a miniature stone garden lay raked and silent. There was a child sitting in the garden. He was playing a handheld video game with the sound turned down.

  The woman walked around behind the desk, giving me a nice showing of her long legs. When she was seated, she motioned for me to join her in one of the adjacent chairs.

  Producing a folder, she began flipping through it. “It says here your friend very sick, gonna die soon.”

  “That’s right. How do you…”

  She waved a hand at me. I caught a whiff of nail polish. “I spoke to Alexander at the bookstore and he gave me whole story.”

  “Ah,” I said.

  After a while of flipping through the folder, she turned to the computer and punched keys. I was nervous; my hands sweated. She was so extremely attractive, I couldn’t help but feel a little awkward.

  “He’ll want to meet you, examine you, before he do anything,” she said.