Surfacing (Spark Saga) (12 page)

             
“Why would he do that?”

             
“I don’t know—a science project maybe?”

             
Dani chuckles.  “He is definitely into that sort of thing.  You want me to ask him?”

             
“Not really, but I am curious.”

             
“What difference does it make anyway?  It’s just a silly game.  He was probably just bored one day and looking for something to do.”

             
“You’re right.  It’s no big deal.  I really should be getting back home.  Thanks for talking.”

             
“No problem.”  She flashes a grin at me. 

             
As she’s getting out of the car, I blurt out.  “I’m going to Homecoming.”

             
She leans back in the car.  “Details!  Who’s the lucky guy?”

             
“Alex and Cricket.  We’re all going as friends.”

             
“Oh.”  She curls her lip again.  “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

             
“Well, it does to me.  Anyway, I went dress shopping.”

             
“Oooh!  Fun!  Did you get something cool?”

             
“Haven’t picked it up yet, but, yes.”

             
“Ok, we’ll talk later,” she says, getting out.  “Text me a pic of your dress.”

             
I sit there for a few minutes, annoyed at her reaction to Cricket.  Was she jealous or just being snobby?  Hard to tell.  I watch as Dani jogs across the lot to meet Zach, who had apparently just gotten out of practice.  They are laughing, their faces close, a brief kiss.  For the first time, I am jealous of Dani.  Here I am, getting ready to spend $150 on a dress to go out with friends, not even a real date.  Who am I kidding?  I see Dani and Zach heading my way, and so I quickly start up the car and drive away, looking at them in my rearview mirror, all smiles, the perfect couple.  Beautiful People.  Suddenly, my jealousy turns to determination.  I will buy that dress and rock it.  I will go to the dance with Alex and Cricket, and we will have the time of our lives.  I will prove to everyone that not only am I normal, but I’m actually pretty darn amazing.

Zach

             
The email sitting in my inbox the next morning:

September 4, 2012

TO:                            Zach Webb

FROM:
              E.G.W.

RE:
                            Reservations

Dear Zach,

I certainly understand your reservations, and I admire them. You are a bright boy…for these reasons, you are just the right person to have knowledge of this research, because I know you will think before acting and guard the truth always.  Does this mean, my dear boy, that you are ready to hear more?

Fondly,

E.G.W.

I reply:

September 4, 2012

TO:
                            E.G.W.

FROM:
              Zach Webb

RE:
                            Reservations

Dear sir,

I am definitely curious what it is that you have to tell me… however, until I am completely certain as to your identity, I remain in my present state of cautious reserve. Sometimes the greatest stories are the ones that puzzle us the most—because we end up learning the most from the unbelievable.  The burden of proof is yours.  Convince me, as the Time Traveler attempted to sway his skeptical companions, and then, I will be beyond ready—to hear, and to understand, and, perhaps, to act.

He must be online at this very minute, because he responds immediately.  Good, now we can get this discussion done and move forward, one way or the other.

September 4, 2012

TO:
                            Zach Webb

FROM:
              E.G.W.

RE:
                            Reservations

Let me begin by saying that I am very sorry you were troubled by my failure to ask about your mother.  Rest assured, she is, and will forever be, on my mind, and I hope that she is doing well.  I have no doubt that you, being the smart and level-headed young man that you are, have been a great comfort to her.

I should also add that I have few regrets in my life, but one of them was leaving both of you behind.  This haunts me every day.

It will be of some value for you to know why I began my research, what motivated me, and why.  And all that will come in due time.  Let me start in the part of my personal history that includes you, since this is the portion of my story that will impact you the most.  (Incidentally, you must know that your concern about the accessibility of my memory chip, though a valid one, is unwarranted, primarily because the chips can only be accessed or copied after their implantation…which means, of course, that any memories I had prior to that belong exclusively to me).

Your mother and I were once close friends with Walter and Gloria Turner.  You may not be aware of this, although you are most likely aware that Mr. Turner contacted me upon the hospitalization of his daughter, Tess, four years ago.  But be assured that the research—and indeed, the Project—began long before that.

I will recount a particular incident that inspired me to pursue the possibility of time travel.  It will seem implausible and vaguely unrelated, to you, but it was a formative moment for me.  I had been reading
my favorite book (which you probably already guessed is
The Time Machine).
  We were at the Turners’ home, playing cards, the four of us.  You and Tess were playing in the living room, just toddlers, when it started to storm furiously.  We continued to play, until the power suddenly went out.  We lit some candles and went to check on you kids, but to our surprise and worry, you were not in the room.  We looked around the house frantically calling for both of you, but there was no answer. 

Within seconds, I flew out the front door, foolishly considering that you had gone outside and gotten lost, or worse.  What I saw has never left me.

Tess was standing in the middle of the yard, looking up at the sky.  As the streaks of lightning crackled across the darkness, I went into panic mode.  Tess would surely be struck by lightning, and yet, she stood absolutely still, seemingly mesmerized by the beauty from above.  In a split second, I started out after her, but you beat me to it.  You, just a toddler yourself, recognized the danger and went instinctively to her rescue.  Just as one severe jag of electricity threatened to come down upon the yard, you grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back to the porch, to safety.  At that moment, the bolt of lightning came down and hit the transformer across the street.  Sparks exploded.  There was an orb of pure, blinding light.  Then, all was quiet, the three of us standing there on the porch.

I don’t know if it was the fearful memory of that night, or the belief that somehow our presence there had led to the nearly disastrous event, but after that, we spent less and less time with the Turners.  We were all simply distraught over the incident.  It was as if we were given a glimpse into the fragility of life—how quickly and indifferently it can be taken from us, or changed irreparably.

But there is one positive thing that came as a result of that incident.  I started to become utterly fascinated with storms—lightning in particular.  Eventually, as you know, I delved deeply into even the hidden aspects of lightning—the so-called sprites, or super-lightning, that cannot be detected by the human eye.  I began to consider what the true
purpose
of lightning might be… how it might be useful to us in ways we never imagined.  What else would explain our extreme interest in lightning as a natural phenomenon?  For centuries, scientists have studied, analyzed, and documented its patterns and nuances.

For the next ten years, I studied it.  You have most likely read some of those research conclusions in my Project Zero log.  I began to consider questions, such as…does the presence of essentially hidden electrical disturbances in our atmosphere have a meaning?  Could they be indicative of some greater purpose?  Some way to understand our concept of time?  If something is hidden, to human eyes, where and when does it actually occur?  Does the quality of being visible have a direct correlation to reality?  It’s sort of like that old Zen Koan about the tree falling in the forest.  If there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? 

But let me explain how this all came to be—how Tess Turner became the subject of my research.

When Tess was injured in the accident
over four years ago, her father came to me.  We had kept contact over the years—not nearly as close as we once were—and he wanted to see if I could help.  You see, he’d been haunted by the incident that happened so many years before, when Tess was four years old.  He wanted to know if it was possible that his daughter somehow
attracted
lightning.

When I considered the unlikely story that was the Time Traveler’s—the fact that he was able to harness a machine to traverse time—I began to entertain the notion that perhaps, if time travel really were plausible, it would be an anomaly.  It would be, perhaps, the ability—or presence, or coincidental placement—of one particular person, subject to the catalyst that exists in those hidden, ornate patterns that occur in electrical storms.  An anomaly.  Something you don’t see every day.  Indeed,
someone
with peculiar, other worldly ability—almost like a superhero’s power.  Could it be that Tess Turner was that unique individual?  The one who could uncover the mystery of time travel to the world?

I don’t expect you to fully understand the connections and revelations that occurred inside my own brain over the course of this research.  There were many factors involved, from
the concept of electrical circuits, to the peculiar behavior of human memory.  Suffice it to say that the human brain is the most complex network of communication in the universe, and it relies upon electrical impulses.  To put it in simpler terms, if you considered every phone line, Internet connection, and communication amongst the four billion people on this planet, it would not equal the complexity of the human brain.  The human brain, if I may be so bold, is itself an anomaly.  It is the most unchartered system in the universe.  And it harnesses electricity to do its work.  It contains about 100 billion cells, mostly neurons—twenty-five times the number of people on earth—that are constantly being switched on and off like light switches.  Did you know that the amount of energy generated by each wire attached to each neuron is equivalent to a 60 watt light bulb?  Imagine the amount of power the human brain contains!  It is staggering.

So, now you know the foundation of my research—the building blocks that inspired me, when Tess Turner’s father came to me and asked me to study his daughter’s brain in a comatose state, to say, fervently, “YES!”

It may occur to you that I was motivated solely by my research.  Indeed, it was a major part—I would be lying if I said otherwise.  On the other hand, I was faced with a friend who had a devastating problem, one that could alter the outcome of the entire family’s lives.  I sincerely wanted to help, in whatever way I could.

What I discovered, throughout those years—up until my heart condition derailed the project—was nothing short of mind blowing.  It changed everything. 

It provided me the inspiration, the catalyst, and the tools I needed to fully comprehend the relationship between the human brain and the passage of time.  It allowed me to grasp time itself, and explore its prolific and daunting realities.  In short, Tess Turner was the superhero I needed.  In her, I discovered the link that could propel humankind through time. 

You will undoubtedly have many reservations and questions in response to all this.  Let me end by saying that I am fully aware of
them all, and I am prepared to explain them all thoroughly.  After all, this research, in a way, now belongs to you and I trust that you will treasure and guard it for the power that it holds.

That is all for now, as I am mentally exhausted from this message.  I do have more to tell you, namely, as to my present state.  But you must have time to consider and analyze this new information and how it might affect your present and future life.

As always, I am indebted to you, and I love you. 

Affectionately,

E.G.W.

              I take a deep breath, then another, and sit back in my chair.  All of this certainly seems both plausible and convincing.  His mention of memories that exist prior to the chip is of particular interest—I make a mental note to ask him to recall a specific memory (one that I, too, will remember, as I obviously do not remember the night at the Turners’ house). 

             
I guess he’s right that I need time to process and consider all of this.  I could, of course, verify the incident with my mother, but I’d prefer not to dredge up any bad memories, especially right now with his birthday on her mind and planting the mums and all.  Plus, how would I explain my newly acquired memory of that night?  I suppose I could claim Tess remembered something and asked me, but no…now is not the time.  I must focus on further verifying my father’s identity, and then, to the next big step, which is, I assume, to find out where he is and what he is up to.  And, finally I want to know where I fit into all of this.  I have a feeling I may be in deeper than I ever dreamed.