Nicholas Licalsi
An Echo Through Time
A Novella
First published by Step Into The Road Publishing in 2018
Copyright © Nicholas Licalsi, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Nicholas Licalsi asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
From this point on take everything with a grain of salt. I made most of it up!
First edition
Editing by Will Tyler
Proofreading by James Osborne
Proofreading by Beth Dorward
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
To my mother who always has the time and patience to help me when I need it.
Contents
Acknowledgement
Brownie
Bricks
Uneven Bars
Knife
Gun
SUV
Lamp
Suffocation
Time
About the Author
Also by Nicholas Licalsi
Acknowledgement
I want to thank my patrons at Patreon. You help keep the blog going but you’re also a great source of encouragement and motivation. Thank You!
Katelyn Ponitz, Matt VanNatten, John Middleton, Bonnie Licalsi, Avish, BW, and Melinda Callender.
Thank you to everyone who read this book ahead of time and gave me feedback on it. I appreciate you and you all helped me make this book better.
1
Brownie
I looked at the clock hanging in my homeroom class. It was 11:43 and I hadn’t been called into the counselor’s office last period, so I knew what would happen next. The bell would ring at a quarter till 12, I would go to lunch, meet up with Gretchen, and then at some point during the meal, she would die. I picked at my teeth out of boredom while I waited. The bell rang as expected two minutes later.
“Okay, we will finish the rest of this after lunch,” Mr. Taylor said to the half of the pre-cal class that wasn’t already out the door.
I walked down the stairs and found Gretchen waiting faithfully at the bottom. She was leaned against a locker and talking to Jenna, one of her friends from gymnastics. The blue and white fluorescent lights shone on her like she was in a spotlight. To me she was a dazzling star. Her friend Jenna noticed me before she did, and took it as a cue to move on.
I hated it when they did that. It made me feel like I was taking Gretchen away from her friends. They would be living the rest of their lives without her, while I would simply see her in the next universe I visited. I assumed all of her friends, probably the whole team, hated me for monopolizing Gretchen’s limited time. I didn’t care. Gretchen was my addiction, and I kept traveling to different universes to get my fix.
“How’s it going?” I asked out of habit as we walked towards the cafeteria.
“Jenna was going on about practice and how I should have done things differently. She thinks since a college gave her a scholarship for next year, she can boss us around.”
I smiled and nodded in agreement. All these problems would seem like nothing in a few minutes.
We found a table at the edge of the cafeteria, and I gauged the distance from us to the nurse’s office. I did this knowing that it never made a difference. There were a few times I pushed for us to sit next to the nurse’s door, but it didn’t help.
Gretchen always brought her lunch on account of her peanut allergy. She unpacked the meal in front of me and I looked them over. She had a sandwich, a bottle of water, a flavor packet for the water, some Jell-O, and a prepackaged brownie. I wondered, which one would do her in this time?
History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes. That’s how these March 21 days feel to me. I know if she survives gym class, then she will end up dying at lunch. Occasionally, she dies before gymnastics, but those are rare and harder to see coming. She had a brain aneurysm a few times before school, and I didn’t even get to see her those days. She rarely survives past lunch on March 21. Her situation bewildered me, and it is half the reason I became infatuated with her.
Gretchen opened the sandwich, and I felt my blood pumping through my veins. My body and mind were on edge. “What kind of sandwich today?” I asked, working hard to make my voice sound calmer than it felt.
“Turkey with Muenster cheese and deli mustard on whole wheat bread. This one has seeds in it. It’s good. I just have to make sure the seeds don’t get stuck in my teeth,” she said with a giggle.
I picked at my plain-Jane bologna sandwich, but knew it wouldn’t do me much good. My body felt hungry, but I knew the sensation would pass after a few minutes. And the less I had in me when it happened, the better off I’d be.
“Are you okay, Todd?” she asked as she finished the last bite of the sandwich without choking or going into anaphylactic shock. “You seem distant.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just wondering what Otto Rohwedder would think if he saw how we ate lunch now.”
She gave me a confused look but smiled. “Who’s this?” she asked as she took a drink of her colored water and started unpacking her brownie.
I considered stopping her, saying something rude to get her not to eat it, but I knew it would be futile. Worst of all, it would just cause a headache for both of us. Instead I continued rambling on about the past.
“He invented sliced bread. Not the kind with seeds on it, but he got it started.”
She smiled, encouraging me to tell her more, but asked, “You want a piece of this?”
“No thanks. It’s yours.”
“I’m not going to be able to finish it all,” she said, not knowing how right she was.
I waved the brownie away and started to wonder where her purse was. I spotted it on the side of her chair opposite me.
“So how did you get to know the guy who invented sliced bread? He must be ancient.” She took a bite of the brownie, chewed, swallowed, then gave me a look of shock as if she had eaten a live octopus. That was when she started grasping at her throat.
I reached across the table to grab her purse. I dug through the small bag, looking for her EpiPen. She started wheezing. I was sure her throat was tight. She started sucking in air slowly as my fingers grasped the small plastic needle. A crowd began to circle around her like a school of fish.
I pointed my finger at a wide-eyed freshman. “You.” He was a scrappy, freckled nerd with red hair. “Go get the nurse, now!” This wasn’t the first time I had given him this command. He always retrieved the nurse faithfully, but it was never soon enough.
I removed the lid from the EpiPen, remembering the time Gretchen had taught me how to use it months ago, lifetimes ago, when we started dating. She died this way so often that the memory constantly came back to me. I suppressed it to focus on the task at hand. I looked for a spot on her thigh to inject her, making sure not to hit the seam of her jeans. I pressed the plastic cylinder hard against her skin. There was a click, and the mechanism started to flood her system with epinephrine. I held it in place, slowly counting to ten while the solution seeped into her bloodstream. I was hoping it would take effect, but I
knew deep down she had ingested too much allergen. This was just a charade to try to prolong her inevitable death.
I found myself staring at the needle in her leg. The leg was shaking quickly, as if it was the only part that could show how nervous it was. My mind debated looking up at her as the world swirled around me. Nine, ten, the EpiPen had done all it could do by now. I looked up at Gretchen, and she was still gasping for air, trying to say something to me. She mouthed words, but no sound came out. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Then the nurse busted through the crowd like a rock through glass. Students scattered, not knowing why they had been so absorbed in the horrific scene. The nurse was burly and gray-haired and everyone knew she meant business. She had two coaches in tow in case her demeanor wasn’t enough to get her what she needed. One coach gently carried Gretchen’s motionless body to the nurse’s office, while the other one cleared the way for us. The EpiPen dangled out of Gretchen’s leg.
I followed them across the cafeteria and into the nurse’s office. I took a familiar seat on the nurse’s stool as she surveyed her small office for another EpiPen and first aid equipment. All I saw was Gretchen’s feet at the end of the nurse’s table. It was a familiar scene. They were still and I knew it was time to take a deep breath.
My mind reached out to find somewhere else to be. I let out my breath and inhaled again. I could taste the sterility of the nurse’s office. Then my mind caught on somewhere else, somewhen else, another place and another time.
I willed the axis of time to bend and I moved my consciousness into the body of another Todd. I opened my eyes, and my teenage room surrounded me. It was the same as all the others, but in a parallel universe. My hunger from lunch was gone. Instead, I inherited this default Todd’s needs. I had a full stomach and felt sleepy because of it. The taste of meatloaf was in the back of my mouth. It was a familiar taste from my mother’s cooking the night of Sunday, March 20. Alone in my small twin bed, I wondered how Gretchen would die tomorrow.
2
Bricks
Gretchen has died in every universe I’ve visited her in. I’ve tried to save her hundreds of times, and I’ve watched her die thousands more. Like most of my memories, her different deaths fade in and out of my mind.
However, there is one that replays constantly. It is her first death, and I’ve always blamed myself for it.
Before I started visiting Gretchen and observing her many deaths, I used my power to explore history. All of time is history to someone, and I’ve seen more wars than anyone else. I’ve experienced the fall of countless civilizations of various degrees of advancement. It always ended the same for them, whether it was 1,000 years from my birth or 12,000. They became extinct one way or another. The chaos that ensued always left me morose.
Lifetimes ago I gave up trying to influence fate itself. That was until I returned to my younger self one afternoon on March 21.
I had returned to the body of a young Todd to condense my thoughts and find a final peace for myself. In the process, Gretchen had given me hope to continue living, and in return I had led her to an early grave.
This time, the very first time Gretchen died on March 21, I had given up on humanity as a whole. I sought the comfort of my original body and the life it still lived. I came back to it because I needed that tranquility.
The afternoon of Gretchen’s first death started by me breathing into and taking over the body of a default Todd in a random universe. My consciousness took the body over as the bell rang to let my English class out. I slowly packed up my bag, getting used to the habit of school and the young body I was in. Being young and free of responsibility was a change from the lives I had come from.
I walked out of my class and Gretchen was waiting for me. For a moment, I didn’t remember who she was. I looked at her with an empty gaze and she gave me a weak smile.
“Are you okay, Todd?” she asked with what sounded like genuine concern.
“No, I’m far from alright,” I answered honestly. It wasn’t in my nature to answer anyone in this way, but I was far from myself that afternoon.
“What’s wrong? You seemed fine at lunch. Did you get a bad grade or something?”
As if a bad grade mattered to me. I gave her a shallow smile and responded with, “I’m not the same person that you had lunch with.” I hoped the comment was vague and confusing enough that she would drop the subject and leave me alone.
Unfortunately, she didn’t. Instead she asked, “You’re not Todd Rungson anymore?” adding a good-humored smile.
It was a common problem I had. Taking over a body in the middle of the day caused people to be able to tell that I’m not the same. “I’m still Todd Rungson,” I answered dryly, “But I’m a pan-dimensional consciousness of him. One that has traveled through time and space to temporarily take over this body.” There. That should be confusing enough to get her to drop it. She was, like most humans, and a thorn in my side. She distracted me from what I was here to do, and I resented her for it.
She carried on with the enthusiasm that only a high school girl can have. “Soooo you’re like a time traveler?” she asked, twisting the thorn into my side.
“I’ve spent some time in the future and the past,” I answered. She must think I had a psychotic break in English class.
“Did you do anything important? I have history next period. Can I look you up?” she asked in a tone that indicated curiosity, not sarcasm.
“I befriended Newton, guided him to discover spectroscopy and change the course of human history. But that wasn’t in this universe,” I answered, hoping she would drop the subject so I could get on with the day.
“Want to cut class go to the park and tell me about it?” she asked as we walked down the hallway.
“Do you really want to know?” I was thrown off by the fact she hadn’t dismissed me as a loon yet.
“I’d rather hear history from someone who lived it, rather than Mr. Henderson. Come on, we can sneak out the door behind the gym.”
Before I could reject the idea, she took my hand and dragged me off our current path. Her hand was smooth and warm in mine. She had a delicate gold watch that settled at the edge of her wrist. As she pulled me towards her locker I realized I didn’t know what I was about to tell her. Early on in my life I quit trying to explain my power to normal people. It never ended well for either of us.
* * *
We stashed our backpacks in her locker and snuck out the back door without anyone bothering us. It was a short walk to the park. Thankfully Gretchen didn’t pry during it. However, she didn’t let go of my hand, either. Soon enough we found ourselves on the swings at the empty park with the warm spring sun shining on us.
“So, tell me more about the things you’ve done in the past,” she said after we had gotten comfortable. Her legs didn’t reach the ground, so she swung them lightly back and forth.
I shrugged, pushing my feet around in the playground’s mulch. “I don’t know, it wasn’t anything amazing.” There were a few memories I could pull, terrible wars I fought in, war crimes I helped commit for the greater good, and a few stories of helping others with technology or philosophy. But the thought that clouded my mind was the fact that everything I did fell short. Humankind ended regardless of what I did. This was something no mortal, including myself, was built to understand. Even as Armageddon was happening, people didn’t get it.
“How old are you?” she asked, sensing my puzzlement.
The question was odd. I had never calculated an age. I answered with a simple, “That’s not really how my life works.”
“Are you like a thousand years old? Or a million?” she asked.
I looked at her, saw a smile on her face, and I became outraged. This is a joke to her, I thought. “That’s not how this works!” I yelled. In a marginally calmer voice, I added, “I don’t know if I ever started counting. If I did, then I lost count lifetimes ago.”
Her smile faded, but she didn’t reduce herself to a frown o
r tears. “Sorry, I didn’t understand. How does it work?” she asked in a gentle tone. There was no anger or judgment in it. When I took a few seconds to respond, she touched the ground with a foot to stop her light swinging. She placed her hand on my knee and said, “I want to know, Todd.”
I looked down at her smooth young hand and I watched the seconds tick by on her watch. After a few moments, I began an awkward explanation. “Time and the universe bend at my will.” The words sounded stranger than I expected, and I didn’t have my normal confidence. “I can travel forward and backward in time and visit nearly any point in history. I switch between universes with a deep breath. When I open my eyes, I’m in another place, another time, and if I want another universe.” I looked up from my knee to gauge Gretchen’s reaction.
Her face was not painted in confusion like I expected. She was interested, maybe a little puzzled, but I saw no trace of doubt in her. It was as if she believed every word I was saying. “How do you know where you’re going? Or is it a surprise?” she asked with concerned fascination.
I crinkled my eyebrows to find words to explain the sensation. After a minute, I gave her an answer. “I sort of just hook into a slot with my mind. Like when you’re plugging your phone in but it’s dark, and you can’t see the cord or the port. Eventually, it just kind of settles in place and I know I’m there. Does that make sense?”
“Hmmm,” she said, thinking about it. “I guess it makes as much sense as anything else you’ve said. Do you always look like this?” She gestured at my teenage body. “What about your memories and senses?”
Her contrasting questioning threw me off. This was the most I had explained to anyone, and she wanted more. I’d been living this way for a few thousand lifetimes, and I understood the rule, but I was confident they wouldn’t make sense to others. “My memories stay with me, but there’s so many of them that some disappear. As for my senses, I inherit the sensations of whatever body I’m in. If my body is sleepy, then my mind will feel that. And if the body hasn’t eaten, then I’ll be hungry.”
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