Ending Two, Part 5 (or Part 81)
The smell of rotting garbage was the first thing he became aware of as the sunlight pierced his closed eyelids. He lifted his right hand to shade his eyes before opening them. His first order of business was to make sure he was alone and then he took inventory of his limbs, making sure everything was working correctly. He grimaced as a warm breeze blew and the stench of garbage reached his nostrils again. He took a look at his surroundings and shook his head. He wasn't sure where he was.
Brick walls rose on either side of him and as he sat up he realized he had been slumped against an old garbage dumpster. The ground beneath him was pitted and littered with gravel and debris he didn't care to examine too closely. The ruts that dotted the narrow passage were half-filled with filthy water, grayish in color with bits and pieces of trash floating on the surface. It wasn't the worst thing he had ever been subjected to but he hadn't expected to be dumped off in some filthy back alley next to a dumpster full of garbage.
He knew Maria had landed in the Granolith chamber when she came to his universe and he hoped the damn thing had at least returned her to her own Granolith. If that piece of shit just had to play games with one of them he'd rather it was him. She was going to have enough to deal with as it was. His mind began to compartmentalize, pushing thoughts of her into a safe place to be taken out and dealt with later. He had a mission to complete and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted with thoughts of her.
Michael stood up and checked his waistband at the small of his back, making sure his weapon was still there. He pulled his shirt down over the gun and shook his head at the stuff stuck to his clothes. He stank like a wino in a back alley and he desperately needed a shower and a clean set of clothes. He sure as hell couldn't go looking for a couple of kids looking and smelling like this. Having to track down a pair of nine-year-olds was bad enough without having to deal with the Granolith's demented sense of humor. He looked up at the sky to determine the time of day, knowing by the sun's position in the sky that it was close to two o'clock.
People would be at work and their brats would be in school right now. No, wait… what time of year was it? As warm as it was for this time of day it had to be late summer. Kids would be on their summer break from school, which meant they'd be out making a nuisance of themselves. He walked to the end of the alley, avoiding the puddles and squinting against the sun. Damn, he wished he had his sunglasses! He peered around the edge of the building and his gaze was immediately drawn up to the left.
"No way to mistake that freak show," he muttered, recognizing the Crashdown Café. He shook his head and scanned the street that was too busy for him to risk just stepping out into plain sight. He retraced his steps and walked to the other end of the alley, scaling the short wall at the end and turned his head left, then right, narrowing his eyes. It was another alley that ran behind the row of businesses along the main street. He dropped down on the other side and followed the wall down to the right, mentally running over the town's setup when he was 15 years old.
He was pretty sure there had been a hotel about a quarter of a mile from where he had been dropped off so he headed in that direction. He was able to stay out of sight as he made his way to the hotel, sneaking through a back entrance and taking the stairs to the second floor. He checked the locks on the doors, snorting under his breath when he saw they were just standard deadbolts. "So easy to pick," he muttered. He located an empty room near the end of the building that faced the parking lot, giving him an easy out if he needed it. Next, he went in search of clothes, and after breaking into several rooms finally found a suitable pair of pants and a shirt.
After a shower he felt more like himself. Dressed in the cargo pants and tee shirt he had acquired he sat on the end of the bed and turned the television on. He pulled his socks on and then his boots, lacing them up while he watched the local news and browsed through the newspaper he had taken from one of the rooms. His dog tags swung freely when he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees as he scanned the headlines for anything of interest. Beyond determining the date nothing stood out to catch his attention and after a few minutes he folded it over and tossed it on the bed. He leaned over to snatch the telephone book off of the nightstand and flipped it open, scanning down the E section.
"Evans, Evans, Evans," he mumbled, trying to remember what Maria had said their parents' first names were. Maybe she hadn't said because none of the names stood out. She had mentioned something about one or both of them being lawyers though, he remembered as he flipped to the yellow pages to search through the legal section for an Evans. He turned to look at the date on the newspaper again, frowning at it. Why was the date bothering him? There was something about it that was tugging at the back of his mind. He rubbed his eyes and went back to his search. He finally located one that he was able to cross-reference with a residential address and he memorized it before putting the phone book back.
Michael sighed and fell back on the bed, suddenly feeling tired. He thought about this insane trip through the Granolith and decided he felt like an actor in a really bad B movie. Time traveling to save the world, he snorted. It was completely insane. Thinking about the Granolith led to thinking about Maria and he felt a sudden pain deep in his chest at the knowledge that he would never see her again. At least not his version of Maria DeLuca. Damn it, he couldn't afford to think about her. He shook his head to clear it and jumped up, deciding the best way to ignore those thoughts was to get moving.
He left the room the way he had found it, without a single trace of evidence that he had ever been there. He knew the money in his pockets wouldn't be in circulation yet so he made a couple more stops to lift enough cash to get him moving. He pocketed the money and stopped at a fast food place next to a gas station to grab something to eat and browse through the street map he had picked up. He watched a man a couple of tables over get up to go get a refill for his coffee cup and his eyes landed on things left scattered around the table.
He slid on the confiscated sunglasses as he stepped out into the late afternoon sun, smirking to himself when he heard the ruckus inside as the guy accused a group of teenagers of stealing them. He shoved the map in one of the side pockets on the cargo pants and set off down the street, knowing exactly where he was going. Less than 20 minutes later he was leaning against a tree across the street from 6025 Murray Lane. His eyes roved over the exterior of the Evans home, taking in the perfectly manicured lawn, the well-maintained house, and the basketball hoop set up in the driveway.
"The perfect all-American family," he murmured as he watched the activity in the neighborhood. It was no wonder Max and Isabel had grown up so sheltered.
His sharp gaze followed the mail carrier as she slowly made her way down the street, not even slowing down as she passed the Evans house. The yard sprinklers came on without any assistance, indicating they were on a timer, and since it was likely one or both parents would normally be home at that time of day to take care of that, he knew they were probably already on vacation. That damn Granolith obviously had no concept of time, he thought.
He would come back after dark, break into the house and do some investigating, find out where the family had gone on vacation. In the meantime he needed to find something to occupy his time because if he was seen skulking around the neighborhood someone would call the cops and that was one headache he didn't need. He couldn't just put a call in to Xavier if he got into trouble so it was best just to avoid local law enforcement. He scratched his chin as the date came back to mind, picking at his memory and trying to pull something out.
Whatever it was stubbornly remained just out of his grasp and he put it away as he carefully slipped out of the neighborhood. Just like when he was 15 years old there was nothing to do in this Godforsaken town. How many times had he come into town and gotten into trouble with that old bastard that passed for a sheriff? He had hated the way the guy had intimidated him when he was younger, staring at him through those stupid mirrored sunglasses, his right hand always resting on his holstered gun. He had hated that skinny moron and he was certain the guy had to be doing somebody to get into that job. Hansen's head hadn't been used for anything other than a hat rack. He sure as shit hadn't… The significance of the date suddenly hit him and he started to run.
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Tom Gifford stared down the angry 15-year-old and waited for the explosion he knew was coming. He had been working with Michael Guerin for almost three years and while the last director had informed him that the boy was nothing more than a waste of time he hadn't believed it. The previous director felt that the teenager was just a drain on the taxpayers' money because he wasn't going anywhere in life and he fully expected him to end up in the correctional system before he was an adult.
He had taken one look at the angry 12-year-old when he had taken over the position as director at the orphanage and he had seen the intelligence in the defiant eyes. The boy was streetwise, too smart for his own good, and he had seen enough of the ugly side of life that he wasn't going to be easily reached. His type of intelligence was the kind that could put him on the wrong side of the law, the kind that could make him dangerous if it wasn't channeled in the right direction.
For three years he had been working with Michael and the boy hadn't made it easy. He had fought him every step of the way for the first year or so, had even pulled a knife on him at one point. But he had refused to throw the towel in because he knew the boy was worth saving. It had taken more than a year before he had gotten a single civil word out of the teenager and within minutes Michael had been cursing at him again. He wasn't naïve and he didn't believe that every kid could be saved no matter how much he wished it was true. Michael was an exception though; the boy was tough and he was raw, but he had heart. He would fight at the drop of a hat but he didn't have a good track record.
Michael had made progress over the past three years, but getting his ass kicked on a regular basis wasn't helping his attitude and it only made him more determined to take down the guys who tormented him all the time. Which was why the teenager was once again in the office, that defiant gaze burning into him, and the angry words just waiting to come tumbling out. His face was scratched up, his right eye already starting to swell up, and he was holding an ice pack against his bottom lip. It was split and bleeding but he wouldn't show even a hint of the pain it was causing him.
"That dickhead called me a cocksucker!" he yelled finally. "No one's gonna talk to me like that!"
"Michael, you can't just let your anger get the best of you anytime someone pissed you off, boy. You think people are gonna stop pissing you off once you become an adult?"
"I don't give a fuck. He comes at me again and I'll bust one of his knees."
Tom shook his head. "You think that's gonna make you feel better?"
The teenager crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah." He shook his head. "Look, you said you were gonna teach me to fight so I wasn't getting my ass kicked all the time and I ain't seen it happen yet. He came in my room with one of the other guys and they double-teamed me."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why'd he come after you?"
"Why're you takin' his fuckin' side?" he exploded as he paced around the room.
"It's a simple question, Michael."
On the other side of the door 25-year-old Michael Guerin felt his lips quirk as his younger self refused to answer. He had gotten that beating because he had interrupted that little dickhead when he had tried to force himself on Jenny Miller, another lifelong resident at the orphanage. It was probably one of the most selfless things he had done in his young life and at the time he'd had no idea what it would cost him. Unless he changed things now Tom Gifford would die on the exercise yard that night and if that happened, if he lost that link to humanity, he didn't know how well the rest of this thing would work out. With that link shattered he didn't believe he would allow himself to be convinced about this crazy story by a couple of kids.
He slipped away, leaving his younger self in Tom's capable hands. The man had been tough and he hadn't taken any shit from him or anyone else, but he had cared. Given the chance he knew the man would make a difference in his life. An even bigger one than he had made in his timeline.
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The sun was burning brightly, its scorching heat burning her skin. She coughed when she inhaled a lungful of the dry desert air, bringing with it fair amount of sandy particles. She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, her palms braced in the burning sand as she forced herself to stand. She looked around at the desert, feeling her heart sink when she realized she had no idea where she was.
Her heart fell to the soles of her feet as she reached up to cradle her head in her hands. Where was she? Why hadn't she landed back in the Granolith chamber? Where was she supposed to go now? Without knowing where she was she could wander around the desert for days. If she even survived that long. She dropped back to her knees despondently, her weary gaze seeing nothing but miles and miles of desert. She didn't have any food or water. She could survive without food, but without water she would die in the desert.
How much more could she be expected to take? Michael in her universe was gone. Michael from that other universe was gone. She lay down, feeling her will to survive fading. She stared up at the sky, her eyes blurring with tears as she pounded her fists against the ground. "Why?!" she screamed out. This was beyond cruel. What was the point of going on? She was alone and she had no idea why the Granolith had bothered to send her back to her universe. She remained on the desert floor for some time, letting the exhaustion take her over before she slowly hauled herself up enough to look around, squinting against the bright sunlight. How did she know she was in her universe? For all she knew she had been tossed into another universe to find and save another Michael Guerin.
Her eyes watered from the sun and the heat rising from the desert floor and she forced herself to her feet once more. She might die trying to get out of the desert but she wouldn't just lie down and give up. She was emotionally spent; her heart had been turned inside out and she didn't know how much more she could take. She had to keep going. Michael had promised to do his best to carry out his mission in the past in his universe and by letting him go, she had promised to do the same.
Not that it was much of a mission, she thought morosely. What was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go? It had been nearly a year, what if the others had moved on? She forced her feet to start walking even though she had no idea what direction she was going in. At the moment she couldn't even remember how to tell direction by the sun's placement in the sky. She couldn't see the rock formation that housed the Granolith anywhere around and she didn't know how she had landed outside of the chamber.
If she managed to survive her trek through the desert she could try to contact the others. They might still be in Clayton and she had nowhere else to go. She could try going back to the house she had shared with Michael. She was sure it had been rented out by now, occupied by strangers would wouldn't understand the significance of the little house. How it had represented comfort and stability in their otherwise crazy lives.
She walked for what felt like hours. She wasn't wearing a watch and she had no way to tell time so when the blacktop suddenly rose before her in the distance she didn't know how long she had been walking. The bottoms of her feet burned and her legs felt heavy. The heat rose off of the asphalt in shimmering waves and she stumbled closer to it. A car passed and she waved her hands in the air, trying to get their attention because her throat was parched and her voice didn't seem to want to work. She watched the car as it disappeared over a slight rise in the road and she nearly burst into tears.
She tripped over her feet as she finally reached the road and she fell to her knees, feeling the skin tear. She didn't care. She just couldn't bring herself to even do much more than acknowledge the pain. She forced herself to her feet once more and stared at the endless road for several minutes before she was able to convince her feet to move again. She weaved drunkenly as she tried her best to stay on the road.
She didn't see the truck barreling down on her when her feet took her off of the road and then back out onto the asphalt. One minute she was dragging her feet in the sand and the next she got back on the shoulder of the road, accidentally overstepping and weaving out into the lane. The horn blaring just barely got her attention and she stood there, mesmerized by the oncoming vehicle, and too lost to move out of the way.