TIME BEING Chapter 9. TIME BEGINNING
Chapter 9. TIME BEGINNING
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.
Sylvan and Brie crossed the dark river in the dubious boat. It wasn’t quite as rickety as she had first imagined. There was a solid bottom with no leaks that she could see or feel, and the sides came up high enough to keep the slimy water from sloshing overtop. As for steering, that was up to the whim of the current—though debris was scattered ankle deep across the boards, not a paddle or oar or even a stick could she find among it.
But she was alive. She was free.
The demons still clamored on the shore. She watched as the creatures shook with rage at her getaway. What they might have done had they caught her, she dared not guess.
Brie was back to her inscrutable feline self, seemly unmoved by their brush with chaos. She sat on the makeshift bow like a goddess, the wind sleekening her fur, the spray icing it with a ghost-like sheen.
“What were those things?” Sylvan asked the cat.
“Shadows. Memories. Figments. They came for you. They want to tell you something.”
“What? What do they want to tell me?”
“Nothing good,” the cat harrumphed. “But that’s your life, not mine. You deal with it.”
It hadn’t taken long for Sylvan to accept that Brie could speak, but though the words came out clearly enough, their meaning remained obscure. “Cats!” Sylvan muttered under her breath. What else should she expect?
For a time, they drifted, sometimes spinning lazily in the swirls and eddies, and others, holding on for dear life to maneuver the river’s choppy swells. Eventually they began toward the far shore. Sylvan was relieved to see no sign of demons there.
In fact the place seemed quite the opposite. Lamps of different colors were strung along the dock leading up to a group of small plazas and courts. Tables and chairs were put out under striped awnings where folks gathered in friendly camaraderie. The whole thing reminded Sylvan of the Avenue where she had landed on her arrival. Had they crossed the river at all or just moved farther down the shore?
Sylvan didn’t care. She stripped off the bulky coat the crone had given her as camouflage for their journey through the Patch, and with one last check for lingering monsters, she leapt onto the dock. Not bothering to tie up the old boat, she watched it slip into the mist, then scampered up the ramp, craving the feel of earth beneath her feet, beneath her silly, high heeled party shoes.
Ahead of her was a tiled courtyard no bigger than a room. There, people laughed and danced to quiet music playing over a speaker on a pole. Again Sylvan felt as if she’d regressed in time—no party goers of her own decade would have been so nicely dressed nor would they have been so carefree. In her time, parties had become fearsome events, with armed entourages, guns, and drugs. None of her friends went to parties anymore—or out in public much for that matter. Stepping outside the confines of one’s own environment meant taking one’s life in one’s hands. One never knew if they’d be coming home again or lying dead in a wayside.
Sylvan knew she would be safe among this crowd, however, and she was excited, enlivened by it. Smoothing a crease in her dress, she ran ahead, stepping lightly into the press.
But there again she was met with a shock. The instant her shoe touched the tile, there came a scream. Her pulse spiked with dread as she looked around for the source. It spiked again when she came to find that she, herself, was the screamer.
She screamed again when the dancers parted, revealing a man twitching and moaning on the ground.
“Aron!” She ran to him as she had the time before. But it wasn’t Aron. An old man with a bald head and kindly features lay at her feet. She knew that face. If only her rattled mind would turn from the madness long enough for her to remember.
“Out of my way,” someone commanded. “Step aside.”
The doctor crouched to check the victim’s vitals, the same physician who had passed the dire diagnosis on Aron.
The man bent closer, as he had before.
He sat up again, once more mirroring his former movements.
He gazed at Sylvan with sympathy…
Someone put warm hands on Sylvan’s shoulders. She turned to find Aron, his angel eyes fixed on hers.
“Not you?” she stuttered. “Then who?”
“I’m so very sorry,” was his cryptic reply.
Chapter 9. TIME BEGINNING, coming next Saturday.
Only six chapters left!
For the complete story up until now, look here.
