The Temporal (6 page)

Ishikawa Prefecture, Japan

Sam stepped outside, leaving the lobby behind. He was enjoying a deep breath of the night air when he realized that he didn’t even know the name of the hospital. Turning to examine the lettering above the entrance, he attempted to read the sign. He recognized the two characters for “hospital” but little else. Shrugging, he turned back to the street.

It was a
fairly small building positioned alongside a narrow street. The light from the entrance barely reached halfway to the street but even a full moon couldn’t keep Sam from tripping on the curb. Sam caught his footing and readjusted the backpack.

“
‘Ask a taxi,’ the doc said. What taxi?” Sam asked himself in a voice barely above a whisper.

Despite the sarcasm, he had a hard time being angered by the doctor
’s sudden unfriendly turn; the doctor had, after all, saved his life. But the coldness was most unusual. He had been bubbly and overly friendly only that morning.

The
narrow street was empty save for an occasional non-taxi vehicle whizzing by. The hospital wasn’t quite in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn’t in a part of the town frequented by taxis either—at least not at this hour.

“
The doc could have at least called one for me.” Realizing he was talking to himself, Sam shot a few glances over his shoulder. Some stubble from the beginnings of a beard rubbed against the padded strap, reminding him he needed a shave and a long shower. He was, however, thankful no one else was out. He could vent his frustrations without embarrassment or explanation.

He began looking around for any sign of life. Perhaps Suteko was hiding in the bushes playfully waiting for him to find her? His right hand lightly touched the landscaped tops of bushes bordering the sidewalk.

Thoughts of Suteko swirled within his mind. Was this going anywhere? Sam was still sane enough to know all this business had too many unknowns, but his affection for her was not one of them. He felt the beginnings of a teenage crush coming on. Sanity alone may not be enough to prevent him from following her anywhere, doing anything for her. He felt more akin to a sick puppy than a recently divorced thirty-five year old earthquake survivor.

Taking a few steps forward, he saw some movement in the bushes ahead.
A creeping web of fear spidered over and within his chest, but he soon breathed easily. It had simply been the wind. The few still young sakura cherry trees planted on the roadside also swayed ever so slightly, confirming it had been the dull evening breeze.

Sam sighed, letting the tension flow out with his breath.
It felt good to let it all out, but then he remembered her. Should he have waited on the bench outside the hospital? Would Suteko come tonight? No, it was well past visiting hours—it was after midnight. Surely she wouldn’t come until the morning. Visiting hours probably wouldn’t start until eight, anyway.

Seeing a large intersection a few blocks away, Sam decided to go there to hunt for a taxi. He would find a taxi, get to a hotel,
and then return to the hospital by eight in the morning.

But what would he tell the taxi driver? Would he understand English? Sam began to piece together his beginner level Japanese. Hotel is
“
hoteru
.” “
Hoteru kudasai
.” No, no. That’s “Please give me a hotel.” “
Hoteru onegaishimasu
.” He mouthed the phrase a few times, practicing. “
Hoteru onegaishimasu
.” But which hotel? The closest hotel. “
Ichiban chikai hoteru onegaishimasu
.”

Satisfied he had constructed
an understandable sentence, Sam began walking toward the intersection. While walking, he planned what to do in the morning. He would wait outside the hospital for Suteko. If she didn’t show up by lunch time, he would leave the hotel name and room number with the receptionist.

His imagination continued feeding that teenage crush, imagining Suteko coming from behind, wrapping her arms around him. Turning to meet her face, he closed his dream-filled eyes, hoping she would touch his lips with hers...

A rustling sound to his left derailed his ungovernable thoughts just before he could find out if the girl of his dreams would kiss him.

Too loud for just the wind...

With a jolt, he turned and began walking with speed toward the intersection and away from that sound. Whatever animal was in the bush, he wasn’t keen on discovering it.

Somewhere midway between the hospital light and the dim streetlamp at the next intersection, he heard a voice to his right, deep within the bushes.

“Saaamuel.”

It was a dark whisper, the kind of voice kids might use in a cemetery to scare passersby.

“Who’s there?” Sam said as his nose picked up an unpleasant and somewhat familiar smell. It was the same stench he had experienced... with that dark man—the smell that resembled rotten flesh.
It hadn’t been a dream.
...the nightmare in the hospital.
It hadn’t been a nurse.

Sam
’s pace increased. His feet pounded the pavement, matching his heart rate. He desperately sought the light—however dim—from the upcoming intersection.

“
We neeeed you, Saaamuel. Shee needs you.”

This time
, the speaker’s vocal cords vibrated, letting out a louder sound. It seemed to be the same voice but now the sound came from behind. Sam turned around. The only thing he saw was the now distant hospital light.

“
You are the one shee wants—”

His feet were on automatic, ready to shift into a panicked run when Sam turned his head forward again and stopped.

“—the one wee have been waiting for.”

About ten feet ahead of him stood two hooded figures silhouetted by the light from the intersection. The light from behind made it impossible for Sam to see their faces or catch the slightest detail beyond their silhouette. Even
with the best lighting, Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to see their ever changing faces. The black figures stood motionless, hunched over with arms extended, and blocking his path. 

“
Saaamuel.”

The voice wasn
’t from the two figures, but again from his rear. 

Sam wanted to scream,
“Who are you?” but no sound escaped his mouth.

The bushes were to his right, the street to his left. There were no cars or other people around, nothing but the
voices behind and the hooded figures directly in front of him.

Sam felt his knees grow weak as he determined to make them bend toward the street.
It wasn’t just his knees. The rest of his legs and body resisted his will also.

The two figures lurch
ed forward toward him, gloved hands reaching. They didn’t move their legs but somehow they were suddenly closer. Sam heard some rustling behind him and on the other side of the bushes.

“
Saaamuel.”

Sam felt a sudden prick to the back of his neck. As his body went limp and fell to the ground, he was quickly surrounded by four dark creatures each with arms reaching out
above him. His eyes fluttered as what little light there was disappeared into a rich and soothing black.

Bill was growing impatient. Becky, his girlfriend, was supposed to meet him at a quarter to eight. It was now pushing eight-thirty. The tickets in his pocket had been expensive and were quickly becoming worthless. She had been late once or twice before, but never this late.

They were to meet at Alamo Square Park, on the corner of Steiner and Hayes. There was a big oak there that made a convenient meeting spot—about halfway between their respective homes. They had met under that same oak numerous times over the two years they had been dating. It was their tree.

Bill looked down the road that led to her apartment. Normally, he arrived after her. It was unusual to see the oak without Becky
smiling and sitting on one of the large exposed roots. He propped up one of his shoes against the tree trunk and focused his eyes. He saw many cars and pedestrians, but tracing the route up to the faraway intersection that she would cross, he saw no Becky.

He had already called and left two messages. A third would be an ignominious admission that he needed her. At eighteen, he was a man, free and in control. Bill went from feeling slightly hurt to angry to somewhat liberated. He was thinking of moving on
—had his eye on a blonde in his biology class. But he kept thumbing his phone as if it were Aladdin’s Lamp, wishing it would ring.

He walked around the park
to bide the time, careful to always keep the tree in sight. He looked at the faces of the people he saw, but none belonged to Becky. Returning to their tree, he once again propped a foot up and decided to wait a little longer before leaving.

Thirty
more minutes passed and realizing the concertgoers were probably preparing to go home themselves, he threw the worthless tickets to the ground and made the decision to leave. His feet began to walk, but his eyes kept returning to their tree. He kept the tree in sight until he could barely see it for the cars and lampposts. He paused a few moments more and sighed. Turning his head for the last time, he let the tree slip away beyond his sight.

Upon waking the next morning, Bill grabbed his phone from beside the pillow and checked his messages
—nothing. He did the normal get-ready-for-school duties distracted. Last night, he liked the idea of asking out someone else, but the realization that he would actually have to do it wasn’t nearly as appealing. He liked Becky and was willing to forgive just about anything. Still, to save face, he decided to go to school pretending to have had it with her. Surely, she would beg for forgiveness.

His mother had left the cereal out for him as usual. She worked the morning shift most days and was nearly always gone before Bill awoke. He didn
’t feel like cereal or anything actually. His stomach was a gnarled mess because of Becky. Now that he had time to think about it, she had been unusually cold to him recently. She didn’t return his call the other night and her usual ear-to-ear smile seemed less boundless yesterday morning.

The school was about a mile away with smooth pavement. He rode his skateboard on most days, but decided to walk today. He needed time to sort things out and the calm air would do him good.

Approaching the school grounds, he noticed the flag was at half-mast and a few of his classmates were standing at the entrance with sober and ashen faces. A few classmates farther down were actually embracing. As he sulked on, he could hear the faint sound of sobbing intensify.

One of his friends spotted Bill and immediately ran to him and embraced him.

“
Oh, man, I am so sorry.”

Bill could feel his pulse in his neck; his hands were clammy white.

“Becky... she’s dead.”

The killer was on the move.

The stars were out and a half-moon provided a little too much light for his comfort. He let out a stifled cough as a test. Was there someone lurking about looking for him? He could never be too careful; the park was dangerous after dark and he was alone—waiting for his companion, his true love. He heard nothing, and looking around, he saw nothing.

Pulling back a few den
se branches, he leapt into his Fortress of Solitude. There, he was invincible and all-seeing. His fortress was a thicket near two palm trees and a path that led to a tennis court; it was safe place away from the park lights. Yet, from his vantage point, he could distinctly see up and down the path. During the day, it wasn’t impressive, but at night everything changed. The shadows kept it totally hidden from sight.

He wasn
’t sure when his companion would arrive, but he was patient. Indeed, he had spent several nights here waiting since the First One.

His mind jumped back to the First One. It had been an accident—it really had been. If it hadn’t been for that fallen branch... she might still be alive.

“
The First One,” he said in a voice just loud enough to startle his ears.

He thought back.

It had been a rough day at work. No one appreciated his talents and a drive was his way of dealing with his anger from countless subtle rejections.
The worms!

It had been a moonless night with
only a touch of a breeze. He had the windows down despite the mugginess, perfect for letting go and experiencing the night with all the senses.

He was driving down a street in a neighborhood near Alamo Park. It was a path he had passed by often, but he had never taken the time to explore.

He had spotted her silhouette ahead and slowed down to examine her.
Is it her?
As he passed by, he got a good look at the details.
No, it isn’t her
—this one was younger and more petite. But still, she was very pretty. Thinking for a moment, he put on the brakes and backed up to speak to the “other” her. She smiled but said, “No, thank you.” Seeing the smile as a coy “yes,” he got out of the car and gave her another chance. This time she did not smile.

The neighborhood was mature but it still had a few vacant lots. Immediately to their side was one such lot. A few dogs were barking at various distances and directions. The closest overhead light was a few hundred yards away; his headlights shone in her face. She froze.

He kept making more overt advances trying to shake her coyness.

“
Stop! I said...”

He grabbed her arm. She wrested free.
“Freak!” she shouted and started to run away.

It was then he noticed that branch on the sidewalk.

By the time he caught up with her, his car was a few dozen feet behind them. It took some work, but he soon had her in the back and spun out of that neighborhood. As he left, he noticed not a soul out. A few lights were on, but he didn’t see anyone in the windows. Surely someone heard, he thought. But no one came looking. Perhaps they ignored the sounds thinking it was merely a lover’s spat—as it truly had been. But the dogs noticed and understood. Their angry barking continued to hound his memory.

He drove fifteen miles outside the city limits. He first thought that a long stretch of nothing would be a fitting place to hide the body, but he remembered how Native Americans honored their prey. They killed, but like him, they only killed out of necessity. They, so he had heard, said a prayer to the soul of the dead and gave it a proper ritual burial.

The thought triggered a memory of an ancient and off-road cemetery. Slamming on the brakes, he turned the car around. The tires shot out tiny rocks and a large cloud of dust.

She was light and young, probably only sixteen or seventeen. The body was easily carried over the small wooden fence. She waited for him under an old oak near the entrance area while he went from tombstone to tombstone looking for the oldest grave. There was an old streetlamp near the road that buzzed on and off with flying insects appearing and disappearing with the light.

He used the backlighting from his cell phone to read the dates. It took a good twenty minutes, but he was confident he had found the right one. He carried her over and gently rested the girl against the headstone, covering the inscription. Imagining himself as a shaman, he said a few words out of respect to this unknown girl.

On the way home, he anxiously listened to the radio
—nothing. He stayed up for the eleven o’clock news—the body was discovered, but the police had no suspect, no clues. A news reporter on the scene interviewed the grave keeper who had found the body. The keeper locked the gates at nine-thirty each night; the body surely must have given the man a serious fright. Grinning, he thought he had probably missed him by no more than half an hour.

He slept like a boy the night before summer camp
—fitfully excited. The morning news had further details, a name. Becky, it was. He was so excited he didn’t catch her last name. The police were still stumped despite finding clear tire tracks and a few size twelve boot prints. Just to be safe, he called in sick and drove two counties over to replace his tires and find a dumpster for his boots.

That was last Wednesday
, and the police still had not contacted him.

From the experience, h
e had learned a few things.

First, he would carry plastic sheets in his car. The car had been a mess to clean up. Second, he would be more selective. The First One
—an unknown girl—clearly was a mistake. Third, he would bring his own stick.

★

Back in the park, he heard footsteps but no talking. Someone alone? Could it be her—the One he was waiting for? Then, he heard a second pair of feet rushing in.

“
Michelle—wait up. I didn’t mean it...”

The killer was beside himself with glee
—it was his companion, his true love; the girl stopped just in front of his hiding place. He could smell her.

“
I told you I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“
Look, I know I was a jerk, but I was just playing. Give me another chance. I...”

“
I can’t deal with this now. I need to think, clear my head.”

“
Promise me you’ll call.”

She turned to the jerk. The killer could see her profile clearly through a tiny break in the foliage. Her hair was tucked behind the ear he could see. It was a gloriously sad face.

“If you leave now, I’ll consider it.”

“
I’m leaving—just... call me, okay?”

Exit Romeo.
Amazingly, she stood motionless until the jerk was totally out of sight. Then she fell, squatting to the ground and sobbing like a little girl having lost her favorite doll.

She needs help,
he thought,
my help.

There she was, literally within his reach. He paused. The jerk might come back to console her... But he didn
’t.

In a sudden explosion, he grabbed her. One hand covered her mouth and the other
grabbed her chest, binding her arms, closing the circle. In a single moment, she was in his fortress. She was his. He was every bit as surprised as she was that he had done it. But it was destiny. How else could she know to stand just there? How else could he console her but by actualizing their inevitable oneness?

He was behind her shushing, consoling
—trying to provide what the jerk couldn’t. But she was screaming—muffled screams of course, but screaming nonetheless.

“
Shut up! Don’t you see that I love you?”

More muffled screams. He didn
’t want to hurt her, but it was destiny. His left hand moved from her chest to her neck. Her hands were free now, but he was stronger. It was destiny; he had no choice in the matter.