Time Master

by Wyatt Kane

  I started to relax as I tried to help June get settled in the back. But it wasn’t to last.

  “Shit!” the wizard yelled. “One of those bastards is after us. Must have seen the lights. Hold on!”

  “To what?” I yelled back. There were no seats. Instead, cushions and pillows surrounded a glowing egg-like thing that looked a little like EVE from that animated film, but without the arms. There were curtains over the windows and trinkets dangled from the ceiling, and they all swayed as the van took off.

  “Hippie van,” I said out loud. But the front seat where the wizard sat was totally different. It looked more like the cockpit of a fighter jet, complete with an array of instruments that had no business in such an old van. Yet the wizard seemed perfectly comfortable. He settled in and put the van in gear.

  He didn’t answer my question, and the Bedford roared in protest as he put the pedal to the floor. The vehicle bounced over the curb and into the street, throwing the girls and me backward to the floor.

  “This piece of junk can’t handle that treatment!” I said. “You’re going to throw a rod!”

  The wizard giggled. Yes, giggled. “Don’t you worry about my rod!”

  “What?” I asked, slightly confused. Was he making a lurid joke? If so, he had really terrible timing.

  “I said,” he yelled back, “don’t worry about my rod! You know, my—oh, never mind. It’s not funny when you have to explain it.”

  April gave me an alarmed, incredulous look, and I understood exactly what she was thinking. The man was absolutely, hands down, straight up from the loony bin, and he’d been drinking as well. And he was driving.

  He yelled back to us. “Hang on, this is going to get bumpy!”

  III

  I grabbed the edge of the back window and pulled myself to my knees. The cushions and pillows slid around beneath me as the van bounced and squeaked over the potted road.

  Behind us, one of the insectoid monsters was giving chase. It wasn’t the vast, winged nightmare, but an elongated thing with too many legs, and way too big for me to feel comfortable with it on our six. It screeched, long and loud, and if I hadn’t been holding on for dear life, I would have covered my ears. It was like being in a Spielberg movie with giant bugs instead of dinosaurs. The monster’s pincers worked back and forth, something wet and stringy flinging from its maw. Drool?

  Gross.

  “Uhh … hey, old man,” I called over my shoulder, doing my best to sound calm even though I was so frightened my lips had gone dry. “Wizard! Can this thing go any faster?”

  “I thought you were worried about my rod?” he returned from the front, laughing like a maniac as he did.

  “He’s fucking crazy!” June yelled, then she winced as she slid into the wall.

  “Shit,” I said. I grabbed hold of the windows and worked my way over the pillows and past the glowing, floating egg-thing toward the driver’s seat.

  I could still see the monster through the side mirror, and it looked close enough to reach out and tear the back off the van. It was one of the most hideous, nightmarish, terrifying things I’d ever seen, second only to its bigger, uglier, nastier brother, and I really didn’t want it to be anywhere near that close.

  “Faster!” I screamed at the old man.

  From my new spot right behind him, I could see the instrument array very clearly. The speedometer hit eighty miles per hour, then eighty-five, and the monster gave voice to a mighty roar behind us that sounded like metal being torn into bits. The girls screamed, I screamed, and the wizard cackled and steered straight for an intersection. The roads so far had been empty, but not so the one up ahead. It was a larger highway with cars streaming back and forth, all of them perfectly oblivious to the steel and claws bearing down on them.

  It was a recipe for disaster even without the monster behind us. Cars could magically shoot through gaps in traffic only in films. In real life, a truck would come out of nowhere and cut us in half.

  But the wizard didn’t slow.

  “We’re going to die,” I said. It was the second time in fifteen minutes that I’d had that thought. This time, I was certain. Surely, we couldn’t beat death again. “Stop!” I shouted. “We’re going to crash!”

  The wizard ignored me. As the speedometer hit eighty-eight miles per hour, he grabbed a lever near the steering wheel and yanked it down, still cackling under his breath.

  A flash of light burst from the van. I could see it through the window, a bubble of energy all around us. The engine cut off, replaced by a loud whoosh. Outside, the monster screamed briefly, then became silent. From what I could see, it had been cut cleanly in half, leaving bug guts and blood raining down on the outside of the Bedford.

  “Take that, you bastard!” the wizard shouted.

  The Bedford jerked to a sudden stop, and I bounced into the back of the wizard’s seat and off again. I tried to stop myself, but I’d lost all control. I spun about, crashed onto the floor, and rolled onto something soft.

  The girls yelled, swearing, and one of their voices was strangely close to my ear. I blinked and realized I’d fallen on top of June, my face pressed between her breasts. She shoved at me, and I scrambled away, muttering an apology.

  We sat on the cushions, stunned, checking for injuries, finding new bruises. June gritted her teeth as she raised her leg—her ankle was obviously swollen and already turning a painful, purple color. Either a bad sprain or a break.

  The wizard climbed out of his cockpit and sank down on the cushions with a sigh. “Damn,” was all he said. Yet he was grinning broadly through his beard.

  “Gross,” April said, looking at the yellow ooze sliding down the windows.

  “I’ve seen grosser,” June said caustically. She glared at me and the wizard as if it was all our fault.

  I turned to the old man, doing my share of glaring. “What the fuck is going on?”

  IV

  Earlier that evening, the Good Times Club had throbbed to the tune of loud music. Lights flashed, penetrating dark corners before disappearing, then strobing around the room once more. The smell of beer, sweaty armpits and tobacco permeated through everything, including my clothes and hair, but I’d worked as the Club’s bouncer for so long I barely noticed.

  There were a few tables scattered about, but most of the guys sat on bar stools around the stage where two of the girls followed the music’s beat, their bare breasts moving a split-second after their bodies, their nipples perfectly peaked. The men in the crowd gawked appreciatively, occasionally calling out or whistling to get their attention.

  These two dancers were new. The pick of the month, by a long margin. Most didn’t stay around long, but I found myself hoping these two would.

  For one thing, they were beautiful. Like, movie-star, supermodel level perfection, and it was a surprise to see anyone like that in a place like this. For another, they moved together, dancing near each other suggestively before moving off to tease the men around the stage. A nice touch.

  Also—the best part—they were twins, nearly identical except for the color of their hair. One was blonde, and the other brunette.

  Another nice touch.

  Individually, they would be well worth watching in their own right. Together, they were sublime.

  With no more than a thought, I slowed down the seconds, watching the show in slow motion, enjoying the way they danced. It was a gift of mine, the ability to slow down time. A secret power, if you will. Great for winning fist fights, avoiding car accidents, and watching strippers.

  It was something I’d always been able to do, but even after a couple of years in college studying physics, I didn’t know how or why. Now, my degree was almost complete, and I was no closer to an answer than I had been when I began.

  The women all danced for the money, I knew that, but these two ladies put on a good show, and the men were responding well. They had thrown out large tips already, and the twins had only been on stage for a song and a half.

  A
s I watched, I felt a slight tingle. No, not that sort of tingling. This was more mental, as if there was something pushing at the corner of my mind. I couldn’t help but feel it had something to do with the twins, but I didn’t understand how. Or maybe it was somehow related to my talent.

  I frowned, seeking answers. What was it I was sensing?

  Not time dilation, I didn’t think, although I’d never met anyone else with my peculiar skill. It was confusing, and I wanted to figure it out.

  Before I could, something caught my attention. I took my eyes away from the show to watch a group of men down in front. One of them laughed hard, his face red, and his words a big, slurry, slow-motion mess. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the way his buddies were laughing and pointing at the girls onstage, he was working himself into a state.

  They would need to leave soon, I thought, before they started something they shouldn’t.

  That was my job. Removing problems before they arose.

  In my mind, I watched the pervert jump up on stage, expose himself to the girls, and try to grope the blonde. It was so real I thought for a moment I’d messed up, and somehow just stood in place while it all happened. Had I let time speed up instead? But no, it wasn’t real. My talent was just acting up. Showing me an alternate reality that might happen if I didn’t do my thing.

  That had never happened before—the alternate reality thing, not the drunk guy exposing himself—and it spooked me a little. So I shook my head and did my best to focus on the here and now.

  The drunk guy was slobbering all over himself, still in slow motion, a dollar bill in one fist and a beer in the other. Instead of putting the money on the table or stuffing it in the dancers’ thongs when they got close enough, he thrust his beer out over the stage, sloshing most of it under their feet.

  The twins pulled back but kept dancing. They maintained their professionalism about it too, not letting even a hint of disdain into their expressions. It wasn’t the first time a stripper had been splashed with beer, but it was the last time this asshole would get the chance to do it at the Good Times Club.

  With a sigh, I put time back to normal and walked over. The drunk in the center saw me coming. He was a scrawny guy with a fat mustache that waggled over his top lip. The mustache was so big I was sure he was compensating for something.

  If he’d been smart, he would have calmed down the minute he saw me walk over. At six-foot-one, I wasn’t overly muscled, but compared to this guy, I was Superman. And, with a cold death stare practiced against the Afghans, I liked to think of myself as intimidating when I wanted to be. I held out my hand, silently asking the men to calm down.

  This guy wasn’t smart. He laughed and took a swig of his beer, which dribbled down his mustache. “Ooh, I’m in trouble now!”

  He was, but it looked like he didn’t yet know it. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I said. I always asked nicely the first time.

  The man’s friends backed off. One of them tried to put a restraining hand on his arm, but he jerked away and wobbled to his feet. When he felt sure of his balance, he took another look at the girls, then at me, and then slowly set his beer on the edge of the stage.

  Sensing trouble, I widened my stance, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet, ready to move. My bum leg shook a little, and the drunk noticed.

  He sneered at me, sensing a weakness that wasn’t really there, then spent a moment stroking that ridiculous mustache.

  “Eddie,” one of his friends said, watching me carefully, “let’s get out of here.”

  “Fuck off,” Eddie said to his friend. He reached for his beer, missed it, and ended up grabbing the stage for support.

  I sighed. “Hey, asshole, get out of my club, or I’ll throw you out. Last chance to leave with your nose intact.”

  Eddie smirked. “Like to see you try,” he slurred.

  “Caleb!” someone called out from the back.

  I glanced there, keeping Eddie in my sights, and saw the manager, Tom. He didn’t often get involved in these little altercations, but every now and then liked to show his support. “Get that skinny fucker out of here!” he said.

  “Sure thing,” I replied, just as loudly.

  Apparently, Eddie thought I wasn’t paying attention because he used that exact moment to take a swing at me. Of course, he was drunk, I’ll give him that one. But even then, he threw one hell of a bad punch.

  I almost didn’t need to slow time at all, but I wanted to end the whole thing without disrupting the Club too badly. So I did, then watched as his fist flew toward me in slow motion. His trajectory was off, and I couldn’t even tell exactly what part of my head he was aiming for.

  Eddie’s eyes went wide as he punched and he opened his mouth to give voice to an unnecessary battle cry. Spittle flew out in an impressive arc as his whole body joined his arm in its quest to bash my head in.

  I barely had to duck to stay out of the way. I almost yawned, but I didn’t want to make it look too easy. No one knew about my little ability.

  Of course, Eddie missed, and his body now followed his fist around toward the stage. I didn’t need to do much. Just hooked his foot out from beneath him and guided his head gently down to where he’d spilled his beer.

  His face hit the stage with a horrible crunching noise. I heard a collective grimace from the watching crowd as blood spurted. Eddie bounced back up, but the impact had done its job. His eyes were already glazed, and he started to topple.

  I allowed time to return to normal as he fell to the floor. It was my turn to smirk. It never got old seeing a jerk get what was coming to him.

  Most of the other patrons had backed away from the mess, but Eddie’s friends stood looking at me with expressions that ranged from fear through to shock. I signaled that they could take their buddy away, and two of them grabbed Eddie by his arms.

  At least they had some sense.

  People didn’t realize how much blood your nose could lose until they saw it. I had seen more than my fair share of the stuff, and this was minor. Still, it was bad for business, and Tom had already sent the janitor over to clean it up. At the same time, a couple of the serving girls delivered drinks all around, and by the time the song changed, things had returned to normal.

  All through the altercation, the twins had kept dancing as if nothing was happening. When it was over, the brunette locked eyes with me for a second before turning her attention to the customers.

  Whether it was a silent thank you or something more, I didn’t know.

  <<<>>>

  Tom found me in my usual corner at the end of the night. There was one of the regular girls on stage, but she looked bored more than anything else, and there were few customers still about.

  “Caleb,” Tom said. “You know the broken nose guy?”

  “What about him? His name was Eddie.”

  Tom nodded, not really caring that much. “Terrance noticed him hanging out by the back door a few minutes ago. Apparently, he refused to go get his nose seen to. Walking around, still drunk, blood covering his shirt. Terrance scared him away, but I’d appreciate it if you’d escort the girls to their rides tonight.” He elbowed me and gave a dirty wink. “No pun intended.”

  I rolled my eyes. Tom was a decent manager, but his obscene sense of humor had plenty of fodder here, and his puns were just awful.

  “I usually do anyway,” I said.

  “Good. Good. Oh, and Caleb,” Tom added as he turned back to his office. “Good job tonight.”

  “That’s why you pay me the big bucks, sir.”

  I said it with only the merest hint of sarcasm. My pay was fair enough. For a vet with a bum leg who couldn’t imagine himself driving a desk, bouncing at the Good Times Club was a decent job. I made my rent every month, ate at the club most nights, and was even saving a little cash here and there for my dream car, a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro, a classic.

  Yet somehow, it wasn’t really enough. I couldn’t help but feel I was meant for someth
ing more than just being a bouncer. Something important.

  I’d thought that being a marine would lead me there, and in a way, it had—until that thing with my leg had happened.

  It wasn’t just about money, either, although at the rate I was going, it would take a few more months to buy my Camaro. It would have to be a junker, too but doing up old cars was something of a hobby anyway. Until I did, I had to make do with my bike.

  The last song finished, and the DJ announced we were closing up for the night. With that, he turned up the house lights and the stragglers got the message without me having to do much to usher them out the door.

  On my way to the coatroom, the bartender handed me a cold, unopened beer. It was my nightly reward to myself for a good job. Technically, it wasn’t allowed, but if Tom knew about it, he looked the other way.

  I climbed into my red-and-blue motorcycle leathers and made my way to the girls’ dressing room.

  “Knock-knock,” I called, putting a hand over my eyes. I pushed past the heavy velvet, tobacco-stained curtains, holding my beer out in front of me as if to feel my way forward like a blind man. The curtain tangled in my bum leg. “Damn. I’m coming.”

  “Caleb, sweetie,” Joanna called back, “I expect bad jokes from Tom, but not from you.”

  “Shit, sorry.” I kicked free of the curtain. “Is it safe to look?” The girls weren’t exactly the modest type, and I’d seen them all in various states of undress on the stage during the evening. Yet I didn’t want to presume.

  I felt a hand on my hand, prying my fingers away from my face. “Don’t be like Tom,” Joanna said.

  I crossed my heart with my beer. “Never.”

  Joanna had put on a simple wrap-around dress that made her pregnant form look stunning. She patted my arm. “Have you met April and June? They just moved here.”

  April was the blonde twin, and June the dark brunette. June frowned as if she didn’t approve of something, but nodded all the same. The mental tingle I’d noticed when they were on stage was still there, still teasing the edge of my mind. But it was more muted now, and I chose to ignore it.