TIME BEING Chapter 4. SAVE THE CHILD

A dying woman travels through time to significant points in her life, but things are not as she remembers them. Accompanied by a handsome young stranger and her childhood cat, the fate of both past and future now lies in her aged hands.

Chapter 4. SAVE THE CHILD

 

Sylvan felt her way along the wall, fingers tracing the rough concrete, until she caught sight of the magic light once more. It was straight ahead of her but far away, bobbing like a fairy. She couldn’t see Aron—she had to trust he was there, wherever there was. The cavern-like tunnel had certainly never been in the basement of her youth—as a cat-curious child, she would have found it long ago.

Brie was struggling to get down from Sylvan’s hold. Sylvan hesitated—she didn’t want to lose the cat in this strange, sudden corridor, but then Brie probably had a better chance of navigating the anomaly than she did. Besides, the cat wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Once on the floor, Brie sniffed, first the air, then the ground which had become hardpacked dirt somewhere along the line. With mouth open, tasting the scent, Brie started down the tunnel, first walking, then trotting, then racing toward the light.

Sylvan took the hint. If it’s good enough for a cat, it’s good enough for me.

After a short distance, the gloomy tunnel led into the garden. When last she’d inspected the sprawling yard behind her childhood home, it was little more than a jungle of weeds and tangles. The upkeep had become difficult and then impossible long before the estate was sold. She’d never enquired to see if the new owner had resurrected the patches of heirloom plants or bulldozed the ornamental trees to make way for a hot tub—she didn’t want to know. She preferred her memory to remain untainted by time.

Now, magically, she’d got her wish. The white vine rose twined up the wooden trellis as it had done so long ago; the purple geranium cascaded over the knoll. There was the primrose edging—there, the apple tree! All as it had been when her grandmother cared for it with loving, dirt-grimed hands. Breathing in the verbena-scented air, the sun hot on her face, she stood transfixed

A hand gripped her arm. “No time to dawdle. We need to save the child.”

Sylvan shook Aron off. Now that she was out in the daylight, she found herself less vulnerable to his contagious panic.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. How did I get here? Why?”

He reached for her again, but she dashed behind the apple tree’s rough trunk as she had done in childhood games.

“Sylvan…”

She peeked from her retreat. The sun was at his back, creating a ray effect around his form and putting his face in shadow. He looked like a murky angel, and she ducked away once more.

“Sylvan…” he said again, but now his voice was a mere whisper. “Come on. It’s not safe.”

“The Watchers?” She stepped away from the tree trunk.  “Who are these watchers? Tell me!”

“I’ll do better. I’ll show you, if you’ll let me.”

With that, he turned and began walking. Sylvan stood her ground, but her curiosity was piqued, nonetheless.

Brie loped to Aron’s side, then took a great leap and landed on his shoulder.  Now Sylvan had to follow. She wasn’t about to let the cat out of her sight.

“I’ll come,” she said sullenly. “But I still don’t understand.”

“Understanding is not necessary,” came a new voice, high and slightly furry.

Sylvan’s gaze shot to Brie.

The cat smiled.

It couldn’t be… Sylvan told herself as she took up after the pair.

Aron and his feline passenger led Sylvan through the yard and out onto the sidewalk. He moved quickly around the corner to the front of the house. For a moment he stood, taking in the covered porch with the flag hanging from one of the columns, a flag with only forty-eight stars. Then he was up the steps in through the door—no more hesitation. To the right side of the foyer were the stairs, and he began to climb, for all intents and purposes heading back to where he and Sylvan had begun their journey, but this time instead of going down the long hallway, he slipped into one of the bedrooms, the one that had belonged to Sylvan’s mother and father back in the day.

Sylvan trailed behind. There was something about this setting that she remembered, but it was far back in her mind like a dream long past. Or perhaps it had been a nightmare.

The room was dark save for one dim lamp burning on the bedside table. Shadowy figures gathered around the bed, their attention on the one who slept there.

Sylvan tried to push closer, but Aron held her back.

“Are you ready for this?”

She shook her head to clear her mind. She was tired of the enigmatic one-liners, the hints and allusions to who knew what. She was tired of this man who she found bleeding in her ancestral home. She was tired, she realized—just plain tired.

Sylvan flailed out of Aron’s grasp, wiggled her way through the group, and climbed up onto the bed. Instinctively she snuggled under the covers, letting her muscles ease and her tension go. Her fear had disappeared—she knew she was where she was supposed to be.

“Save the baby,” said one of those around the bed. The bold, male voice was as familiar as her own—even more so. The voice of her daddy.

Someone was holding her in their arms. Her mama. Her mama was beside her in the bed. Sylvan was the baby.

“Save the baby,” Daddy repeated, except that wasn’t it. His words flowed together and suddenly she understood. “Sylvan baby,” he said again. “Who’s my sweetest little girl?”

Mama tucked the blankets back around her as the watchers cooed and awed. Her godparents, her aunt and uncle, her family—all observing her birth.

Sylvan had never known such serenity, or maybe she had once but the feeling slipped away over time. Time was irrelevant now. Her newly-born self held no resentments, no anxieties, no experiences of any kind. There was no hate, only love and the warmth of belonging that comes naturally to every soul.

Should come naturally.

“Where do we go wrong?” she asked Aron, suddenly back by his side. The family was grouped around another baby, a different scene. “I must write this down before I forget.”

She left the room, Brie trotting beside her, down the stairs to the open front door  where she sank to her knees on the threshold. Somehow full night had fallen, and beyond the screen, the wide porch was in shadow. For a few moments, she stared out at the street, unable to cage her thoughts. She could hear the sigh of the birch boughs that lined the parking, and from afar, the progressive whine of a motorcycle. The perfume of roses daubed the air. Something else wafted with it. Something wild.

This was her birth day. She knew she’d been born in the house, but with such fanfare? All her family gathered to watch? And most important of all, front and center was her father, the man who had been missing so often in the years to come. She could not yet decide if the devotion in his eyes made up for the later neglect, but it did tell a different story—that she was wanted, that she was loved.

“Push over,” said Aron as he plopped down in the doorway beside her. No sooner was he seated than Brie was curling on his lap, her eyes fixed on Sylvan. Behind them, folks were descending from the birth room, talking softly. They ignored the trio in the doorway, moving into the other rooms like shadows.

Sylvan opened the red diary and began to scrawl. Aron put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Her concentration was still lost among the words pouring out of her.

“For the beginning…”

“Huh?” she said distractedly.

There was no reply.

“What did you say? Aron, what?”

She glanced up from her work, but Aron and the cat were gone.

A moment later, so was she.

Chapter 5. SORT OF A NIGHTMARE coming next Saturday.

For previous chapters, look here.