I Can Barely Breathe (4 page)

The lift rose from the floor and carried him
up. He glanced at his watch, a quarter to seven. No matter what
time he left his loft, he always seemed to be fifteen minutes early
getting to work. The morning sun would be up in about thirty
minutes. He took a sip from his insulated cup. The elevator doors
opened to a long hall that smelled of cleaning solution and chalk.
Jon stepped out and approached nearby Room 302.

Upon entering, he found his boss scribbling
some equations on a blackboard, hard at work of course. No
different from any other day. The man’s graying brown hair was
slicked back, and it was poofy and a bit curly. His long white lab
coat covered most of his green collared shirt and black slacks,
with multiple pens and a small flashlight in its front pocket.
Sixty years of work showed in his calloused hands. Black-framed
Buddy Holly glasses covered his green eyes and large untrimmed
brows.

The floor in the laboratory was polished
blue and white tile. Long counters with black surfaces and big
sinks stretched all the way down one of the walls. Matching
cupboards with glass doors hung just above, filled with beakers and
tubes, solutions and cleaners. Several portable tables equipped
with wheels were scattered around the workshop. Their surfaces held
various pieces of equipment such as computers, tablets, old
speakers and magnets, rolls of copper wire, screwdrivers and
wrenches, clocks and even a degausser to neutralize magnetic
fields.

The man stopped his calculations, pulled a
tape recorder from his coat pocket and pressed Record, as he
signaled Jonathan to join him.

“This is Dr. Gary Whittier. It is October
18, 1962. Here is test number 317.”

The doctor, suddenly seeming a bit jittery,
approached a large silver metal egg and its four sections of
rotating coils, each with different symbols sketched across their
surface. He lined the symbols randomly, jotting down the selected
shapes, as if it were a code. Then he placed his hands on both
sides of the oval and applied a small amount of force, using his
body’s electrical current to jump-start the device.

The scent of burning air and a loud
electrical hum carried throughout the lab. The egg lit up blue, and
the selected symbols illuminated yellow. The doctor adjusted his
glasses and stepped away from the machine.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” he said, looking
around his lab.

Jonathan glanced around as well, watching
for a change. It was exactly the moment he had grown to love and
fear, when working with the doctor. A flash caught their attention.
On the ceiling, the blue-white bulbs that hung down in their large
metal casings disappeared entirely, and the room’s light
dimmed.

“It’s the lights!” Jonathan yelled.

“It’s taking them! Outstanding!” the doctor
rejoiced.

Lit and unlit candles appeared, sitting in
holders mounted halfway up the walls. The rolling worktables
vanished from sight and were replaced with dusty old cardboard
boxes.

“This used to be storage space, before I
moved in!” Gary announced.

Approximately fifteen old metal desks with
polished wooden finishes appeared on the far side of the lab, lined
up facing a blackboard that hadn’t been there before.

“And before that a classroom?” Jon
asked.

“Exactly!”

The two amazed observers watched a woman
walk into the lab and cross their paths to the desks at the far
end. Her high heels clicked on the floor, as her checkered
black-and-brown dress clung to her slim figure. The curls in her
brown hair bounced with her movements, as she held an advanced
calculus book close to her breasts. She took a seat at one of the
desks.

The doctor placed his hands back on the
device, and it powered down. The woman disappeared, and, soon
after, the candles followed, as the electrical hum of the silver
metallic egg died down. The large warehouse lamps reappeared on the
ceiling, bringing back the brightness of the room, while the
rolling tables reclaimed their original positions within the lab.
All was calm.

Dr. Whittier jotted down some notes on a
legal pad. He then turned to converse with Jon. “At least three
time periods just bled through—the woman from the forties, the
candles predating her by possibly fifty years and the more recent
boxes that I personally had to clear out of here seven years ago,
when I opened the lab.”

The scientist took out his tape recorder and
pressed Record. “I’m thinking the time device has been designed to
be tamperproof. Maybe that is why I can’t seem to harness a single
time period. I can’t stabilize it.”

“There may be a way to find out if we will
eventually make time travel possible,” Jon said, as he grabbed a
blank sheet of paper and a thick black marker.

“What are you thinking, Jon?”

Jon popped the cap from the writing utensil
and wrote
7:07 a.m., 10-18-1962, the lab
.

He held up the paper for the doctor to see,
ripped off a piece of duct tape from a nearby roll and stuck the
sheet to the man’s blackboard. “Right here, right now, we’re saying
that, if we ever get the device to work in our favor, this is the
time and place we will return to…
7:07 a.m., October 18, 1962,
this lab
. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Gary said, nodding, seeing the
boy’s point.

The two of them stood in silence. At 7:07
this morning, that very moment would tell them if they were wasting
the US Army’s time and money, and had been for the past seven
years.

The government had commissioned the famed
scientist just after the UFO had crashed in the woods near Sorrow’s
Sky. Once the military scientists had determined that the craft was
not only for intergalactic travel but for time travel as well, they
had handed over the project to the doctor, who had a special
background in physics and a whopping list of classified US projects
under his belt.

The boy was smart. Gary quietly scolded
himself for not coming up with the idea years ago. He checked his
watch: 7:06:45.

“It’s peculiar how time can seem to slow
down during certain moments, when really it is just our perception
that changes,” Gary said.

“You nervous?” Jon asked.

“Anxious.”

The creaking hinges of the lab door opening
made both men take notice, with racing hearts. A man’s hand
attached to a dark blue sleeve, buttoned at the wrist, reached in
and dropped a small package on the floor. The wooden door banged,
as it was reintroduced to the metal frame in the wall. Jon gave
Gary a confused look, then walked over and picked up the box.

“Open it up, son,” the doctor allowed.

Jon set it on the table next to the time
device and untied the string that held it together. The package
collapsed as the tie came apart in his hands. Inside was a single
folded piece of paper. It simply read
Think of the
craft
.

Julia sat in the passenger seat of Carver’s
Chevy, while the radio played a soft classical song, full of piano.
Her short black skirt clung to her legs while her blouse did its
damnedest to conceal her large breasts. Carver snuck a peek from
the driver’s seat to find the buttons that ran up her chest were
working extra hard to stay clasped. He imagined his fingers freeing
them of their duty and pulling the blouse from her body.

“So how long have you lived in Sorrow’s
Sky?” Carver asked, as he turned the steering wheel and maneuvered
the car onto a side street.

She smiled. “Not quite a full year. I just
finished my courses at the community college here in town.”

“What did you study?”

“Business management. I’d like to run a
restaurant in Denver.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, I’m planning on attending Colorado
State this winter. I’ve already been accepted,” she said, as her
eyes searched for his reaction.

“A great school for a great girl,” he
blurted out. Immediately he silently reprimanded himself for the
comment. She laughed, bless her heart.

“What about you? Have you lived here your
whole life?” she asked.

“Yes, I grew up here. I couldn’t imagine
living anywhere else.”

“It
is
beautiful here,” she said, her
eyes fixed on the Gothic Revival homes just outside her window.
Their steeply pitched roofs, grouped chimneys, pinnacles,
battlements and oriel windows made her yearn for a place of her
own.

Carver pulled his car into the community
event center parking lot and found an empty space among the
hundreds of cars already here. Most of the vehicles were from the
early to midfifties; the Cadillac Eldorado sitting next to Carver’s
vehicle was a shiny light blue and had its top down. Through the
Chevy’s windshield, Julia saw a Ferris wheel, lit up brightly and
rotating slowly, as the people in its carts sat peacefully. Julia
exited the vehicle; her heart fluttered with anticipation as she
walked to the front of the car, where her hand found Carver’s.
Together they strolled toward the excitement of the city’s annual
fair.

Upon entering the grounds, the smell of corn
dogs, waffles, hot dogs and popcorn made Julia smile, as she hugged
Carver’s entire arm. He could feel her breasts pressing up against
his biceps, and, although he loved every second of their touch, he
tried his best not to focus on it. People walked around with ice
cream cones and snow cones, while young children ran and played
with each other, and a rock band jammed live somewhere in the
chaotic mess of booths—their music sounded dark with a light melody
of piano cutting through it.

The happy couple passed by a mirror maze, a
haunted house and a man on a dunking board who laughed as a girl
tried unsuccessfully to trigger the switch with a softball. Carver
let go of Julia’s hand and slid his fingers across the small of her
back. It truly was a beautiful day.

“What the fuck?” a guy said from behind
them. “This your new boyfriend, Jules?”

“Jared, don’t start,” Julia said, as Carver
turned and locked gazes with the young man.

Jared stood with four other kids, all of
whom looked to be in their early twenties, roughly Julia’s age. The
wind tossed around the young man’s blond hair, as Carver focused on
the scar above his right cheek. Jared’s shoulders were broad, and
his eyes were beady and small. He wore a T-shirt and jeans and
didn’t seem a bit chilled by the cool breeze.

“He looks like a bitch to me.” Jared stepped
closer to his new rival and turned his stare to Julia. “And you
still look like a slut.”

“OK, that’s enough! What’s your problem,
kid?” Carver stepped closer to him. “Couldn’t hold on to her? Or
was your dick too small for her?” he taunted.

“Please, she loved this dick,” Jared said,
cupping it with his hand.

“We never even had sex!” Julia yelled, while
Carver exploded with laughter. She clung to him, knowing something
bad was about to happen.

Jared’s fist suddenly made contact with
Carver’s face, just under his left eye. The hit immediately knocked
him to the ground, skinning his elbows on the hard asphalt.

“God damn it, Jared!” Julia yelled. “You are
such a psycho!” She knelt down to Carver, as he rubbed his eye.

Two Sorrow’s Sky police officers patrolling
the fair stopped to help Carver to his feet.

“This ain’t over,” Jared said, as he
immediately walked away upon the uniforms arrival.

“Hold up! Stop!” Chevez—a rookie street cop
and friend of Carver’s—yelled to Jared.

Jared turned around, knowing he was caught.
He stepped a bit too close to the cop. “Fuck you, spic. Why don’t
you go back to Mexico? You and your partner!”

The officer spun him around and cuffed his
wrists behind his back. “Looks like you’re going to jail, kid,”
Chevez said.

“You need a medic?” the second cop,
Gonsalves—another friend and seasoned officer—asked Carver.

“No, I’m all right. What the fuck was that
guy’s problem? What a dick.”

“We broke up a few months ago,” Julia
explained. “You can see why. Are you OK?” She pressed her body
against Carver’s and kissed his cheek. He gripped her waist.

“I am now,” Carver said with a smile.

Gonsalves put his hand on Carver’s shoulder.
“Let’s get you checked out by a medic. Looks like he opened you up
a bit. You’re bleeding.”

***

After a quick ten minutes in the back of a
parked ambulance, and the use of some alcohol swabs and a butterfly
Band-Aid, Carver was ready to resume his evening with Julia, who
stayed by his side the entire time. He thanked Chevez and
Gonsalves, as Julia took his hand and led him back to the fair. His
eye throbbed, but the cool breeze seemed to dull the pain. Julia
brought Carver to the Ferris wheel. He watched her body, as she
climbed in one of the carts. He followed close behind, reclaiming
her hand in his, once he was seated. His eyes glanced down at her
smooth legs.

“You cold?” he asked.

“You’ll keep me warm. Right?”

“Absolutely.” He rubbed the silky skin of
her thigh, as she smiled. He had wanted to touch her legs from the
first moment he met her, and, now that his fingers felt how smooth
her skin was, his dick became fully erect. She, of course, had no
idea but surely was hopeful.

The ride pushed them forward, then came to a
quick stop, waiting for the next set of people to climb aboard the
rickety carts. As they made their way to the top, the small town
came into view.

The church, with its castlelike appearance
and stone structure, looked peaceful, as its backyard cemetery sat
alone and quiet—the stones jagged and teetering from age and
weather. The windows to the church were dark compared to the giant
stained-glass lunette just below its bell tower. The yard was
covered in green grass.

Giant hands ticked away on the old clock
tower that stretched into the sky. Its gargoyles—looking evil with
large spread wings—stared out over the town. The clock hands were
positioned at two o’clock, and its facing looked yellow given the
light.