Time Change B2 Read online

  TIME CHANGE

  B2

  by

  Alex Myers

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Alex Myers

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  CHAPTER 1

  Tuesday, June 23, 1857

  Three metal points dug into Jack’s skull and a metal band around his forehead immobilized his face. His eye was held open by a small metal device, like talons gripping on his upper and lower eyelids. He had an incredible urge to blink. His hands, legs, and chest were strapped to the flat, hard surface.

  Standing in front of him were two people in lab coats. They leaned over a polished-cherry, wooden-hinged box with a burgundy velvet interior. Inside the box was a formidable collection of medical and surgical antiques; three long bone- handled Liston knives with razor-like polished steel blades, and two smaller double handled scapulas. There was a capital saw for sawing through weight bearing bones, a Hey saw used to perform craniotomies, and a metacarpal saw. There were needles for suturing, forceps, a drill and bits, a tourniquet and bone brush. Jack’s head was spinning; he could do little more than watch. The smaller of the two people had a baldhead and long unruly sideburns. Jack had never seen him before.

  “Our inability to wake the patient has led me to the diagnosis of a subdural hematoma. We need to relieve the pressure in the skull. Our only course of action is trepanning.”

  They’re going to drill a hole in my head. Jack needed to stop this.

  Even in Jack’s loopy state, he knew the larger of the two people was his doctor from his complex back in Virginia, America’s first female physician, Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell. He called her Dr. Liz and had spent many long hours explaining modern medicine to her. How could she be going along with this?

  Dr. Liz shook her head ‘no’, she clicked her tongue.

  “I’ll cut a flap of scalp to clear an area to the skull to prevent slippage and so the drill can get a bite through the cranium until a disk of bone can removed. We might have to drill a few more holes and use a Gigli saw to remove a larger plate.”

  “Why has the patient been immobilized like this?” Dr. Liz asked.

  “Perhaps it’s a bit much considering I gave him a powerful muscle relaxant that my brother developed. My brother works down near you in Williamsburg. He’s developed quite a few interesting items.”

  “I disagree with this procedure, but he has been unconscious for two weeks. If he does have a hematoma, there could be brain damage. Why do you have his eye pried open like that?” Dr. Liz asked.

  “That is also part of my brother’s work, you may have heard of him, Dr. Ayelett Klarner?” He had a thin surgical instrument resembling an icepick in his hand and continued on without waiting for her to answer. “This is an orbitoclast and it’s used to perform a transorbital lobotomy. It involves lifting the upper eyelid and placing the point under the eyelid and against the top of the eye-socket. I then use a mallet to drive the orbitoclast through the thin layer of bone and into the brain along the plane of the bridge of the nose. All cuts are designed to transect the white fibrous matter connecting the cortical tissue of the prefrontal cortex to the thalamus. This stimulates regrowth in this mysterious part of the brain and recovery is remarkably fast.”

  They’re going to give me a lobotomy? Oh, hell no. The scream was soundless at first, his facial and neck muscles refusing to move, air simply rushed over his vocal cords, thus making a growling, moaning sound. It started slow and low, then turned loud and thunderous. “Noooo!” he screamed.

  Dr. Klarner nearly fell over and Dr. Liz spun around. “Jack, you’re awake. Dr. Klarner, thank you, but there’s no need to proceed.”

  Klarner regained his composure and said, “I’m afraid you’re wrong. We have come too far to stop now.”

  “But there is absolutely no medical reason to go ahead with the surgery. The patient is conscious, there were never visible signs of hematoma.”

  Klarner advanced with a Liston knife with its long razor-sharp, polished-steel blade. In his other hand was a weighted wooden mallet. “There is no medical reason to continue; this is personal.”

  He was focused on Jack, and Jack was still unable to move with the exception of his eye, that swung wildly around the room. Dr. Liz, a full head taller, put her fists on her hips and stood like a golem between Dr. Klarner and Jack.

  Klarner was so focused on the procedure he was about to perform that he, as if for the first time, saw the formidable determination in front of him. His cheeks turned the color of fire and his eyes bulged and twitched. “You, Madame, need to remove yourself from my surgery theater.”

  “He’s my patient.” Her black-leather, Victorian ankle boots stood like pointed tree trunks beneath her white coat.

  “No, he’s my patient now.” Klarner said and stepped forward swinging the heavy mallet at Dr. Liz’s head. She flinched with the top half of her body and the swinging hammer missed her by less than an inch. He reached under the swinging arch of his arm and thrust the orbitoclast, which was like a pointy tip screwdriver, into Dr. Liz’s face. Blood blossomed on her right cheek. The wound didn’t look deep, but the fish hook shaped end of the instrument ripped open her flesh.

  Jack watched in horror, unable to move or make a sound.

  Klarner pulled the pointed instrument back and did a reverse arc with the bone splitting mallet. This time the mallet connected with Dr. Liz’s forehead, and she dropped to the floor like a puppet suddenly freed from its strings.

  Jack heard an evil laugh as Klarner stepped over Dr. Liz, purposely kicking her in the head as he did. He was heading straight for Jack, holding the pointed object out in front of him. Jack couldn’t see Dr. Liz, but he could hear her moaning.

  “You foiled our plans at the church, didn’t you Mr. Jack Riggs. Oh, wait a minute, you can speak, that’s one of the side benefits of our toxin. You get to be conscious in your own little hell as I slice up your cerebellum. You killed our man Cooper, but killing you would be too kind for you. I want you to see the South rise up and reclaim what is rightfully hers.”

  Jack tried to move, but he had no control over his body. Klarner was upon him now and had the pointed-hooked instrument inches away from his eye. There was a loud crash and Klarner was suddenly falling toward him. Jack tried to move but was pinned down. Then Klarner’s forehead made contact with Jack’s, and things went black.

  Jack awoke but was afraid to open his eyes. It didn’t sound like a hospital… he tentatively opened one eye. He knew from the murky light this was no longer the future. Jack inhaled the sour odor of an 1857 hospital room. He opened the other eye and knew he was back in time. He looked at the grimy wall in front of him and thought, I’m back!

  He tried to raise his head to look around the room and pain shot from his temple down his neck to his back. He felts cuts and bruises on his head where the harness had dug into his skull. He turned his head from
one side to the other and was surprised to see Frances asleep in a chair.

  Her face looked so innocent and fresh. He watched her sleeping and really took time to look at her like never before. He noticed the slight freckles on her nose and cheeks, the way her bangs were tapered and the shape of her eyebrows. Listening even harder, he could hear the sound of her breathing, the way she puffed in air and the little baby snores when she exhaled. She was wearing a white shirt and a black skirt; from the wrinkles he assumed she had been in them a while.

  He looked at her forehead and wondered if she was dreaming. He wondered what was in that head, what it was that made her who she was—so strong, so honest, so scared of loving him.

  She opened her eyes and stared directly into his. “Jack, you’re awake!”

  He just smiled at her.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Not—too…” He started coughing and motioned to a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Frances understood and helped him with the glass. He drank greedily.

  After clearing his throat several times, he said; “Not too long. Not long enough, really.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I was enjoying watching you sleep. You looked so peaceful—so beautiful.”

  “Oh please,” she said, blushing as she slowly came awake. “How do you feel?”

  “Not really sure. Bad, I think. I tried to move a little while ago and it hurt like hell. Where am I?”

  “The NYU School of Medicine, this is a quarantine room.”

  “I’m infectious? What do I have?”

  “No, nothing like that, but Dr. Blackwell wanted to get you off the ward floor. She said plenty of people there were infectious. There is also a Pinkerton guard posted outside your room after the incident with Klarner.”

  “Klarner? What happened to me? Was someone going to do brain surgery or was that a dream?”

  “No, that really happened. This Dr. Klarner attacked Dr. Liz. He works for the SAC. He’s in a coma himself right now—I think his skull is cracked.”

  “I remember him saying that it was his brother that worked for the SAC.”

  “No, it was this guy. Pinkerton can even place him in Washington Square outside the church.”

  “Why would you let this crackpot anywhere near me?”

  “Because he isn’t a crackpot. Or, let me put it this way, he has amazing qualifications. No one realized he was connected to the SAC. After the accident we were short on doctors, you were hurt and he said he could help.”

  “I’m too tired to get into it now.” Jack’s exuberance upon waking was fading fast.

  “So you remember him trying to kill you?” Frances asked.

  “I don’t think he was trying to kill me; he said he wanted to turn me into a vegetable.” Jack looked around the room. “Why am I here and not at my complex?”

  “You became unstable every time someone tried to move you.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “One week. We were all worried about you. Everyone’s here or has been here—Samuel, Murphy. We’ve all been taking turns sitting with you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You needed someone to babysit you.”

  “Where’s Kaz? I didn’t hear you mention him.”

  Frances looked away. Then finally, looking deadly serious, she said, “That is something that can wait.”

  “Kazmer? Something’s happened to Kaz?” Jack tried to sit up but was too weak to move. “He wasn’t at the church, was he?”

  “No.” She wouldn’t look Jack in the eyes.

  “Is he dead? Hurt?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Don’t know. How can you not know?”

  “Because no one can find him.” She looked him straight in the eye.

  “Well—“ Jack still struggled to sit and failed. Finally Frances propped his pillow and helped him sit up. Jack searched for words; Frances gave him another drink of water. “He must have been kidnapped, he just wouldn’t leave.”

  “I don’t think so, Jack. His bags were packed. He sent Robbie over to Mrs. Goodyear and Robbie’s been there ever since.”

  “Kaz would not leave Robbie, he wouldn’t leave him.”

  “I thought he was in love with that—“

  “Mattie? Mattie was here in New York, at the church. This is bizarre though. What we thought was Mattie’s dying breath, she said: ‘Help Kazmer’, like she was calling out for him, or she thought I was him. She might have known exactly who I was and was saying that I should ‘help Kazmer’. Like Kazmer needed my help.”

  “Allan Pinkerton told us all about it. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I so despised that woman if she’d have died, I’d have been relieved. I’m not surprised she was a part of this.”

  Jack was getting weaker by the second, the room started to spin. It was hard for Jack to talk. He had to build strength just to begin again. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You hit your head pretty hard on the ground. Plus the concussion, the impact from the explosion broke several ribs. They brought you here in a coma. The doctors were going to do exploratory surgery. That’s when Klarner showed up.”

  “How many people were hurt?” he asked in one long, weakened breath.

  “Eight people died at the accident, two more died from their injuries here at the hospital.”

  Died? People died? Oh God!” He closed his eyes and shuddered.

  “Six others were hurt bad enough to need hospitalization. A lot of people are hurting from this tragedy.”

  A cold finger ran down Jack’s spine, remembering how he thought the hospital smelled like a butcher shop and not the clean antiseptic smell associated with hospitals in his time.

  “Why haven’t they moved me to my place in Norfolk? It’s the best medical facility in the world.”

  “I told you, Jack, you’ve been in a coma. Relax. There’s nothing going on here—no conspiracy.”

  “After what happened at the church and with Dr. Freako?”

  “Jack, you need to rest.”

  “Please make sure I don’t receive any kind of treatment unless it’s discussed with me first. Get me Dr. Blackwell, tell her I want to go home to the complex.”

  “I will. Now rest, no more talking.”

  A wave of exhaustion hit Jack and he was gone.

  When Jack woke again, he was in the medical building on his complex in Norfolk. Frances was there by his side, as if she had never left. He asked her, “How long?”

  “You’ve been out for three days, we moved you yesterday. And when I say we, I mean a bunch of us.”

  “Dr. Blackwell?”

  “Let me just say that Dr. Blackwell is a bulldog, remind me to never get on her bad side. But it finally took Allan Pinkerton and Scott O’Leary to get involved. Do you know what a police escort is?”

  “Yes…”

  “Before yesterday, I didn’t. Dr. Liz, that’s what Dr. Blackwell said to call her, she said that there were things wrong, really wrong with your treatment. She acted like they were trying to poison you—mercury, I think she said.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure. Dr. Liz said you re-injured an old wound.”

  He felt the bandage on his head, feeling for the wound underneath. “This is the same spot I hit when I had the accident that brought me here. I wonder if that had anything to do with the time travel thing?”

  “What are you talking about? Are you saying you traveled through time again?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think…” He cleared his throat again. “I think I woke up in another time.”

  “You couldn’t have, someone was with you all the time. If you did, why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because I didn’t wake up here.”

  “I’m not following you?”

  “I think I woke up in a twenty-first century hospital.”

  “Why do you say you ‘think’?”

  “Because
it wasn’t like any hospital I had ever seen before. It was different… more advanced, I guess. There were electronics there that looked way beyond anything we ever had.”

  She put a finger to her lip, deep in thought. Finally she said, “You have brought a lot of new ideas to our time, and by how much would you say technology and science has leaped ahead in just the last year?”

  Now he thought for a moment. “Since I’ve been here? Maybe twenty-five, thirty years. It’s hard to say, maybe more.”

  “And you said that technology leaps ahead exponentially, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Say things have moved ahead at least twenty-five to fifty years, maybe more. Wouldn’t the world, the future you saw, reflect those same changes?”

  “That would be one explanation.” He thought for a moment, then continued, “That would mean the things I’m doing here really are making an impact.” He smiled, but then a darker continence took over. “Frances, this hold I have on the past seems to be tentative at best. I’m not saying I have this whole thing figured out—not even close—but what if somehow I die in this world? Will I wake up back in my own time?”

  Frances didn’t know what to say; she seemed sickened by this possible scenario. They both sat thinking of the ramifications. He reached and intertwined one her fingers in his. He felt a cold front roll over her.

  “Hey, I’m back, everything’s okay.”

  “I know, and I’m thankful. I really am. I don’t know, it’s just everything else people have to worry about in this world, and now this. One day you could just disappear?”

  “I’ve got to remember all I can about medical history, in case I am ever injured again… or you, or someone we know. My biggest fear is that team of medical witch doctors will get a hold of one of us.”

  “This has really got you spooked, hasn’t it?”

  “I just need to devise a plan in case I get sucked back unexpectedly into the future.” Jack said then, “Oh, Kaz, is there any word on Kaz?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m sure something bad has happened. I will get him back,” Jack said.