Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series (13 page)

She hopscotched over the remaining cables and arrived at Denver’s motionless body, lying face first on the ground in a twisted pile. The Chief caught up with her, and together they tenderly rolled Denver over onto his back and straightened his angled limbs. Ellen removed his cracked helmet with extreme care, revealing a severely blistered and pale face. A lifeless face.

The Chief knelt, and placed two fingers on the side of Denver’s neck, checking for something, for anything. Ellen leaned in, listening and feeling for even a hint of breathing.

She didn’t.

Ellen looked up through her tears and the Chief locked eyes with her. “I’m sorry Ellen. He didn’t make it.”

“Denver Collins is dead.”

Saturday, January 25, 1947

Today is my wife’s birthday. It’s so bizarre to think that she is turning 41 today, but in reality, Maryanne hasn’t even been born yet.

I miss her terribly. And Kurtis, too. If I think of the time of the year here as matching back home, then he is in his second semester as a junior in high school. It’s the weekend, and it’s January—he’s probably hitting the slopes at Breckenridge right now.

You have to think about time this way or you will go insane. It is a strange paradox—on the one hand you want to imagine your family is okay, that they can move on with good and happy lives, but then, there is that part of you that cries out, that demands for the whole world to stop turning and wait.

Is time still “moving forward” back home?

There is a now HERE, but is there a now THERE?

Have I been missing for 10 months back home in Colorado Springs, or is that world trapped in the moment that I jettisoned?

Either seems plausible, and both seem impossible. But our experience seriously calls into question the whole notion of impossible.

I need about 6 hours alone with Albert Einstein to sort things out. He has a Theory of Special Relativity, but I need a Law of Personal Relativity. Mathematical theories may satisfy the mind, but they woefully miss the mark when it comes to satisfying the heart.

Happy birthday, Maryanne, my love. Tell Kurtis to hit a couple of black diamonds for me. I’ll be home soon. Actually I’m hoping to be back before you even miss me.

All of us have one.

They may be different places, with different people, doing different things, but we all have at least one.

We all have a perfect day.

And today was Denver Collins’ perfect day.

Denver spun about, trying his best to process the unbelievable view. The weather, incredible, the feeling, enjoyable, the location, just…wonderful. He touched his arms and legs and looked at his clothing—
no hazmat suit
. He felt his face—
no helmet
. Even his right knee was pain-free.

A warm and sensual breeze greeted him and he closed his eyes. He breathed to capacity, and dissected the individual aromas wafting his way: freshly mown grass, a touch of pine, perhaps just a hint of honeysuckle.

The sweet sound of children at play in the distance caused him to open his eyes and survey the scene again. Beautiful rows of trees in nearly every direction, and rolling expanses of emerald green grass filled his view.

The perfect day.

A familiar rumble from above made him look up, as a large passenger jet bolted across the sky, the sun glinting across its metal hull, a white contrail marking its path. Three more could be seen in the distance.

Jets? Jets.

He looked to his left and noticed that the tall trees were surpassed by even taller buildings miles away.

I’m in New York again, Central Park.
But how? But when?

He fished the phone out of his pocket and turned it on.

SUNDAY JUNE 15, 2014

12:30 P.M.

He even had four bars of signal but no Wi-Fi. Questions flooded his elated mind.
I’m home? I’m back? But how?

He double-checked his phone, 2014.

Amazing
.

He bent over and ran his fingers through the soft grass.
This is real.
He pulled up a small handful and let the blades drain through his fingers as they floated down.

He rose back up and rubbed his forehead.

Was it all a dream? But it seemed so real. The lightning, the dark motel, the policeman, the tranquilizer, the jail, the town, the bus, the factory, the research lab, the crisis. Was it just a dream, just a nightmare?

But, what about those people? The Chief, and the cute waitress, and Shep, and Doc, and Ellen. And all the others.

But what happened?

Think Collins, think. What is the last thing you remember?

He flashed back to the impending crisis in the reactor room. The heat, the steam, the red lever, the pain, the urgency of it all. He recalled the failed attempts to move the bar, but then, success! Mission accomplished.

There’s more Collins. C’mon. Remember!

He closed his eyes and pieced it back together. The painful victory lap back to the door. Ellen smiling.
Wait. Something happened.
What happened?
He concentrated harder.

My foot. The boot. I slipped…it slipped. I hit a wire. Ellen said NO SPARKS! Oh, no! A spark! A flash of light.

Then…here.

Here.

Wait, what was it that Ellen said they were doing? She said predictable lightning. They were trying to create LIGHTNING. The Chief said it could send a person through those cracks in the sky. What is a spark?

A spark is…lightning. And now, I’m home.

I’m home!

Powerful joy overtook him. He stood frozen in the moment, lost in wonder, until a welcomed voice added to his euphoria.

“Daddy! Push me, Daddy!”

That sweet plea could have only come from one sweet source.
JASMINE
!

He spun about and beheld his precious daughter on a swing, not quite twenty feet away. His ability to speak was almost beyond him. “Jasmine?” He stared at her—white summer dress, her tiny shoes, her beautiful face.

“Push me,
Daddy
! Up high this time!”

Well, of course I will! Of course I will push you, sweetheart!

He wasted no time running towards her when another familiar voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“I'll have lunch ready in just a minute, you two!”

As if in slow motion, he turned about to see his estranged wife, his gorgeous wife, smiling at him, busy with bread and deli meats on a colorful blanket nearby. He stared at her in shock, and she glanced up at him. “Everything all right, baby?” she asked.

Baby? Everything all right? Everything hasn’t been all right for years!

She finished composing a masterpiece of a sandwich, and looked up. “Really…is something wrong?”

Something was wrong, but, then again, it couldn’t have been more right. He was transfixed.

Jennifer cocked her head and lowered her voice. “You’re staring at me like I’m laying here naked or something.” She blushed a bit.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said. “It...uh...couldn't be better. Really.”

Jennifer waved him off and pointed over at Jasmine. “Well, it isn't going to be
better
if you don't give that six-year-old some daddy-sized pushes on the swing.” She reached down for a mustard bottle.

Denver blinked and nodded. He started walking towards Jasmine as she struggled to pump her legs in a vain attempt to gain altitude. He stepped front of her, with tears in his eyes and studied her lovable little face.

She greeted him with a wrinkled frown. “But Daddy, you can't push me from
this side
!”

He grabbed the chains, slowing her motion, and dropped down. He pushed back the hair out of her face. “I love you so much.”

Jasmine was happy but clearly frustrated. “Well, I love you, too, Daddy, but swing me! Swing me high!”

There was no sense in delaying the simple request of someone so cute and yet so demanding. He rose and maneuvered his way around behind her. He wiped his eyes and then grabbed the sides of her seat and gave her gentle pushes. But, like her father, she was a thrill-seeker. “Faster, Daddy!
Higher
!”

Laughter poured out as he dutifully obeyed his pint-sized boss. In under thirty seconds, Jasmine was flying high as requested and he took a few steps back to enjoy the sight on this perfect day.

Nothing could make this day any better,
he thought.

He, of course, was wrong.

Almost on cue, soft hands with passionate red nails slid across his muscular shoulders. Goosebumps rippled across his arms as he glanced down at his wife’s delicate and manicured hands.

Jen encouraged him to turn around, as she gazed into his still-misty eyes. “Thank you for taking the day off to spend some time with us.” He beamed as they both turned to enjoy the swinging spectacle for a few moments.

“It means so much to her,” she said. A soft hand grabbed his chin and turned his face towards her own. “It means a lot...to
me
.” Her face lit up with a smile he hadn’t seen in years.

Nothing could make this day any better.

He, of course, was wrong once again.

She rose to her tiptoes with a slow kiss that turned passionate at just the right moment. He was almost awkward at first. Denver couldn’t remember the last time they kissed like that.

The perfect moment on that perfect day was rudely interrupted by a perfectly needy six-year-old. “
Gross
Dad!
Gross
! Push me again!”

He didn’t want to stop. But, as he thought about it, he was in a perfect win-win situation. He could keep kissing, or keep swinging. He couldn’t lose on this one if he had wanted to. Two different women controlled him, and he couldn’t have been happier.

Jennifer smiled and rolled her eyes, as she released Denver. She pointed at his chest playfully. “That's the only other woman I ever want to share you with! Got it?” She winked and strolled back toward the blanket, as he took a few steps, giving Jasmine another couple of daddy-sized pushes.

He reached up and tickled her sides as she passed by, and uncontrollable giggles soon followed. He gave her another extra-long push and ran under her, taking the fun to a whole new level.

But it was right then that another distinct voice from his past created the first crack in this otherwise most perfect day.

“I beg your eternal pardon, sir, but would you happen to have the time?”

Doc
?

Denver turned toward what sounded like his imaginary, dream friend from an imaginary nuclear-powered research lab, in an imaginary 1956.

A smartly dressed elderly gentleman with a miniscule terrier on a leash stared up into Denver’s incredulous face.

“Doc?
Doc?
”

The impossible visitor appeared puzzled. “Did you say clock? Yes, my good man, clock, I was asking for the time.”

Denver shook his head. “No...no, not clock.
Doc
. Doc Stonecroft. Doctor Stonecroft? Don't you remember me?”

The distinguished gentleman strained his eyes, and adjusted his glasses. “Can't say that we've met. But then again, at my age, the mental processes are not what they once were. But, uh, back to the temporal question?”

Denver was frozen. The man leaned in. “Temporal. The
time
. Do you have the time?”

The time. Temporal. Doc? What is happening?
Denver snapped out of his inner deliberations. He took out his phone. “Oh, yeah…the time, sure, it’s, it’s 12:41.”

The polite senior bowed his head in gratitude. But something on the other side of the gentleman caught Denver’s attention. A young boy walking by had been abducted by an older man, who had clutched the child’s arm. The boy began screaming as he was dragged to a car nearby.

Denver panicked.
What is going on?

“Thank you, my good man,” said the Doc Stonecroft look-alike, temporarily distracting Denver.

“Oh, yeah—uh, don’t mention it.” Denver glanced back up and they were gone—no child, no abductor, no car. He spun around wildly.
What?
The crack in his otherwise perfect day, had just widened to a considerable degree.

“Where—where did they go?” he demanded.

“I’m not entirely sure whom you are referring to, sir, but I can assure you that we all need to go for shelter at once.”

Denver looked down at him. “Shelter?”

“Oh yes. My canine companion loves the park, but Napoleon cannot abide a severe storm.”

“Excuse me, did you say a storm?” Denver scanned the sky:
nothing but blue.

The man smiled and chuckled, “And I thought that I was the one with degenerative hearing loss. Yes, sir, a
storm
. An
electrical
storm.” The elderly man motioned toward Jasmine on the swing set. “You'd best remove your child from that infernal metal entertainment contraption. It’s a veritable lightning rod. Good day, sir.”

Denver nodded in return, and watched Jasmine, who was having the time of her life, as the old man and his mutt hastened away. Without warning, the colors and shadows around Denver muted somewhat, and the temperature dropped at least ten degrees. He studied the sky once again.

What the—?

Brilliant blue faded into a dull, gray overcast, and violent clouds of varying shades jockeyed for positions above. His meteorological observation ceased when a wayward Frisbee slammed into his shoulder.

An apologetic voice called out through the increasing breeze, “Sorry! We are so sorry!”

He bent down to retrieve the toy when waitress Katie Long ran up to him, adorable and breathless. He rose and handed it back to her, and she smiled with her trademarked red lips. “Thanks! Must've been the wind.” She turned around and tossed it back towards her friend.

Denver followed her every move, and called out, “Katie?”

Another familiar female voice behind him made him jump. “I'm not Katie, handsome, but you can pick me up like a Frisbee any day of the week.”

He turned on his heels as Ellen Finegan seductively stalked toward him, her vibrant red hair dancing as if it were alive in the steady breeze. Before he knew what was happening, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long and deep kiss. He resisted and pushed back, breaking free for a moment, but she refused to be refused. She hauled him back in as the strong winds wrapped her wild hair about his face.

Denver shoved her away, but she seemed to find that as an irresistible challenge. A lover’s game. “Oh, I love a fighter!” She pawed at him again, but he managed to get all but one arm out of the danger zone.

A few rumbles of thunder in the distance revealed the storm’s impending fury and the wind kicked it up another notch.

What was that?

Denver discerned another strange sound above the roar—it was giggling, but not from Jasmine.

Jennifer
?