Time Line

by Rex Bolt

  “All right, that means a lot,” Mitch said, and his voice cracked slightly, and Pike said fine, now that they got the sappy soap opera out of the way, what was the plan?

  “Okay. Unnecessary as it still may be,” Mitch said, “are you talking, go back there at Halloween again, and . . . don’t invite them down here for Christmas?”

  “Come on man,” Pike said. “I wish. But that line of thinking, you’re already violating some principle you drummed into me.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. You gotta go deeper.”

  “Unh-huh. I could either try to go real deep--such as find out when one of them’s family--say Dave’s--moved to Pocatello in the first place.”

  “Might be dealing with a few generations though,” Mitch said.

  “Could. Either way, simpler, I’m thinking, is stop ‘em from getting together.”

  “Ah. As boyfriend and girlfriend . . . I see where you’re going--as contrasted to your previous incident. One of your previous incidents.”

  Pike hadn’t thought of it just now, but fair enough. The Milburns--you did have to go deep enough there to prevent them from ever moving to Beacon. But those circumstances were a little different. You had a marriage, with offspring on the way. In other words, some destiny working against you. Likely trickier to mess with.

  Eva and Dave . . . who knows, they might have started dating a week or two before they picked up Pike hitchhiking. Shouldn’t be a big deal . . . Except they always were.

  Dave and Lucy were walking over now, all-business, Pike assuming Dave had received an update, and Dave said, “She’s out, they said . . . They got her in ICU, they said . . . Just as a precaution.”

  Mitch told Dave thanks for that, but you could tell Mitch was starting to get rattled now. On the way back to the hospital Pike said to Dave, as casually as he could, “So Bud. How long you two been going out, anyhow?”

  “Sophomore year,” Dave said right away.

  “Umm,” Pike said.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Why would you say that?”

  “You reacted a little odd-ball there,” Dave said, but you could tell Dave was cool with talking about it, and why not, it was probably therapeutic. “Anyways,” Dave continued. “It was one of those deals, history class, the teacher, he switched the seating around, and we ended up next to each other. And she said how are you doing, and I was pretty sure right then I was going to marry her . . . You know what I’m talking about, how that can work?”

  “No,” Pike said, “but glad to hear it,” he lied. Holy Smokes. This was turning into more of a mess. Either it wouldn’t work, because you didn’t go deep enough, based on this new unfortunate strength of relationship information . . . and if it did, you’d be upending what sure sounded like a dang serious bond.

  On the other hand . . . you couldn’t afford to screw around here. This was easily turning into life and death for Eva upstairs--or downstairs now, or wherever the heck the Intensive Care unit was, despite the latest spin from the doctors.

  A footnote on that professional ballplayer had been, according to one expert they quoted in the paper, was forget about him maybe losing the arm, that’d be the least of it--it’s the full body infection you’re worried about.

  “That sophomore year,” Pike said to Dave, “what month was that, do you remember?”

  “Why?” Dave said, a little edge again this time, as though he had said enough about the subject, and what difference would a detail like that make?

  “No reason,” Pike said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Nah that’s ok. I’m placing it now . . . basketball practice had already started, we were early into it, but we hadn’t had any games yet, so I’m thinking, November?”

  “You’re supposed to know this stuff automatically. Anniversaries and all.” Pike trying to keep it light, but Dave didn’t smile.

  They were entering the lobby. Pike said, “And you guys . . . you’re seniors, correct?” Pike was pretty sure on the first incarnation they were, but who knows about the second, whether it ever came up.

  Dave nodded and got in the elevator, and Pike let him go, and Dave held the door for Mitch and Jack and Andrea and Pike’s mind was racing and his heart was beating fast, and he turned and went back outside, having an idea of what now, but also seriously wondering, what now.

  Chapter 4

  The first thorn in your side down here, as it had been with the re-visit to Chuck, was where to start from. Mitch called it the launch point, but that seemed a little extreme, but regardless, there weren’t a lot of obvious 60-plus year-old structures in downtown Phoenix, or technically North Phoenix, but Pike’s impression was that applied to Scottsdale and Tempe and Chandler and the other suburbs too, which all felt like they sprung up from the desert in the last quarter-century.

  He had gotten a little lucky with Chuck actually, by spotting a ranch up near Antheneum that had an old barn still standing. He supposed worst scenario you could head back up there, but it was an hour away and then you needed to navigate it cross country on foot a mile or so, and there were some cattle loose and who knows if that included any bulls, and the barn itself was kind of creepy.

  So Pike called an Uber.

  It was weird, it had actually only been a couple days--in real time--since his last episode, the revision with Chuck, but he felt out-of-practice somehow, like he’d had a long layoff. Maybe there was something too that. Did real time behave differently in the 10 Rules? Pike couldn’t remember if that part was addressed--but right now, what did it matter, you had a job to do.

  He said to the Uber guy, “Are there, like, any older monuments around here? I wouldn’t mind visiting one.”

  “You mean that’d be your total destination?” the driver said. “That’s it?”

  “Sure. I have some time to kill, I’m good with doing a little sightseeing.” Pike thinking ouch, he could have put it a lot differently.

  “Welp,” the driver said, “ASU has an anthropology one. That’s always fun. Lots of native American stuff, going way back.”

  Pike was googling the place . . . and it looked like it was built in 1974, despite what the guy was telling him, the contents going back centuries.

  “What else?” Pike said. “Like maybe, an old wooden church, or something?”

  The guy was thinking. “Hmm. You’re throwing me a curveball here Buddy. What, you’re like an architect?”

  “More of an artist I guess,” Pike said, thinking let me out of here, this was a bad idea.

  “There is that old church on Rodney Place,” the guy said. “At least I think it’s old. They facelifted it, but I’m guessing it goes back 50 years, maybe more.”

  50 years would put it roughly in the 70’s, the same age as the museum the guy suggested, but Pike was flashing on Eva in the ICU and said let’s give it a shot please, and it was a couple miles and the guy dropped him.

  The church, St. Ignacio’s, did stand out, considering the rest of the neighborhood was nondescript tract housing, and fortunately when Pike went inside it was clear it was old enough. It had that smell and the feel and the high stained glass windows that told you old. Confirming this was a small plaque in the entry foyer, Established 1941, and thanking a bunch of original people back then who helped make it happen.

  The un-fortunate part, there was a man sitting up front praying pretty heavy, and a woman along the side corridor lighting a candle . . . And you couldn’t use this place, you just couldn’t. Pike wasn’t particularly religious--his family rarely went to church, and people could judge that as they may--but the point here being you weren’t going to violate the spirit of faith by using this church as a vehicle to do your thing. Even if you found an attic or back room or something. You just weren’t.

  So . . . that didn’t work, and Pike stepped back outside into the mid-day sunshine. It was dang bright down here, even for December, and you had to squint your eyes.

  There was a homeless guy camped out on the sidewalk ar
ound the side of the church. Pike was thinking the church probably gave him some food and necessities, which would make sense. They weren’t going to house the guy, but they weren’t going to call the cops on him either, so the guy looked reasonably comfortable, considering.

  It occured to Pike that, as a bi-product of his tough circumstances, the guy might know another place. Pike said, “Is it possible you could recommend an old building? . . . That came out kind of funny.”

  “It came out fine, my friend,” the guy said. “Sure, the Athenian School one.” Gee, just like that, nice and simple, no asking him what for.

  “Which is where, please?” Pike said.

  “She’s on 3rd and Mason. 3rd Street, not Avenue.” The man sort of pointing to his left, his finger waving around.

  Pike looked it up. Built in the 1920’s. Jeez, looking like . . . 26, 27 blocks from here. Technically in Mesa.

  He said to the homeless guy, “Is it . . . can I get in there?”

  “That you can,” the guy said. “I’ve been there.That’s how I know.”

  Pike dug in his wallet and started handing the guy a $20, and the guy was happy and reached for it, and Pike realized he may need that back in Pocatello--or wherever--in fact he could for sure, so he pulled it back and gave the guy a $5, which might leave him short as well, but what could you do.

  Meanwhile this was starting to feel more than a little desperate, the clock-ticking on the Eva-business mounting, and you had to get there before you worried about not having enough cash . . . and much as he hated to--and not being all that convinced that the building would work--Pike took off running.

  This wouldn’t be the first time, and admittedly running was easier since he’d developed . . . whatever this extra strength stuff was.

  He stopped short of thinking of it as ‘powers’--since he hoped every day he’d wake up and be back to normal-- meaning before he put the tackle on that guy Anthony in the game.

  You did sweat a lot down here, and halfway there Pike was wondering--if this was December, how the heck people handled it in the summer, or even the spring. More important right now though was planning ahead, how you could made it happen quick if you were miraculously able to use the Anthenian School as needed.

  Two years ago, Dave and Eva’s sophomore year--you had to zero in on that. Very specifically. He checked his phone as he ran, set up Tunein.com with hit songs from back then. Meaning the fall of 2014.

  He recognized a bunch of titles, stuck with the ones where he liked the melodies. You had ‘All About That Bass’ by Meghan Trainor, ‘Stay With Me’--Sam Smith, ‘Blank Space’ by Taylor Swift, ‘Thinking Out Loud’--Ed Sheeran. A few decent other songs as well, added to the mix.

  It also seemed wise--and wise was a strange word choice, since none of this was wise, and none of it ever made sense . . . but it helped out before, probably, to associate news events of the day, as you attempted to spin your way there.

  So he pulled up USA Today from the date he was shooting for now, November 1st, staying with 2014, which was a Saturday . . . There was nothing he remotely recognized in the national news that day, zippo. So for sure, that wasn’t going to help.

  He tried the eastern Idaho papers, and again, nothing he recognized, but . . . there’d been an all-out search and rescue mission, a family getting separated on an overgrown trail in the foothills, which everyone said they shouldn’t have been fooling around with this close to winter--but anyhow they found them all in decent-enough condition after an all-night search, helicoptered them to the hospital as necessary, and everyone involved was in an celebratory mood.

  So yeah, why not zero in on this event, even if you weren’t aware of it before. The last thing, the most important this time, Pike was reminding himself, was focus on: Whatever happens, don’t end up on the side of the Interstate again.

  That was twice now he’d gone through that, fallen way short of Pocatello, barely across the Idaho border from Utah. He set up a photo on his phone, the Super 8 motel that he liked, smack in the middle of actual Pocatello.

  He came around the final corner, 3rd and Marone, Mason a block ahead, and you could see the school, it was big, and also boarded up. If you had to guess it was one of those community preservation deals, where they weren’t going to tear it down without a fight.

  Pike had noticed something else when he looked it up, it said the school was the outside set for a Netflix series, and fair enough, you could picture that, a depiction of old small-town USA--so long as they isolated the shots of the school and didn’t let anyone know it was actually Phoenix.

  The place wasn’t just boarded up, the doors were chained as well, both front and back, and Pike was getting a real lousy feeling. But you couldn’t dismiss the homeless guy, he seemed lucid enough, and it seemed unlikely he’d make up the fact that he’d been inside . . . So Pike took a second walk around the place, a little slower.

  He noticed the basement doors toward the back and told himself, uh-oh, this wouldn’t be great. In fact he kind of hoped this wouldn’t work. Meaning, these two flat steel-plate doors that came together at ground level . . . and if you ended up getting them open you dropped down steep, to God knows where.

  Pike tried the right hand one, and sure enough--with the rest of the building secured like Fort Knox--wouldn’t you know it swung right open. Though creaked would be more accurate.

  He could make out a wooden ladder leading up to the doors, and not much else. Pike looked around outside, for one to see if anyone was looking, and two, to see if miraculously there was a different older building anywhere in sight and he wouldn’t have to go through this . . . but no, the coast was clear, there was no other visible option--and you had to go through with this . . . so Pike took a deep breath and climbed down the ladder.

  You could hear stuff scurrying around down there, hopefully nothing flying around but maybe that too. The worst part was not being able to see well enough to establish your sit-down point. The light from the phone helped some, and unfortunately it required cutting through one room that was full of crates to another that was empty enough and should (you prayed) do the job.

  Pike was thinking this would be, what his 4th or 5th attempt at this stuff--and that was probably low, there were test trips and short ones mixed in--but either way if could you ever summon up an Express trip, this would be it.

  He got right down to business and closed his eyes and began his focus. The news of the day . . . the soundtrack . . . and of course the focus on that Super 8 motel, which meant the non-focus on Interstate 15, the superhighway from Salt Lake City to Poctello.

  A couple minutes went by, and Pike opened his eyes a slit, and there was a moment of panic--this wasn’t going to work, he’d lost his touch--and then something started shaking in the room, you couldn’t tell what, and then there was the familiar rolling . . . and spinning . . . and Pike steadied himself for what was next.

  Chapter 5

  What you noticed right away was how cold it was. Not just temperature-wise, but there was a nasty wind hitting you in the face as well.

  Then a horn honked. Not great, especially since whoever it was laid on the horn solid and it then got real loud and then quickly faded softer, like a distant freight train passing in the night.

  When the second horn blared, same intensity, same quick passing fade--Pike opened his eyes.

  And Holy Toledo, a semi truck was a quarter mile away, coming toward him, its horn now blaring full blast.

  It took Pike a second to absorb this. If I’m not dreaming, I’m on a freeway. Aren’t I?

  He was surprised how casually he was considering this, it was like watching himself in a movie, nothing actual to worry about.

  Except the air horn again from the semi, the guy bearing down on him in the fast line, not able to change lanes because the right lane was clogged with traffic--and Pike waited another second like an idiot, trying to get everything straight, and finally dived into the weeds on the center meridian, in time, but not by mu
ch.

  Unbelievable.

  He recognized where he was, it was the same stretch of Interstate 15, Salt Lake City to Pocatello, that Dave and Eva had picked him up on--except those two times he at least was on the shoulder.

  What he was putting together now--and this was something you might ask Mitch about, and maybe Frankie the librarian, if he ever saw them again . . . which was, by focusing so hard on not ending up here, did he therefore end up here worse?

  The thing now, slightly more important--was don’t get your rear end run over.

  You’d think hoofing it across two lanes to at least get on the shoulder wouldn’t be that hard, but he found out quickly that it was tough to gauge speed at this level, the speed limit probably 75, which meant plenty of guys bombing along at 85, 90 . . . and you see a vehicle looking lot a dot way south and by the time you took a tentative step into the first lane that same vehicle was about five times the size and gaining on you lightening quick.

  So he had a few false starts, and eventually it was clear enough to where you felt safe, and Pike scampered across and he was on the eastern shoulder of the interstate, not where he’d hoped to land, that was for sure . . . but at least in the right state, thank God, so you couldn’t go crazy obsessing about it.

  People weren’t as friendly today as when Dave and Eva picked him up pretty quickly both times, though maybe they were the exception and this was normal. Pike had his thumb out for 10 minutes with no luck, and he thought maybe it’s too hard to stop short along here even if someone wanted to pick him up, and he started walking toward what looked like an exit sign that he could make out up the road, that was probably a mile away.

  Halfway there a policeman stopped, a state trooper. As the officer got out of the car Pike thought ooh boy, how do I explain this--and worse, if the guy’s in a bad mood, could he actually bring me in and charge me with something?

  The ID part might be an issue as well--that little, minor deal--since he’d gotten his driver’s license last year . . . meaning in 2015--which happened to be a year after what year they were in right now.