Somewhere in Time (29 page)

He walked behind me. "Since I do not choose to sit here watching for the next few hours," he said, "I will have to give you sleep."

"Don't," I murmured. I couldn't help it. I'd never seen a blackjack in my life. It was an ugly, frightening weapon.

"No help for it, boy," he told me. "Just don't move now. If you sit still, I can knock you in the right place. If you struggle, I could accidentally crack your skull."

I closed my eyes and waited. Elise, I thought. For an instant, I had the impression of seeing her face, those haunted eyes staring at me. Then a burst of pain exploded in my head and I dropped into blackness.

� � �

The return of consciousness was a gradual collection of pains: a throbbing ache in the back of my head, soreness in my stomach muscles, stiffness in my arms and legs, a numbing chill throughout my body. Finally, my eyes opened and I stared into the darkness, trying to remember where I was. I could feel the tightness of the ropes around my legs as well as my arms and trunk; so I was still in 1896, had to be. What time was it, though?

I tried to sit up. To no avail; I was trussed so rigidly that a deep breath hurt my chest. I kept looking ahead, blinking my eyes. Gradually, the darkness receded and I saw some faint illumination through cracks in the wall. It was definitely 1896 then; I was bound in the shed. I tried to move my legs, wincing at how tautly they were bound together, their circulation almost gone.

"Come on," I said. Ordering myself to think, to do. If I could just get on my feet, I could hop to the door and knock it open, maybe find somebody on the beach to help. I strained to lift my back from the floor, realizing, then, how cold it was beneath me. My suit must be a mess, I thought. The meaningless notion irritated me as I struggled to sit up.

I fell back with a thud, crying out weakly at the flare of pain in the back of my head. Had Al cracked my skull despite my sitting motionless? It felt like it. I had to close my eyes for a long time before the pain would subside. I became aware of the smell of the shed's interior, a smell composed of rotting wood and damp, cold dirt. The smell of the grave, I thought. Pain expanded in my head again. Relax. I closed my eyes. Was the train gone yet? I wondered. Elise might delay its departure a while on the chance that I'd return; that was possible. I had to get free.

I opened my eyes and looked around, trying to get my bearings. I thought I saw the outline of the door and, bracing myself against the renewed swell of pain, started moving toward it. I visualized myself twisting and wriggling across the floor; the vision was ridiculous but not amusing. Fish out of the water, I thought. I was that in every respect in those moments.

I had to stop, my breathing so strained by then that every inhalation hurt my chest, causing waves of blackness to pulse through my head. Relax, relax, I thought; it was more a plea than an order now. I tried to control my breathing, tried to tell myself it was a long play, four acts long; that it would take a long time to strike the set and load the cars; that, even beyond that point, Elise could keep them from leaving. It was possible. I had to believe it. There was no-

I caught my breath and lay unmoving as, for several moments-was it five, six, more?-I felt the same sensation I'd had lying on the bed in Room 527, just before I'd traveled back in time: a sensation of drifting toward limbo, of being in no place at all but in transition. God, no, I thought; please, no. Like a child cowering in the darkness, praying for some formless dread to pass, I lay there, teetering on an edge between times.

Then it was over, I was in the shed again, squarely fixed in 1896. There is no way to describe it any better. It is something felt more in the flesh than in the mind; a visceral awareness of location. I waited to make sure it held, then started twisting toward the door again. This time, I kept on going even when the inability of my chest to expand made it feel as though my breath were backing up, swelling the tissues of my throat and gagging me.

By the time I reached the door, my chest was filled with shooting pains. A heart attack, the thought came; that had to be what it felt like. I tried to smile away the notion; grimaced, I'm sure. That's all I need, I was thinking. I slumped my head against the door, waiting for the pain to fade. Gradually, it did, and the pulsing in my head diminished. Now, I thought. I hitched up my shoulders as high as possible and fell against the door. It didn't budge.

"Oh, no," I groaned. Had they locked it? I stared at the door in disbelief. I could be in the shed for days. I shuddered convulsively. Dear God, I could die of thirst. The idea filled me with dread. This can't be happening. It was a nightmare, I'd wake up soon. Even as I thought it, I knew, perfectly well, that I was wide-awake.

It took some while for me to collect my senses; some while for the dread to ease enough for me to think. Slowly, I worked myself around, teeth gritted, turning my body until the bottoms of my boots were pressed against the door. I rested several moments, then abruptly bent my legs as much as possible and kicked the door.

A groan of relief escaped me as, on the third kick, the door flew open with a cracking sound. I lay there, gasping, smiling in spite of the pain inside my head. There was a moon; its pale light covered me. I looked down at my body. Rope around my chest and arms, around my legs from thigh to ankle. He'd really done a job on me.

Slowly then, I inched my way outside, moving like a giant worm, it struck me. As I did, I saw that the door had been held shut by a wooden latch which I had shattered with my kick. If it had been a lock, I thought. I thrust aside the idea. Don't waste time on useless fears, I told myself. There were enough real ones to cope with. I looked at myself again. The only place I could begin was near my right hand. Straining, I managed to reach a knot; it was like a small stone. Picking at it feebly-which was all I could do- accomplished nothing. I wondered why my right hand ached so until I remembered hitting Jack with it.

I picked at the knot with endless ineffectiveness. Suddenly, I stopped, a combination of enraged frustration and anguish filling me. "Help!" I shouted. My voice sounded strained and hoarse. "Help!" I listened for an answering cry. There was nothing but the distant boom of surf. I shouted again; shouted till my throat hurt. It was useless. There was no one anywhere around. I had to get loose on my own. I twisted around and tried to see the hotel but it was not in view. Elise, don't leave, I thought. Wait for me, please wait for me.

For a few moments, I thought I was slipping again, shifting toward that tenuous film between times. I lay immobile until it passed; more quickly this time. Why was it happening? I wondered. Because of the blow on my head, the distance I was from the hotel? Or because of the overall trauma of what had happened to me?

I was afraid to think about it too much lest I bring it on again. I looked at myself carefully, trying to discover a way in which I could release the bonds. Seeing one, I began to strain against the loops around my legs, trying to separate my knees and stretch the rope. By pressing the edges of my boots together, I got better leverage and was able to push my knees more powerfully against the rope. A smile pulled back my lips as I became aware of more room; I could separate my legs now.

Trying to ignore the pulsing in my head, the jagged pains in my chest, I kept working at the rope until I was able to raise the tip of my right boot and hook it over the bottom strand. I pushed down with my foot; the boot tip slipped off. Doggedly, I tried again; this time I felt a shifting of the ropes around my legs.

I don't know how long it took but, gradually, I worked the bindings down until they were a clump around my ankles. I tried to pull my right boot through the opening but couldn't. Straining (my efforts must have loosened up the chest loops too, because it hurt less now to breathe), I was able to push the left boot down against the right until it slipped off. I pulled my right foot from the ropes, my left boot. My legs were free!

The sense of victory shrank quickly as I realized that the second half of my labors would be much more difficult. Trying not to let myself become discouraged, I concentrated on standing. My legs were so numb, it took me more than a minute; the first five times I fell. Then, as the blood began to course again and needles, pins, and pain started, I was able to rise, albeit slowly waveringly.

I looked around. Now what? Run back to the hotel, half-bound, half-shod? The idea was grotesque. I had to free myself completely. My searching gaze was caught by the base of the shed, stones held together by crumbling mortar. In one place, the wall was set back inches from the base and the mortar edge looked very rough. Moving to it hastily, I fell to my knees and, leaning forward, started to rub the ropes against the edge.

After several minutes, the ropes began to fray and I drew in as deep a breath as possible, hoping to weaken them further. It didn't help. I rubbed against the mortar edge some more, faster now.

I had to stop and lean my head against the shed; it swam with shadows and I knew that I was close to fainting. Not now, I thought; not when I was close to being free. I drew in shaking breaths. Don't leave, Elise, I begged her with my mind. Keep the train from leaving. I'll be there soon now. Very soon.

The swimming in my head decreased and I started rubbing the rope against the mortar edge again. A minute or so later, the loops had frayed enough for me to stretch them, work them down across my hips, step free of them. I filled my chest with air. My face and neck were dripping perspiration. Taking out my handkerchief, I patted it against my skin, then drawing in another lung-filled breath, started toward the hotel.

I thought, at first, that I was headed in the wrong direction, seeing no lights ahead. I stopped and turned. No lights in that direction either. A chill ran through me. How was I going to tell which way to go? Wait, I thought. The doorway to the shed faced the ocean approximately; I had to be going in the right direction. Turning again, I started to trot along the beach.

I saw that I was starting up a gradual slope; I must have been so sunk in despair I hadn't noticed it earlier. I tried to maintain my pace but my legs felt like columns of lead. I had to stop and rest, pressing my left palm to the back of my head to ease the throbbing. The lump I found there startled me; it felt as though a baseball had been cut in half and sewn beneath the skin. Even prodding it as lightly as I could made me hiss with pain.

Moments later, I forced myself to start moving again. When I reached the top of the slope, I saw the hotel far off; it had to be at least a mile away, more likely two. With a groan at the distance I had to go, I started down the opposite side of the slope, skidding slightly as I descended. Reaching the bottom, I struggled through the sand to the surf line where the earth was packed and hard, then began to jog, trying not to jar my heels down as I moved. I tried to blank my mind to all pain and apprehension by staring at the hotel dome. She isn't gone. It was the one thought I allowed myself.

By the time I reached the boardwalk, I was breathing so laboredly and my legs felt so dense, I had to stop despite my resolution. Now, flickering through me at odd moments, the feeling of disorientation came and went almost with the rhythm of my breath. I tried to analyze it in the hope that I could fight off its constant inroads. It had to be the shock of what I'd gone through that was causing it to happen. When I was with Elise again, it would pass, her love my anchor for this time.

Before my mind could counter with the suggestion that she might not be at the hotel, I broke into a clumsy trot along the boardwalk, teeth clenched, gaze fixed on the hotel. She's still there, I thought. She -wouldn't go. The railway car would be there. She would have ordered it to stay until-

I stopped as a wave of dizziness swept over me. It isn't true, I thought. My eyes could see, distinctly, that it was, however. The railroad siding was empty.

"No." I shook my head. All right, the car was gone. Elise had stayed behind, logical or not. I'd read it, hadn't I? She'd sent her company ahead of her to Denver. But she was still here.

I was running again; I didn't remember starting. The hotel lights were nominal, its windows mostly dark; it could have been three or four in the morning. It doesn't matter, I told myself. She's in her room, awake. She's waiting for me. I would not allow any other possibility; could not allow it. Deep inside me was a fear so vast that, if ever I permitted it to billow, it could consume me. She's there, I thought. I concentrated on that, erecting a barrier against the fear. She's there. She's there.

As I ran across the roadway, I glanced down and saw how dirty and disheveled I was. If I ran across the lobby in this state, I might be stopped, and I had to reach her now. Turning left, I ran down the declining walk to the Paseo del Mar and curved around the corner of the hotel. Now its huge, white face drifted by on my right; I heard my boot-falls ringing on the walk. Breath burned and stabbed. Don't stop, a voice said in my mind. She's there, keep going. Almost there now. Run. I gasped for air, slowing down. Reaching the south steps, I began to climb them, hanging on to the railing. It seemed a century since we had climbed these steps together; a million years since I had met her on the beach. She's there, the voice insisted. Run. She's there.

The veranda door. Pulling it open with groaning effort, I lunged inside and headed for the side corridor. She's there, waiting in her room. Just as I'd read it. My boots thumped on the floorboards. Everything was starting to blur. "November 1896," I muttered anxiously. "It's November 1896." I turned onto the Open Court and ran along the walk. She's there, I told myself. The blurring was caused by tears in my eyes, I realized as one of them rolled down my cheek. "She's there," I said. "There." I turned into the public sitting room, almost staggered to her door, and fell against it, knocking. "Elise!"

I waited, trying to listen, heartbeat pounding in my ears. I knocked again. "Elise?" No sound inside. I swallowed hard, pressed my right ear to the door. She had to be inside. She was asleep then. She'd be up in a moment, running to the door to open it. I knocked again, again. She'd open it, be in my arms; my Elise. She wouldn't leave. Not after that letter. She's running to the door now. Now. Now. Now.