The End Came With a Kiss (9 page)

We both look that way—equally confused.

He's right. That's where I should be. I see the hollow silhouette there, gently drawing me to enter it.

I look back at him and resist the urge to blurt out, '
You can see me?'
and go with something less crazy. "You didn't see me walk over here?"

He scratches the back of his head, "I guess I was engrossed in my work."

Amazing. His response is so real, but I'm quite sure we never spoke a word to each other. So, what is this? Am I fabricating this with my imagination? No. That's not it. This is a real memory. Everything I experienced that day is accessible to me. It's just malleable.

"Do you mind?" I ask, pointing to the clipboard in the young scientist's hand. He passes it to me with a curious expression. I did not look at this clipboard the day this occurred, so what will I see? Will it be blank? Will it be indecipherable?

Interesting. There is actually some information written on it. It’s blurry, but I can make it out. I wonder if I did get a view of the clipboard on this day, but only from a distance.

The temptation to slide back into the timestream and find out is strong, but just thinking about it creates a wave of panic. I fear I might lose myself in this dream state. If simple curiosity can get me so distracted, I'd hate to see how lost I could get in the sea of pleasant memories I have stored in my mind. After the nightmare I've been through, I don't imagine I would have the willpower to defend myself from their lulling effect. I suppose eventually I would wake up, but then I would have failed my mission.

"May I?" says the young scientist, whose name I never got a chance to learn. I'd ask him now, but the answer would probably be an invention of my subconscious mind.

I hand him the clipboard. "Looks good," I say. "Keep up the good work."

He nods and heads off around the cluttered lab table to join Betty on the other side. She is preparing to go into the holding chamber, also known as the clean room. As with everything in the company, it is multi-purpose.

She must be going in to do some testing on the latest iteration of the beauty creme. I walk around and watch as she disappears into the decon chamber. Not long after, she comes out the side door into the middle chamber, then through to the testing room.

There are stainless steel tables set up in the testing room. I don't know half of the equipment on them, but I recognize a tray of test tubes near the microscope unit. Those are the samples from Jeremiah Cartwright. Each has its own bar code and each is marked with a colored band. The last I knew, black is not a color we use. So why are these black?

I clear my throat and call to Lau on the far side of the room. He prefers to work alone on the table in the corner. It is his private work station where everything is in precise order. "Lau. Can I speak to you a minute?"

His head pops up and without a word pops back down. This is his standard first response; he doesn't like to be interrupted. It's mildly annoying, especially when I'm on a timetable, but he is quite possibly the most brilliant chemist in the world, so I'm inclined to give him latitude.

"You know what Lau, maybe you shouldn't come look at this, it will just make you mad. We'll get this cleaned up." This tactic generally works because Lau has a place for everything in the lab and any time anything needs to be cleaned up inevitably someone will put something where it doesn't belong, and this drives him crazy.

I hear his sigh from across the room, but he comes. His compulsion to supervise the cleanup is all-consuming. He steps up beside me and looks into the chamber. "What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?"

"See those test tubes next to the microscope?"

"Yes," he says, annoyed. "There's no clean up, is there."

"No. But since you're up, maybe you can answer a question for me."

"It would be my dying wish," he says sarcastically.

"Why are the bands on the test tubes black?"

This should be interesting. Will his answer be entire fantasy, or will it have some semblance of reality? An even larger question is, will I know the difference?

Lau cocks his head. "Those shouldn't be black. They should be red." He reaches out and presses the microphone button below the metallic speaker embedded in the wall. "Betty?"

Betty puts down the sample in her hands and turns our way.

"Why are the labels on P227 black?"

She slides the tray toward herself. "That’s strange. They were red when I came in at ten."

He presses the button again. "Who else has been in there since you came in?"

"Just Kyle." The young scientist looks up from his clipboard and raises his hand when he hears his name. "And Cartwright’s assistant."

"What assistant?" I say, intrigued by their response. "Cartwright doesn’t have an assistant."

Lau gives me a funny look. "Yes he does. Dr. Cross."

"Cross? Never heard of him."

"Her," Lau corrects. "She’s been helping us from the start."

"Why haven’t I seen her?"

"You have," he says with a weird intensity.

Have I?
Wait a second. I remember Cartwright mentioning he would bring his assistant in to get our team up to speed. She must have been assigned directly to Lau’s department. That’s why I don’t know her.

"What does she look like?"

"She has red hair that she keeps up with a green flowery hairclip."

"And," I prod.

"That’s it. Red hair. Green flowers."

As he says it, I realize, I
have
seen her! Leaving the lab earlier. She was petite, with a green hair clip and green shoes. I didn’t get a look at her face. That must be why Lau can’t give me a better description. The more I focus on the words red hair and green flowers, the more the lab blurs, and the more Doctor Cross becomes substantial.

She is walking away from me down the corridor as I approach the labs. When I reach the door I tear free of the time stream and keep walking. I can tell by the way her elbows are bent that she is holding something. Is it the tray of test tubes? I pick up speed. A torrent of questions flood my mind as I jog to catch up. Should I follow her? Is that possible? Won’t my memory be altered by this subconscious dream world as soon as my current self enters the lab? What good will that do me?

I could stop her, but that too would provide no real information. I never saw her face. I never saw the item she was carrying. It doesn’t make sense but I can’t stop the impulse. My hand shoots out and my fingers dig into her bicep as I spin her around.

Her head turns and her face comes into view. What I see causes my hand to snap back.
This isn’t possible.
I struggle to take in a breath, and the room sounds as if it has a heartbeat. I don’t understand.

This is my mind playing tricks on me. It has to be.

Ashlyn?

9

The lights in the room go out and flicker back on. Ashlyn’s face is contorted.

"Can I help you?" Her voice sounds irritated.

"Don’t you know who I am?" I prod.

"Carter, right? Ben Carter?"

"And you are?"

She pulls her hand out from under the tray of red banded test tubes and holds it out toward me. "I’m sorry. Dr. Angela Cross."

What is this? Is my subconscious mind inserting Ashlyn’s face because I never saw the real face of Dr. Cross? There is no way the two could be the same person. Lau would have recognized her immediately. But this looks so real. Frighteningly real. My pulse has begun a low rhythm in my neck. This was a mistake. I should have stayed in the time stream.

"Are you okay, Mr. Carter?"

"I’m just..." The words stick in my throat as I look around the large office space. Am I in the same timeframe? Is this before or after the breach? I can no longer tell. Why can’t I tell?

"Mr. Carter?" Ashlyn’s voice startles me.

"Yes?" I say with a nervous twitch.

"Are you okay?"

A man behind her is looking at me, his eyes cold and staring. That’s what the dead do when their automated motions are interrupted. Is he one of them? I can’t tell. I see others moving about as if nothing has changed—but they do that too, they can look almost normal.

I swallow hard and notice that my breath is labored. Where is this dread coming from? After all I’ve seen, I’ve never felt like this, like a predator is stalking me with its cold dead eyes. Ashlyn is stepping back from me now. Her expression revealing her uneasiness with my behavior.

"I’m sorry," is all I can stammer out.

I have to get back to the time stream to return to what is real. As I stumble away, I hear a low guttural growl—the kind my wife makes when she’s frustrated with me. It seems to be coming from everywhere. That isn't how it’s supposed to work. I want to leave this snapshot. I want to move through time to somewhere safer, but my terror has consumed my focus. All I can think about is escape.

My eyes dart right and scan the room. There’s a man standing in his cubicle smacking his face with his hand.
Smack! Smack!
Over and over. Harder and harder. His eyes come up and look past me, searching for what everyone is staring at. They snap to me.

I have to get out, I have to get to the lab! A crashing sound fuels my fear as I break into a run. I need to get back to the time stream, back to where I'm supposed to be! Another crash. Another bang. The room is filling with growls and screams. They feed off each other's fear like wild apes in a cage, howling and gnashing their teeth. All eyes are on me now. Some are already climbing over their cubicle walls. If their wave of panic activates the loopers in front of me, I'll be swallowed up in the mob.

What will happen then? Will I wake? Or will the shock send me into cardiac arrest? I resolve to wake before they can bludgeon me or dig my eyes out.

I snap my head forward. There’s a woman near the lab door staring at me. Teeth bared. I keep my eyes trained on her and push my legs harder. There will be only one chance before the rest are on me. She braces herself to spring, veins popping out on her neck, eyes bulging in their sockets, the beautiful face distorted by uncontrollable rage. The gap is closing. Her knees are bending. This is it!

I go into a slide—but the friction from the carpet puts me into a roll. Instead of sliding completely under her, she almost lands on top of me! Her hands slap down on my shoulders, but I tear free and roll into a crawl. Her fingers are scratching on the heels of my shoes, now the backs of my thighs. She’ll be on top of me soon! I scramble frantically, the lab door is almost within reach. I kick back. My shoe glances off her forehead and her head springs back. It’s no use! Her grip is immense. And more are descending on me! It’s over. I have to wake up! Wake up! WAKE
UP!

Air rushes into my lungs as my mouth and eyes strain to full size.

Where am I?!

The room is dim. Is this the lab? Why are the lights out? Have I shifted through time or am I awake? I scan the room frantically. Where’s Lau? My whole body aches. My head feels like it’s on fire. I try to call for him, but my voice is husky and weak. "Lau!" I suck in another breath. "LAU!" I see a white light reflecting off the wall. A flashlight? Where’s it coming from?

"We’re here, Mr. Carter."

"Why are the lights out? Where’s Ashlyn?"

"I’m here," she says from somewhere above my head.

I try to get up but my head feels like a sack of rice. Lau appears above me, oppressing me with his headlamp.

"Turn that thing off! You’re killing me, Lau!"

He slides it to the right side of his head, lifts my shirt and puts a cold stethoscope on my chest. "Breathe in," he says, with noticeable concern.

"Okay, Doc, you’re freaking me out."

"Breath in!"

I draw in a breath and let it out.

"Again!"

I draw in another and let it out. "Seriously, Lau, you need to start talking to me." I feel a pinch on the inner pocket of my right elbow. I shake my arm and a plastic tube wiggles. "Is that an IV? Did something go wrong while I was under?"

"A lot of things went wrong while you were under."

"You’ve been sleeping a while," says Ashlyn, appearing on the right of Lau.

"Did I sleep into the night?" I ask, looking around the dim room. "Why are the lights out?"

"We lost the generator a couple of days ago," Lau says, pulling my shirt back down.

"A couple of
what?"

"Days," says Ashlyn, clearly displaying her irritation.

"I tried to explain to your young friend where the generator is and how to fuel it, but she says she can’t get to it."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Six days," he says, flatly.

"Six DAYS!" I push myself to a sitting position.

Lau’s hands fly up. "Whoa! Easy. You need time to recover."