Jump City: Apprentice Page 28

  “You seem to imply that you don’t agree with this person.”

  “He likes to ponder such things… at least more than I care to. And he may be correct about much, but yes, we do not see eye-to-eye.”

  “You don’t mean Mortimer?”

  “Of course not. Mortimer is completely deterministic as far as I can tell.” Fynn stopped in his tracks. He turned to me and smiled. “I have determined that you will not be arrested by Chief Durbin in this particular present.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And by all means, we should hurry along.”

  “To where?”

  “We are traveling back to nineteen thirty-three.”

  “Why?”

  “Quite simply, your name was mentioned in the hospital records. It must mean you have been there, or you must go there, as the case may be.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not at all.”

  “But how can I jump back to before I was born? I thought that wasn’t possible.”

  “It may be. I’ve only said, I never attempted to do so.”

  “But, but…”

  “Are you sure about when you were born?” Fynn asked flatly.

  I wasn’t really. My mind went back to the day when Joey and I hunted through the abandoned asylum, Saint Albans, and came across an old record of myself as a patient.

  “And this doctor…” Fynn went on, “What was his name— Doctor Valenti? This is probably a disguise for Mortimer. There’s little doubt in my mind, he is there and we will take this fight to him.”

  “So, you want to use me as bait?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Alright, I guess I’m good with that.”

  Fynn gave me a big smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, my dearest friend.”

  Atop the high dunes, I looked down at North Hollow beach that spread below. A chilly wind rose up from the ocean. Along the shore I saw odd shadows flitting around and thought they might be seagulls rising and falling with the breeze. I stopped to stare and my eyes lingered on the scene too long.

  “What are you looking at, Patrick?”

  “Ghosts,” I said, finally admitting to what I had been seeing for a while.

  “Ah, you see them too.”

  I turned to Fynn, astonished.

  “Yes, I’ve seen these shapes. They seem to turn up when you least expect them.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Who or what? I am not sure.”

  “You’ve never talked to them?”

  “No.”

  “How long have they been there?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How many years have you noticed them?”

  “Through the ages. They are always there.”

  “What are they?”

  “I am not at all sure.” Fynn started down the dunes. “I’d rather speak of what’s to come though.”

  “What’s to come?” I asked as we were carried to the beach by our momentum.

  “Nineteen thirty-three. I dare say you’ll find this era quite different from your own.”

  “I’m sure I will… the middle of the Great Depression.”

  “Ah, but you do not take my meaning exactly. At present, this America of yours is a fractured place. There is very little social cohesion, no sense of unity, and so many competing interests. The situation is quite different where we are about to go.”

  “In what way?”

  “In many obvious ways, but some are less so. Your America had a common purpose, a kind of solidarity, an identity forged by adversity, I should guess.”

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  “There is little I can say to prepare you for what you’re about to experience,” Fynn said with all earnestness.

  “I don’t know… I lost count, but I think this might be my eleventh jump already.”

  “Nonetheless, I will offer some advice this time: Say as little as possible and be sure that whatever you say is a lie.”

  “A lie?”

  “Of course, you must always lie…” He glanced at me. “It makes everyone’s life easier. Trust me on this. Traveling to the past necessitates that you become a good liar.”

  “Me? A liar? Never.”

  “It’s for the best, for your own survival, and it’s a kindness to everyone you meet.”

  “I doubt that, Fynn.”

  “Well, I will merely say I told you so…”

  “Is that a preemptive warning?”

  “Exactly this.”

  “I remember you told me once that you’d never lie to me.”

  “I did say that,” he replied.

  “Is it true?”

  “More or less… perhaps now you will understand why this was such an important promise that I made.”

  “I guess I’ll find out.”

  We reached the shore after several minutes of hard walking and turned north. A chilly wind was against us. Fynn pointed to a lifeguard chair about a hundred yards away. He quickened his pace. I could hear sirens coming closer now.

  “I will say that the further we jump in time, the less we move in space, so that should bode well for you.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “This is true, we are going to different places, you and I.”

  “No. I mean, I don’t understand.”

  “Oh. Well, we are to jump back some eighty years, so for you at least, expect to land very nearby.”

  “Not for you?”

  “I will return to a former concurrency, the residue of my past.”

  “Is this going to be a hard jump?”

  “For you, yes. This is expected. For me, no. Most likely, I’ll be landing in Ottawa… or perhaps Hong Kong.”

  “Hong Kong?”

  “I maybe a few days in catching up with you,” he warned.

  “Only a few days?”

  “It’s difficult to remember exactly… I may have already moved to Hong Kong, though I believe I am still living in Canada… Of course, I’ll remember the moment I return.”

  We walked only a few steps when Fynn handed me a pair of socks.

  “What’s this?”

  “You can thank me later… just put them in your pocket.” He smiled. “Oh, and this…” He handed me a folding knife. “I was saving it for a going-away gift, but I might as well give it to you now. You never know when a good knife will come in handy.”

  “Thanks… I have to say this seems familiar to me.”

  “Good. However, if you have any other possessions, it’s best you leave them here.”

  “Why?”

  “Surely that’s obvious, Patrick. Quickly, empty your pockets.”

  “What?”

  “Anachronisms.”

  I searched myself and produced my wallet. Fynn snatched it and flung it as far as he could into the surf. “I think it’s best we run now.” He started off at a quick jog.

  “Wait, they’ll probably find that eventually,” I said.

  “It can’t be helped. Better it’s found here than elsewhere.”

  I tried to think what that might mean.

  “You should bring nothing with you. Anything else?’ he asked, but it was too late. A police four by four cut through the dunes to our south, turned abruptly, and was now making tracks with lights and sirens.

  “Quickly now, Patrick. They are almost upon us.”

  We sprinted to the nearest lifeguard chair. It was overturned for the coming mean season and I helped Fynn push it upright. He took out his antique astrolabe and turned the dial a few times. He faced north then east and pointed. “We are in luck,” he said and carefully placed a large clam shell on the sand before urging me to climb. “See that shell?” he asked joining me on the chair.

  I nodded.

  “It is your target, jump to precisely that spot if you’re able. That is your bull’s eye.”

  “Who jumps first?”

  “It hardly matters. Ready…? Face this way a bit… We j
ump on three.”

  “Should we hold hands?”

  “It’s not necessary… One, two…”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  The sirens stopped abruptly and I could hear more than one police officer running towards us, boots thudding against the sand not more than thirty yards away. I thought I heard someone shouting my name… it could have been Durbin. Fynn thrust a coin into my palm. I recognized it immediately: a gold drachma. “Take this,” he said and leapt off the chair. The inspector disappeared into thin air. I followed and did the same. Oblivion, the void, excruciating pain, and hot, salty dust.

  PART IV

  THURSDAY

  * * *

  chapter twenty

  distant quarry

  For a split second I was suspended in midair, then fell and hit hard. That much I remember. I looked around for Fynn but he was nowhere. My mouth tasted like dirt. This was a hard jump but the pain felt different… searing yes, yet it didn’t end as quickly as it should; that is, it lingered, though less intense and localized to my leg, my arm and my skull, my feet too. This was hurt city. My eyes barely focused, still, I looked down at my clothes. They were covered in sand, but the same as when I left. Hard jump, now what? And where, and when? My eyes fixed upon what was above me: a bright blue sky with some lazy white clouds. It was very hot, summer hot.

  Closer to the ground I could see a swirling cloud of dust. Gradually it seemed to settle and I saw ladders and rocks everywhere. Men working at something. I could hear them yelling, and the sound of digging: picks and shovels, and sledge hammers, or jack-hammers and drills. Then a giant machine appeared in the center of it all, sputtering and lurching to and fro.

  My head started rocking back and forth. I tried to focus but found it difficult. My eyes opened and closed all on their own, though I wouldn’t exactly call it blinking. I could see the contraption in front of me: a giant steam shovel with a cavernous mouth gorging itself on piles of rock and earth. It looked like an old garden shed mounted on tank treads; a tall skinny chimney belched black smoke every time it scooped and dumped, or swiveled and sidled along a stretch of flat sandy ground.

  There was a large man standing on the crane, riding the boom by holding onto one of the steel suspension wires. I just sat there for a time watching, but I could also feel myself slipping away. I heard a siren, more like a whistle maybe. It was loud and piercing and jarred me awake again. I looked up and saw the man slide down the crane and hit the ground in a single graceful motion. I think he was singing at the top of his lungs… or maybe laughing. The siren finally stopped.

  Someone rushed towards me but I was nearly helpless to move. I put my hand to the back of my head and felt a sticky ooze. I kept it there for an eternity, my hand. Finally, I held it out for the man to see. His expression changed from anger to distress. My palm was covered in crimson and I could feel blood trickling down my neck. More men came and stood over me forming a semi-circle. I couldn’t see anything but dusty trousers held up by suspenders, and heavy work boots. My head was swimming, the scene was fading fast, but I noticed something in my other hand: I was still clutching the drachma Fynn had handed me moments ago. One thought remained in my mind and repeated: 1933…

  Next thing I knew I was in bed. It was soft and comfortable. I was propped up by several pillows. Not my own bed— though these days I couldn’t even be sure where that was. My head still hurt, but less. My arm and my leg, and mostly my ankle also throbbed with pain. I was afraid to move and could do little more than stare upwards. At first all I saw was white, then gradually a pattern began to emerge. I fixed my gaze on a decorative ceiling, stamped with some kind of floral design and arranged with geometric symmetry, but still white. I was inside at least. It was difficult to see exactly where, and an odd smell of disinfectant lingered.

  Eventually, I had enough sense to know that how I felt had nothing to do with time travel and everything to do with splitting my head open. It seemed to be wrapped in bandages. My arm was in a sling and one of my legs was elevated by some sort of steel cable, resting on a fairly big cushion. I did my best to look around. Clearly, it was a hospital room and it seemed to be brand new as well, scrupulously clean, sparsely furnished, though it definitely lacked any medical equipment as far as I could tell. There was no IV in my arm, no monitor clamped to my finger. No machines beeping or clicking. It was very quiet, too quiet, not another person to be seen. It was an empty ward, an abandoned room. I could see a dozen other beds all in a row against the wall, all neatly made. They had metal frames and clip boards attached. Each had a small bedside table, a chair, and above, a duplicate deco-style light fixture. Some fabric patient screens were neatly stacked and folded up against a far wall.

  Across the empty room I saw a long stretch of separate windows, big windows, with a dozen panes in each. Sheer curtains had been drawn back, but from my position in bed, I couldn’t see anything except a square of darkening sky. What else they faced was unknown for now. As I lay, I could hear the glass panes rattle, shaking against the wind. I tried hard to piece together the last sequence of events but was left with only some swirling impressions: a bone-rattling ride in the back of a pickup truck, the vague recollection of being lifted by a giant, cradled in his arms at least. There were people hovering around me as well, a reassuring face and a familiar tune sung by a very sweet voice. Others may have been there… I remember a man in a sparkling white lab coat.

  My mind started to drift again, clouded by vague disquiet. I looked back to the ceiling. Amidst the white, I saw a small dark spot. I squinted hard and began to think it was a spider right above me. I became convinced that it was gradually lowering itself, descending on its invisible thread. The best I could do was close my mouth just in case. I kept my eyes open for as long as I could, but for how long I’m not sure. I slipped out of consciousness again. Probably just dozed off. In the interim I had the distinct impression that there was a young woman with me. She wandered near from time to time, stroked my hand and patted my shoulder; sometimes she held my wrist and spoke a few soothing words, though I could never recall what she said in that musical voice. I could almost remember her smoothing the blankets on my bed and tucking in the sheets.

  When I caught a glimpse of her, my first thought was that she had just walked off the set of some classic movie. She wore an old fashioned uniform, powder blue with a white apron, and a steeply angled hat. She was pretty enough, but I have to say her hairdo made her look weird. It was all smashed down on the top of her head with that odd white cap seemingly stapled to her scalp. The rest of her hair flowed out and down to her shoulders in a series of regular waves, all curling with remarkable precision. I’d never seen anything quite like it. I saw her smile too, warm and comforting. She was very pretty and I longed to hear her voice again.

  ***

  It didn’t take me long to realize I was in a different time. I remembered Fynn said 1933, and it just had to be accepted. It was the only thing that fit with my current reality. I held onto my scattered memories and generally agreed that I had fallen back to an earlier era, traveled that is. My thinking was muddled though; I wasn’t quite sure how this worked. Shouldn’t I be dead? How could have I jumped back to a place before I was born? It seemed like an unnecessary question to dwell on. I am alive, I’m pretty sure.

  Where exactly was not clear at the moment. I started to conjure up any history that came to mind: The Dust Bowl, fireside chats, Prohibition, Al Capone, Bonnie and Clyde, the Hindenburg… They all came to mind but separating out the exact year 1933 from the rest of the decade was a lot harder than I realized. I remembered the Empire State Building was built— was that 1933 or later, or earlier? Part of me cautioned myself: the less I said, the better off I’d be. Ha— lying, just like Fynn warned me.

  I opened my eyes again. The spider seemed much closer. I heard the woman walking to my bedside. I could see her apron now and felt her hand in mine. I tried to speak: �
��Spider,” I whispered.

  “What?” she asked softly.

  “Spider,” I repeated a little louder. My eyes darted upwards.

  She looked at me with a smile, then her eyes followed mine. “Oh,” she said and laughed.

  It was even better than her voice, her laugh. I fell in love that very moment. I watched her gingerly climb onto the bed, deftly keeping right to the edge. On her knees, she reached up with a newspaper that seemed to come out of nowhere and swatted at the dangling invader. She was back at my bedside in a single motion.

  “There, you’re safe now,” she said sweetly and stroked my un-bandaged cheek. “Glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  “Not sure…” I struggled to sit upright but found it impossible. I glanced over at the newspaper, it looked rather thin. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The Chronicle.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “When you’re feeling better.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m your nurse.”

  “Hello, nurse.”

  “Elsie is my name, you can call me that.”

  “Elsie, what, like the cow?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How… how... did you get such a pretty name?” I quickly amended my statement.

  “From my grandmother.”

  “I’m Patrick.”

  “Well, nice to meet you, Patrick. Is that your first name or your last name?”

  “First name.”

  “Do you know your last name?” she asked.

  “Jardel.”

  “That’s excellent.”

  “Why is that excellent?”

  “That you remember.”

  “What are you writing there?”

  “Hmm?” she replied, distracted. “Oh, I’m crossing out John Doe and filling in Patrick Jardel. Is that two L’s or one at the end?”

  “Just one.” I lay quietly, content just to stare at her. “Where am I exactly?”

  “The hospital.” She smiled again. “You really did hit your head pretty badly, didn’t you?”

  “What hospital?”

  “Saint Albans, of course.”