The Clay Lion (9 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Each moment subsequent to my revelation, I set about
enjoying the gift of togetherness that my trip afforded me.  Armed with
the knowledge that there was nothing more that I could do during that
particular trip to save him, I spent as much time as I could enjoying Branson’s
company.  We spent Christmas vacation holed up in the family room in front
of the fireplace eating Mom’s
snickerdoodles
and
playing Rummy and Crazy Eights.  We worked together on his science fair
project that was due after the first of the year.  He chose to experiment
on bean plants and sound waves, just as he had the first time.  We went
ice skating in the park with Chad, Sarah, and Branson’s friends from
work.  We finished reading three of our favorite Charles
Dicken’s
books aloud together, again.  In the middle
of
Great Expectations
, Branson suddenly stopped and looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m glad you didn’t go all the way off the deep
end,” he commented without an ounce of playfulness in his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Before, when you were driving me crazy with all
that ‘work at the mall’ business and you were crying all the time and freaking
out.”

“Oh, yeah.
 
That,” I replied.

“I’m just glad you are back to your old self,
Sis.”

“Me too,” I agreed

Life continued on much the same as it had the
first time for the next several weeks.  The greatest difference for me was
the amount of time I spent daydreaming about Charlie, which of course did not
occur originally as I had been blissfully unaware of his existence.  I
made sure to look for him everywhere I went - at the grocery store, out to
dinner, at the mall with Sarah, but I never saw him.  He was like a ghost
and I was beginning to think I had imagined him.

I had been back for just over four months when my
anxiety returned.  If the cough was coming, I knew the day would be upon
us shortly.  It was a Saturday afternoon and Branson and I had been
bowling with Sarah and Chad.  In the first timeline, I had bowled a 189,
but between looking for Charlie and listening for Branson’s impending cough, I
had barely broken 100 the second time around.  Sarah repeatedly asked me
if everything was okay, sensing my apprehension.  I reassured her with my
words, but I knew my actions spoke differently.  When we were finished, we
returned our shoes and said our goodbyes.  Sarah was driving Chad home
because Branson and I were meeting our parents for our weekly Saturday night
dinner at Lesley’s Café.  As we were getting into the car, Branson let out
a quiet cough.  Like the first tiny raindrops in a hurricane, it would be
the beginning of the end. 
Again.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

Returning to the present was different than I had
expected it would be.  After Branson’s cough returned, I was with him for
six weeks, four days, and nine hours until I was torn from the past and restored
to the present day.  Before making the trip, I chose the exact minute to
leave the past so that I would not be caught by surprise when the transfer
occurred.  My instructions were to find an isolated spot to hide ten
minutes prior to the extraction.  I went to my bedroom, where I locked the
door and sat quietly on my bed, holding tightly to the cowardly lion in my
hand. 

Only moments before, I had made a complete fool
of myself, throwing my arms around Branson’s neck and telling him how much I
loved him.  His response was to question my sanity, as usual.  I sat
quietly sobbing as the transfer occurred and I instantaneously found myself
back in the present day, still sitting in my bedroom on the exact day my
journey had begun in the original timeline. 

While I had been away, my timeline had been reset
to account for the changes that were made, and I alone had memory of the
original timeline, which precipitated the trip.  I was grateful that I did
not have to relive Branson’s death or the aftermath that ensued.  However,
since I had not been present for the events that took place after my
extraction, I could only assume that my family’s reaction had been similar to
what I had experienced in the original timeline.

After half an hour, I found the strength to rise
from my bed.  I made my way into the hallway, where I paused briefly,
deciding whether to turn left and go down the staircase or right, toward
Branson’s room.  I headed down the steps, unable to face the emptiness of
a room that was surely devoid of the life I had left behind only moments ago.

My parents were both at home, my mother emptying
the dishwasher and my father in the garage, changing the oil in his car. 
After speaking with them, I discerned that they were oblivious to the changes
that had been made to the original timeline, which were a result of my trip to
the past.  I knew I would need to make them aware of what had transpired,
but for the moment, I was unable to pick the scab of my newly formed wound.

Over the course of the next several hours, what
surprised me most about being back was not the initial pain that I felt having
lost Branson for a second time, but the determination and power I felt with the
knowledge that I knew exactly what needed to be done to keep Branson out of harm’s
way. 

As the dust settled from my return, I was able to
fully assess my parents’ mental state, as well as determine how I had reacted
to Branson's passing.  It seemed that I had been less volatile in the
aftermath of Branson’s death in the augmented reality, and therefore, they had
been as well.  I decided to approach them both one evening before I went
to bed several days after my return.  I stood at the foot of the
staircase, observing them from a distance.  They were curled up on the sofa
together, as they had been every night, watching television.  I felt a
pang of jealousy that they had one another, because without Branson, I was
alone.  I thrust the emotion to the side and walked across the room to
join them on the couch.

The news that I had used my trip voucher came as
a surprise to them.  Over the course of the next hour, I outlined for them
the events of our original timeline, specifically those that were changed by my
trip.  As I poured out all of the important details from the first timeline
that were no longer a part of their memories, they gained valuable insight into
the history of how our present lives came to pass.  I described my
depression following Branson’s
death,
the weeks spent
researching with Dr.
Rudlough
, and their decision to
let me use my journey.   

They listened intently and I was aware of how
calm they were given the significance of the information I was revealing. 
At the end, I stressed the importance of another trip to keep the ball from
going on the roof so Mr. Cooper would never be alerted to its need for
repair.  I suggested that Mother go, as I realized how therapeutic the
trip had been to my soul, having had another six months of time with
Branson.  I thought, perhaps, it would have the same effect on her.

“It doesn’t make sense for me to use my trip…”
Mother argued.

“But Mom,” I begged.  “There’s still a
chance we can save him.  Please!”

“You didn’t let me finish,” she continued. 
“It doesn’t make sense for me to use my trip because I’m not familiar with your
research and I certainly don’t know all that you know given that you have lived
the events leading to Branson’s passing, not once, but twice.  You
definitely changed quite a bit during your trip, and without firsthand
knowledge of the events of your original timeline, I would be at a great
disadvantage.  It would be almost impossible for me to keep up with the
differences.  If anyone is to go back,” she paused, as if uncertain about
what she was about to say, “
it
should be you.”

I held my breath.  I looked from my mother
to my father and back again.  It had never occurred to me that I should be
the one to take another trip.  It was especially rare in our
society.  People only made one trip, if ever.  Two was just about
unheard of.

“How would I go a second time?” I asked. 
“The government will have record that I have already used my voucher in their
database.”

“You can have my trip,” my mother replied without
a moment’s hesitation.

I had never known anyone who gave his or her trip
to someone else.  It was allowed, but in my eighteen years, I had never
heard of it being done before.  I did not even know what sort of process I
would need to go through in order to use my mother’s trip.  Or what excuse
I would need to have as a reason to source another person’s trip.

“I can?” I asked, tears forming in my eyes.

“Yes,” Mother said.  “I wouldn’t have it any
other way.  Let’s see this thing through.  When we’ve exhausted our
options, we’ll stop.  That, or when we cure him.”

I had never been so grateful for my parents and
their understanding.  I sensed that saving Branson was only part of what
was inspiring their decision.  My mental health was the other reason, I
suspected.  Clearly, having a purpose had pulled me from my depression,
and since then, I found it was easier and easier to curtail my own
sadness.  I think they assumed that even if I was never able to save
Branson, the process alone was healing my soul.  Maybe they were right and
my mother was giving me another opportunity to try.  I certainly was not
going to squander it.

The next day, she and I got online to research
cases when a trip had been transferred and what purposes had been approved by
the government.  There had been many cases over the years of which I was
completely unaware.  There were instances when people used their trip
early in their lives and needed another trip decades later.  In other
cases, malfunctions had occurred during transport.  We found people who
had been willed second trips by loved ones after their death.  Sadly, none
of the incidents we discovered provided the loophole we were seeking.

Finally, as we were about to give up, the phrase
“history of depression” caught my eye at the bottom of a search.  I
scrolled back to the top and reread the entire case.  I entered “second
trip – history of depression” into the search engine, and scanned the
results.  I glanced over at my mother, sitting next to me at the
table.  She knew what I was thinking.

“Do you think Dr.
Rudlough
could help us?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

Mother made a call to his office and within an
hour, we were in the car on the way across town.  Luckily, Dr.
Rudlough
was as intrigued by my circumstances as he had
been the first time around.  He offered to clear his afternoon calendar
without hesitation and requested that we come in immediately to discuss my
trip.

Upon our arrival, Dr.
Rudlough
greeted my mother and me with open arms.  After formalities were
exchanged, we sat down on the sofa in his office and I recounted the narrative
of our original timeline together and my journey to the past.  He listened
intently and took notes as I spoke.  As I finished, my mother took over
and explained our desire to send me back for a second trip in an attempt to
prevent the ball from landing on the hardware store roof.  She added that
she thought it would be a benefit for me to “see the process through.”

“We found evidence online that the government has
approved transference of trips in cases where it was deemed medically necessary
as a treatment for the mental health of a clinically depressed patient. 
Our problem is that Brooke has never been officially diagnosed with any
disorder,” Mother explained, glancing over at me.

“I see,” replied the doctor thoughtfully. 
There was a long pause. 
The clock on the wall ticked by
the seconds.
  I picked at a hangnail on my thumb as my mother
gently squeezed my knee.  Finally, he added, “I think I know someone who
can help.”

He pushed the call button on his desk
phone.  “Linda,” he said, “please
get
Timothy
Richmond on the line.”

No one spoke as we waited.  The clock
continued to tick and my thumb began to bleed.  Finally, the phone rang.

Dr.
Rudlough
spoke
candidly with ‘Tim’ as though they were old friends.  He asked about his
wife and children.  They discussed his brother’s boating accident. 
At last, he broached the topic of my trip and the required diagnosis.  It
was difficult to discern listening to only one side of the conversation whether
Dr. Richmond was going to be sympathetic to my plight.  After a few
minutes, they made plans for dinner the following weekend, pending spousal
approval, and said good-bye.

Dr.
Rudlough
hung up
the receiver.  He smiled at Mother and me.

“I need you to fill out some questionnaire forms
Brooke,” he explained.  “Dr. Richmond and I can create a paper trail that
will establish your
diagnosis,
however, it will take
some time.  I think your past
behavior,
combined
with the reaction you will need to portray following your recent trip might be
enough for a diagnosis and possible second trip.”