The Clay Lion (21 page)

“Hi Brooke,” she said.

“Hi Mrs. Frederickson.
  Where are the Coopers?”

“Honey, you know about the cave in last winter,”
she admonished me.

“Oh.  Oh yeah,” I stammered. 

I quickly returned to the car without saying
goodbye and continued toward the library. Once there, I cornered the first
librarian I encountered.

“Do you have newspapers?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied.  “Over there with the
periodicals.”

“Oh.  No.  I meant from a while ago,” I
explained.

“How long ago are we talking?”

“Less than a year,” I replied.

“We have them on digital file in the computer
lab.  Is that all?”

“Thank you.  No.  I also need
everything the library has on file about time travel. 
Specifically
non-governmental publications.
 
Probably from the
invention period.”

The librarian balked at my unusual request. 
“Those documents are from decades ago.  They would be filed in the
basement.  It could take hours to dig through all that we have down
there.”

“It’s okay,” I responded.  “I can wait.”

She sighed heavily and headed in the direction of
the basement stairway.  I made my way into the computer lab and within a
few minutes found a news story regarding the cave in at the Cooper’s. 
Apparently, during a particularly large snow storm at the end of February, the
entire left side of the roof caved in from the weight of the snow.  The
roof debris fell through the attic floor and landed on Mr. and Mrs. Cooper on
the second floor as they slept.  Mr. Cooper escaped with only minor
injuries. Mrs. Cooper suffered extensive internal injuries, which, after days
of hospitalization, took her life.  In addition to the snow, rotten
roofing material was listed as the cause of the cave in.

The tiny cubby in which I was seated closed in
around me and the room spun.  The enormity of what I had just read sunk in
fully.  Because of the events that transpired during my second trip, I
knew that the ball on the roof played no part in Branson’s death. 
However, it had effectively saved Mrs. Cooper’s life.  The list of lives I
had destroyed was quickly mounting.  After several minutes of forced
meditation and labored breathing, I calmed myself to the point where I was able
to stand.  My resolve to return to the past reached a pinnacle. 

Leaving the computer lab with the article still
on the screen, I explored the library in search of the employee assisting me
with the time travel research.  I found her in the basement, among stacks
of discarded books.  She pointed me in the direction of the volumes she
had selected.  The pile was extensive and I got right to work.  After
four hours of solid research, I discovered a handful of privately funded
corporations who continued to hold patents for time travel technology.  I
wondered if the government had the control over traveling that everyone assumed
they had.

I spent every day for the next three weeks at the
library, learning about time travel and the corporations that invented the
technology.  Just after lunch on the Friday before Memorial Day, I
discovered the piece of information I had been looking for.  Jasper
Industries had never sold their rights to their traveling technology and I
believed that I had found proof that they were still operating voyages outside
of governmental authority.  A quick call to their corporate headquarters
under the guise of a federal regulator confirmed my suspicions.  Because
the government restricted their ability to advertise, their services were
widely unknown to the public.  However, for a substantial fee, I could
purchase a trip.  With that information, in the gloom of the library
basement, I devised a plan to repair the broken pieces of my life. 

I decided that if I was going to make one final
trip, I had to review all of the information that Dr.
Rudlough
and I compiled before my first trip.  I hoped that we had missed
something,
anything, that
would give me a clue about
the exposure that infected Branson.  I retraced Branson’s activities from
not only the original timeline but also the two subsequent timelines as
well.  As Branson’s illness occurred in all three timelines, and he
exhibited symptoms on the exact same date all three times, I reasoned that
whatever caused the illness was the same in all three timelines.  It took
me days to construct linear charts that compared each of Branson’s experiences
across all three timelines.  I considered that the exposure had occurred
before any of my trips, but after rereading Dr.
Rudlough’s
notes on timing, was convinced that I was within the timeframe.

I slept sporadically and ate only as I
worked.  One particularly frustrating afternoon, I felt as if I had been
going in circles for hours.  I laid my head down on the work table and
closed my eyes, telling myself I would rest only for a minute.  When I
awoke hours later, night was upon me and so was a terrific burst of
inspiration.  I rifled through my paperwork, searching for my research on
autoimmune responses.  After several minutes, I discovered a journal
article documenting several cases of patients who were exposed to natural
substances that set off autoimmune responses.  The list of responses
included pulmonary fibrosis.  They also included skin rashes.

I leapt from my chair, squealing with delight
like a child who was given ice cream for dinner.  During my first trip, I
determined that the
methotrexate sodium
cream was not the cause of the pulmonary
fibrosis.  I assumed then, incorrectly, that the rash was no longer part
of the equation.  However, it was now clear that although the rash
treatment was not the culprit, whatever caused the rash, caused the disease as
well. Branson had encountered a natural substance that precipitated the
rash.  I laid the linear charts together to see what event occurred in
both timelines immediately prior to the appearance of the rash.  The
answer was clear. 
The camping trip.

What we assumed was a reaction to dirty shin
guards was more likely a response to a plant Branson was exposed to in the
woods.  And the rash was only the first symptom of Branson’s autoimmune
response.  Months later, his lungs would become symptomatic as well. 
I remembered the poison ivy rash on his arms, which clearly indicated that he
spent some time brushing through foliage.  I was convinced that if I could
prevent Branson from going camping, I could finally save his life.

With the matter of the exposure confirmed in my
mind, my next order of business was to secure my passage back to correct the
damage.

Jasper Industries was located in New York, some
eight hours away.  Besides the locale, I also had the matter of financing
to address.  Earning the amount of money I would need to afford the trip
working retail would take many years.  There was only one place I could
think of that would provide the funding I needed quickly – my college savings
account.  My parents would never allow me to use my college savings to
finance another trip, so I decided the entire operation would have to be
covert.

I made several phone calls and had dozens of
email communications with my contact at Jasper Industries to discuss my plans. 
They required a down payment to secure a slot and luckily, I had stashed enough
away in my own savings account from birthdays, holidays, and my summer
internships at the vet clinic to pay for the deposit.  The balance of the
payment needed to be wire transferred prior to my arrival at the
facility. 

My timing had to be perfect as far as my parents
were concerned.  I was sure that the bank would contact my parents to
alert them to the fact that I had drained the account, so I arranged to have
the transfer take place on a Sunday when the branch was closed.  I also
scheduled the trip for eight o’clock Monday morning, before the bank opened for
the day.  I hoped that I would be gone and back, having reset everything
in the timeline before the bank would alert my parents to the lack of
funds.  If everything worked perfectly, the money would still be sitting
in the account untouched when all was said and done.

On Sunday morning, the day before my third trip,
I packed what I would need for my two day journey to New York, including my
research and notes regarding the plans for my final mission.  Sadly, my
journey had become about much more than just saving Branson.  The weight
of that knowledge was like an albatross around my neck.

When it was time to leave, I found my mother
still lying in bed, clearly unable or unwilling to face the day.  The
blinds were drawn tightly and the air inside her bedroom was stale.  It
had been weeks since she had changed the bed sheets or done laundry.  I
admonished myself for not realizing how badly my mother needed me over the past
several months.  I reasoned that it was too late to worry about her
current condition and I needed instead to focus solely on the task at
hand.  I gently nudged her shoulder, rousing her to let her know that I
was going to be gone for the day and that I had plans to stay at Sarah’s for
the night.  She barely acknowledged my presence, and after placing a kiss
on her forehead, I backed quietly out of the room.

The drive to upstate New York was nothing short
of magical.  It was a magnificent summer afternoon, and I absorbed the
beauty of the scenery through the Appalachians.  I sped along, windows
down, allowing the warm wind to play through my hair. My stereo was loaded with
playlists full of Branson and Charlie’s favorite songs and I happily sang along
for hours.  My optimism surprised me given my lack of success in the past,
but I felt as though my time had finally arrived.

For the enormous sum of money I was paying, in
addition to the trip, I earned myself one deluxe room at the facility’s guest
accommodations.  I settled in for the night but was unable to fall
asleep.  It occurred to me how absolutely alone I was in the world, and I
realized with immediate clarity that it was my own fault.  In every timeline,
as Branson lost his battle, people had been there for me. 
Friends, family, even Branson himself.
  Yet, instead of
embracing their love, I had squandered it.  It was a devastating
admission.  

I was exhausted as the alarm signaled that it was
time to rise and begin the preparations for my final trip.  I chose to
return to October, several weeks before the camping trip was to occur, and to
stay only until February 28
^th
, the day after the coughing symptoms
began in all three timelines.  I had no desire to subject myself to his
illness once again should I fail in my mission.

The facilities at Jasper Industries were not
unlike those that the government used.  The actual initiation rooms where
very similar, though not nearly as sterile.  The biggest difference, I was
pleased to observe, was the friendliness of the technicians performing the
procedure.  They spoke excitedly with me about my impending journey and
wished me luck, encouraging me to have a great time. 

Sitting in the chamber, waiting for the countdown,
I realized that for the first time I was traveling alone, without the clay lion
as my companion.  I remembered leaving it with Branson lying on his
deathbed and wondered what had become of it after he passed away.  It was
with great sadness that I admitted that I would probably never know. With that
thought, I was overcome by the familiar brightness, and I found myself once
again in my bedroom.

T
RIP
T
HREE

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
S
EVEN

My first order of business upon my arrival was
finding out exactly when the camping trip was to take place.  I recalled
that the actual date changed from the original timeline to the second and
third, so there was always the possibility that it may have changed
again.  I was too realistic to believe that it would have been cancelled
all together.

It was an ordinary Wednesday
night,
one that I had not relived before, so I searched my memory to recall what might
have been going on during that particular evening.  I walked into the
hallway and was happy to see light spilling out from beneath the door of
Branson’s room.  The smell of my mother’s famous chili cooking in the
kitchen wafted up the stairs and I could hear both of my parents chatting together
below. 

I tapped gently on Branson’s door and he called
for me to come in.  It was always emotional to see Branson again, vital
and healthy, after watching him waste away so many times before.  I braced
myself in the doorway to keep from collapsing to the floor.

He looked up from the video game in which he was
absorbed.  “You okay?” he asked.  “You look like you’re
gonna
throw up.”

“I’m fine,” I replied, careful to keep my voice
from cracking.  “I was just wondering what you had going on during the
next few weekends.  I thought maybe you and I could do something special
together.”