"Why is she wearing that hot plastic thing out here in the desert?" I heard someone whisper.
"My backpack! Where is my backpack?" I began feeling around, but to no avail. Everyone began searching, but my backpack was nowhere to be found.
Any gear I had was left in the past when the settlement was overrun by Aztecs.
"Are you sure you had a backpack?" The ranger asked. "Are you sure you are okay? Are you driving? Do you need a ride back to Sedona?"
"Sedona? Yes, I do need a ride." A tall man helped me to my feet. After a few minutes, I was fine, no dizziness.
Some of the walls of the ruin were still standing after what certainly had been more than a thousand years, but many had crumbled into dust. The people I had come to know had disappeared, leaving no trace of having been here except for the walls . . . some of which might stand forever because they'd been built by the hands of their goddess.
I walked away from the tourists over to the farthest wall and glanced at the handprints imbedded in the hard clay. Sure enough, there was the imprint of my class ring. I looked at my hand to find that my ring had disappeared, too.
The shaman. I'd given it to him.
Through the many years it has been a mystery discussed by archaeologists as to what must have caused that unusual imprint in the walls. In the end, the historians decided that the ring must have belonged to the chief of the tribe. I knew there were no chiefs in that little band of people, and only I knew the imprint was from my ring.
There, among the pictographs, was my picture hewn out in the flat rock and outlined in faded black. Those childlike lines were a drawing of me.
Tears rolled down my dirty face as I remembered what had happened to my little group of friends. Their abrupt disappearance was due to the Aztecs trekking long miles up from Mexico hunting slave labor to help build their magnificent city or to be offered in a blood-bath. My friends who had escaped to the north were lost to time; even I could not say where they had gone or if they had survived.
I had to make my own arrangements to get back home.
Back in Columbus I went straightaway to the travel agency. I wanted to get a few things straight with that strange little man who obviously sent me to the past instead of taking my photograph. As best I could remember, the little old agent looked a lot like the shaman of the Sinagua.
An accidental tourist?
I walked past the door three times before I realized the storefront had changed. There was no sign waving in the breeze. There were no glass beads hanging across the doorway; they had been replaced with a modern glass and chrome door. The floor beyond was clean and devoid of sand.
I pushed through to the office.
There were two desks cluttered with telephones and computers, with a woman seated behind each desk.
"Can I help you take a trip?" one of them asked.
I shook my head. "Where is the little old man? I saw him here . . ." When exactly had I seen him? Days ago? Centuries? "A little man with weathered skin."
"Little old man?" She smirked and looked at the other agent, who smiled behind her hand.
"Yes," I insisted. "There was a little old man here who sent me to Sedona, oh, maybe two weeks ago. Wasn't there a little old man? No!"
I just answered my own question.
There was no little old wrinkled man working there, never had been, never would be. He'd found himself forward in time, and then just as likely had found his way back home . . . or somewhere, somewhen else.
I walked back to my apartment. Upon searching through the pockets of the clothes I'd worn when I was transported to ancient Arizona, I jerked my hand as I came across something raspy. I turned the pocket inside out, and to my amazement onto the floor fell a necklace made of tiny turquoise beads cut into odd little shapes.
A Portrait of Time Kelly Swails
Kelly Swails is a clinical microbiologist by day and a writer by night. When she's not playing with bacteria or words, she can be found reading, watching movies, gaming, exercising, or knitting. She and her husband Ken live with three cats in Illinois. If she had the opportunity to go back in time for a do over, she wouldn't change a thing. Visit her Web site at www.kellyswails.com.
Gina stood outside her sister's rented townhome. She shivered in the frigid February air as a tinge of nausea rippled through her body.
An angry wind that smelled of a neighbor's fire pushed through her thin houndstooth coat. Wisps of vapor puffed from her mouth as she blew into her gloved hands and stomped her feet.
Twenty below, at least. She'd forgotten how cold it had been. She could have bought a warmer coat but she hadn't spent a year's salary to be warm. She'd spent it on this trip. She would stand here in a bikini if it meant saving her identical twin, Lucy. She had six hours to do it, Timeshares waivers and warnings be damned.
A storm a few days prior had blanketed the area with a foot of snow, and now Gina squinted against the daylight glaring off its surface. She checked her watch: eleven thirty. Perfect. The current Gina's plane had just left for a week- long business trip, so there would be no chance she'd run into her past self and cause a time-fracturing paradox.
Gina clutched a plastic grocery bag as she climbed the short flight of stairs. She paused-come on, Gina, can't do what you came here to do if you don't go inside-before knocking once and swinging the door open. Warmth slammed into her body-her sister had always kept the thermostat somewhere between inferno and Hades-as her eyes fell onto Lucy's paintings and supplies strewn around the living room. Her voice cracked as she said, "Lucy? You here?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" Lucy called from the kitchen. "I thought you'd be at thirty thousand feet by now."
Tears filled Gina's eyes. Dizziness overcame her, and she couldn't tell if it was from the trip or from hearing Lucy's voice. She managed to croak, "Canceled," as Lucy walked into the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
"Flight or the whole trip?"
"Flight." A tear spilled from her left eye and ran down her cheek. Gina couldn't breathe as she watched Lucy flick the towel over her shoulder the way she always did.
"That's no reason to cry," Lucy said.
"I know." Gina stared at her sister. Gina wore her brunette hair in a sleek low bun; Lucy let her natural waves frame her face. Gina used the latest Estee Lauder cosmetics while Lucy ran a swipe of mascara over her eyelashes once in a while. Gina had her clothes tailored; Lucy wore Levi's and Chuck Taylors. Where Gina was smooth, Lucy was rough. Where Gina was reserved, Lucy was boisterous. Where Gina was straightlaced, Lucy was free-spirited. Seeing her standing in her living room now, wearing a paint-stained flannel shirt and smudge of flour on her cheek, made Gina feel complete for the first time in five years.
Lucy gave her a quizzical look. "What's with you?"
Gina released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and said, "Nothing. Maybe if you didn't keep your house at two hundred degrees I wouldn't tear up so bad when I came in from the cold." The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. She and Lucy'd had the same basic argument ever since they could reach the temperature dial in their childhood home. Having the conversation now felt comfortably absurd. The rational part of her mind said to not waste precious time talking about a few degrees. The emotional side would listen to her sister recite the alphabet all night.
Lucy snorted. "Like you're one to talk. I have to wear a sweatshirt at your house in the summer."
"My thermostat is always kept at the proper temperature," Gina said.
"Sure, for a penguin," Lucy said. She nodded to the sack Gina still held. "What's that?"
"Eggs. Had a hunch you needed some."
"I just started a batch of sugar cookies and realized I was out," Lucy said. She didn't look surprised, and Gina breathed sigh of relief. They'd had moments of apparent intuition where the other was concerned ever since they could walk, and Gina had hoped her sister would think this was nothing more than another instance of that. "But since you're here, I'll make chocolate chip."
"You don't need to make those just for me," Gina said, even though she didn't like sugar cookies.
"I'm not eating a whole batch of these things by myself," Lucy said. "I just need brown sugar and chocolate chips."
"I'll go," Gina said quickly.
"You bet you are," Lucy smiled. "I'm making the cookies for you."
"You were making cookies anyway. I'm going to the store again again out of the kindness of my heart." Gina gave Lucy a cockeyed smile. It felt great to smirk at her sister. "You know, someday you're going to have to learn take care of yourself, little sister." Gina's voice took on the familiar preaching tone she used so often with Lucy. out of the kindness of my heart." Gina gave Lucy a cockeyed smile. It felt great to smirk at her sister. "You know, someday you're going to have to learn take care of yourself, little sister." Gina's voice took on the familiar preaching tone she used so often with Lucy.
"And someday you'll have to learn to live a little, big sister," Lucy finished in the also familiar singsong voice she used with Gina.
Gina hugged Lucy long enough for Lucy to squirm out of her grasp and search her face. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I am now," Gina said.
After the dough had been sampled and the cookies were baked, Lucy went back to work on her current painting project. Gina settled on the couch to watch her. Lucy's art was influenced by the surrealists like Dali and Ernst; walls had ears, animals were hybrids of three or more species and an inanimate object or two, the colors were bright and distinct. This picture of a woman staring into a full-length mirror and seeing a monster was familiar to Gina-it had hung on her bedroom wall ever since Lucy's death, half finished and full of potential-and now she would get to see Lucy add strokes that weren't a part of the original. She wondered if the painting at home would reflect the changes when she got back. It might not even be on her wall at all. The idea excited Gina because it would mean that Lucy had been alive to sell it or give it to someone else.
"You don't have to stick around if you've got something else you'd rather do," Lucy said as she mixed paint on her palette.
"There's no place I'd rather be," Gina said.
Lucy shrugged. "I can think of better things to do than watch paint dry, but okay." She spoke like someone assured of her own immortality, or at least whose mortality was a distant, inconsequential concept. She dabbed at the canvas with a brush and a squiggly edge of the mirror frame appeared.
"How do you do that?" Gina said.
"Do what?"
"Make something out of nothing."
"I dunno," Lucy stood back and studied the new addition. "I try not to think about it too much."
Gina moved a stack of blank canvases onto the floor and stretched her legs. She pushed the sleeves of her black turtleneck above her elbows and rubbed her eyes. "Your paintings are so weird."
"I try not to think about that too much either."
"I mean, why does she see a monster in the mirror?"
Another section of frame appeared beneath Lucy's brush. "We all have monsters inside us sometimes."
"You don't." Gina leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Perhaps it was the comfort of being near her sister again that drained all the stress from her body. She listened to Lucy's brush alternating between scraping the palette and swiping the canvas. The rhythm coupled with the warm apartment and a stomach full of fresh cookies lulled Gina to sleep.
After a moment Gina jerked awake. Lucy wasn't standing at the canvas and the room had darkened. She had to have been asleep longer than she'd thought- the mirror frame in the painting had been finished, its purple squiggles and black shading mocking her. Gina checked her wrist. Three hours had passed.
"Lucy?" No answer. Panic welled in Gina's chest. "You here?" The place felt empty, and she knew Lucy had left. She jumped off the couch and headed for the kitchen, hesitating when spots danced before her eyes. Great Great, now I get nauseous. I get nauseous. A note in Lucy's hurried scrawl lay next to the dirty mixing bowl. A note in Lucy's hurried scrawl lay next to the dirty mixing bowl. Morning, sleepyhead. Since you're going to be here for dinner I'm going to go grab some supplies. Hope you're okay with meatloaf. Be back in fifteen. Morning, sleepyhead. Since you're going to be here for dinner I'm going to go grab some supplies. Hope you're okay with meatloaf. Be back in fifteen.
The note had the time it had been written in the upper right-hand corner like their mother had taught them. Gina gasped and threw the slip of paper onto the counter as if she'd been burned. Lucy had written it two hours ago.
Damnit, Lucy. She never kept a lot of food in the house, but it was worse when she was in the middle of a painting. Gina figured Lucy had gone hungry during the blizzard a few days before. Of course, Lucy wouldn't have gone to the store if Gina hadn't been there, probably choosing to snack on some dry cereal for dinner. Even worse, she never would have gone if Gina had been awake to stop her. Guilt pressed onto her chest. Gina only had a few hours to spend with her twin sister. Why did she have to waste them by sleeping? It didn't matter. She grabbed the phone on the wall and dialed Lucy's cell by memory. She never kept a lot of food in the house, but it was worse when she was in the middle of a painting. Gina figured Lucy had gone hungry during the blizzard a few days before. Of course, Lucy wouldn't have gone to the store if Gina hadn't been there, probably choosing to snack on some dry cereal for dinner. Even worse, she never would have gone if Gina had been awake to stop her. Guilt pressed onto her chest. Gina only had a few hours to spend with her twin sister. Why did she have to waste them by sleeping? It didn't matter. She grabbed the phone on the wall and dialed Lucy's cell by memory.
The phone rang in her ear several times before the voice mail picked up. No no no no no no no. No no no no no no no. The warnings she'd been given at Timeshares zipped through her mind, the ones about how time had a way of righting itself, that if you changed the past enough to influence great change in the future the universe would reset the correct course. Gina didn't care about the "correct" course. She would The warnings she'd been given at Timeshares zipped through her mind, the ones about how time had a way of righting itself, that if you changed the past enough to influence great change in the future the universe would reset the correct course. Gina didn't care about the "correct" course. She would not not allow her sister to die, period. Gina grabbed her coat and ran from the apartment. allow her sister to die, period. Gina grabbed her coat and ran from the apartment.
Statistics say that most fatal accidents happen within a mile from home, and Lucy's was no exception. The stream that had frozen her to death ran behind her apartment and through her neighborhood to join up with a bigger stream half a mile away. It was the small bridge over this juncture that always got treacherous in the winter.
Gina ran down the street, dodging ice and hopping through the snow where residents hadn't bothered to shovel. Soon her legs burned and cramps ripped through her side as her breath came in gasps. Gina ignored the pain. She could only think about getting to her sister.
I shouldn't have fallen asleep. It doesn't make sense. The doctors at Timeshares had given her a litany of possible side effects, everything from vomiting to diarrhea to weird tastes to phantom smells, but none of them had mentioned anything about sleepiness or fatigue. Not once. Even so, she had made it a point to get extra sleep and take vitamins and hydrate well before the trip. Nothing was going to keep her from saving Lucy. And yet she had slept hard enough not to hear her sister leave. The doctors at Timeshares had given her a litany of possible side effects, everything from vomiting to diarrhea to weird tastes to phantom smells, but none of them had mentioned anything about sleepiness or fatigue. Not once. Even so, she had made it a point to get extra sleep and take vitamins and hydrate well before the trip. Nothing was going to keep her from saving Lucy. And yet she had slept hard enough not to hear her sister leave. The universe righting itself. The universe righting itself.
At last she ran up the steep embankment that led to the bridge. Her heart stopped as she crested the hill. The thin guardrail that separated the road from the ten foot drop to the water had been torn, the metal twisted and peeled away from the road.
"Lucy! Oh, God, no, this isn't happening, not again. Lucy! LUCY!" Gina sprinted to the bridge, raising her knees high to get through the snowdrifts. Once on the road, her feet caught ice and lost traction. She fell chest-first onto the pavement, knocking all the wind from her lungs. Her eyes watered and her body convulsed as her diaphragm tried to work. Through the blurriness in her vision, she saw Lucy's car sitting nose- first in the stream. Not enough water to fill a car or carry it away, but enough to drown or freeze a person.
Gina didn't hesitate. She flung herself down the embankment and into the stream. Water filled her shoes as chunks of ice banged against her knees. Once she got to the car, Gina saw Lucy turn her head to look at her. She's alive. She's alive.
"Geenie," Lucy said, calling her by their childhood nickname.
"I'm going to get you out of here," Gina said as she tried to wrench the car door open.
"It's stuck," Lucy said, her voice soft and weak. "I'm so tired, Geenie. So tired." She rolled her head back and closed her eyes.
Gina pounded on the car window. "Stay awake," she yelled. "It's important that you stay awake." Her legs were numb from the freezing water. She stumbled over the rocky stream bottom as she walked around and tried the passenger door. She leaned back and used her body weight to leverage the door open, but the impact had jammed this side, too. Gina looked into the car. Lucy's legs were submerged, the contents of her purse floating around her. A packet of soup mix floated by the dashboard. She'd been on her way back from the store, just like last time.
"Did you call nine one one?" Gina said as she pounded on the window. "Lucy! Lucy, wake up! Did you call nine one one yet?"
Lucy's eyes rolled in her head as she shrugged. "Cell's wet. No good." She reclosed her eyes.
Just like last time. "Stay awake!" Gina demanded as she pounded on the door with both fists. After Lucy had died, she'd studied hypothermia and knew if the victim fell asleep, it was all over. She ran over to the driver's side, her body cramping from the cold. If she didn't get out of the water soon, she'd be in danger, too. "Lucy!" Gina cocked her arm across her body. She summoned all her strength and tried to smash the window, hitting it with the back of her arm again and again.
Lucy's eyes fluttered as she touched the window. "I'm glad you came to see me," she said. "I'm glad you're with me at the end."
"Don't talk like that," Gina said, a hysterical edge to her voice. She touched the window by Lucy's hand and imagined she could feel her twin's fingers. "We're going to get you out of here."
"I'm going to paint heaven," Lucy said.
"No you're not, not yet," Gina climbed onto the hood of the car, slipping on the wet metal. She landed on her left hip and elbow, but her body was so numb from the cold that she didn't feel any pain. She stood on the hood and clutched the slippery roof as best she could. "You are not leaving me, Lucy, you're not." Gina kicked the windshield with her right foot, concentrating most of the force on her heel. Her numb legs and the icy hood made it hard to get enough force, and she kept losing her balance. Finally she lay on her back and kicked at the windshield with both feet. Water lapped at the top of her scalp as she kicked again and again.
A crack formed beneath her feet as blue lights swirled around her. She tasted chocolate chip cookies and bile as the nausea spiked in her stomach. No. No. She glanced at her watch. Her time was up. Timeshares was pulling her back. "Not yet!" she yelled, hoping someone in the control room would hear her. "Lucy! No!" She glanced at her watch. Her time was up. Timeshares was pulling her back. "Not yet!" she yelled, hoping someone in the control room would hear her. "Lucy! No!"
Lucy didn't respond as her fingers slipped away from the glass.
"Lucy!" Gina yelled as flashes of light enveloped her. She closed her eyes against the glare and opened them to find herself lying on the floor of a sterile examination room. Two young men helped her to her feet and stripped off her wet clothes as another wrapped her in a warming blanket. She looked around the room. She was back at Timeshares.
"I've got to go back," Gina said.
"Your time is up, ma'am," one of the men said in a matter-of-fact tone. He sounded like he'd said that sentence a hundred times before.
Gina shivered and her teeth chattered. She felt as though she would never be warm again. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she wondered if it was from the traveling or hypothermia. Probably both.
Rolf Jacobsen, the owner of Timeshares, walked through the door. "I see you got a little wet, Miss Warner."
She struggled to keep her eyes open as one of the men wrapped another blanket around her. "You're quick on the uptake," she mumbled.
Rolf gave her a thin smile. "I know what you tried to do."
"What are you talking about?" Gina said as she snapped her head up.