Brink by Mikel Parry

CH- PLANES TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES

Radiant beams of sun pelted down like a warm shower from the sky. A pleasant ambience was wrapped around the world like a warm blanket. Thomas squinted his eyes, raising one hand just above his brow to inspect his new surroundings. Blue sky, green lawns, and a plethora of suburban, cookie-cutter homes. He had never been in a place like this before. It reminded him of the old TV sitcoms with the quintessential neighborhoods he had often wished to burn down to a more acceptable state of ruin.

Where am I?

Moving forward, he felt his shoes press into the soft blades of freshly cut grass. Inexplicably, he found himself standing as if on a bed of nails on top of the time frozen blades. Despite his various glimpses into time, he still felt like a child exploring the world for the first time. Walking through the grass, he glanced at his watch. The epicenter was somewhere nearby. He swallowed a pool-ball sized lump in his throat. What if the killer was here? What if he was watching?

Keep it together . . . just keep it together, Tommy.

Taking a quick three-sixty of the area, he felt confident that he was alone, or at least confident enough to keep moving. Looking up ahead he saw more seemingly identical homes. They, much like the rest, lacked any real distinction or vivid detail.

Who lives in these places?

Down the street, he could see people out enjoying the pleasant weather, all frozen in time. A group of young kids were dashing away from a man spraying them with a garden hose. A dog leapt in midair reaching for a Frisbee that was just out of reach. Cars sat like broken down pieces of hardware in the bustling street. Conversations, smiles, smells, and all the other spectacular images had Thomas lost in wonder. He was so caught up that when his legs pressed into a forceful wave of pressured water, he barely had time to yelp.

He tumbled over, plowing head on into a tiny garden gnome that pressed back against him before ultimately falling down. At the same time, a flash of light shot through the air, leaving him still trying to regain his composure.

Dammit! Well, I hope that doesn’t ruin anything!

Thomas glanced at the fallen gnome who had valiantly given up its previous place in time given the right amount of force. He had bitten a fleshy chunk of the inside of his cheek. It felt like a thousand snakes were squirming around inside of him. But how could one silly lawn ornament change anything?

Looking back at what had sent him flailing, there was a revolving sprinkler spewing out glistening streams of water. It had been a stream that he had run into. It had provided just enough resistance to knock him cleanly off his feet. Reaching down, he felt the remnants of moisture that had stuck to his pant leg.

This is ridiculous!

Shaking it off, he pressed on. He needed to be quick. The vile intent of the killer was maturing into something far more destructive than before. It was one thing to target an individual, meticulously calculating the method of their murder. But now he appeared to be being playing impulsively and wild. The detonations at the docks had claimed many lives. Taking out the lowest common denominators was just a trivial practice. Whoever the murderer was, he wanted results. Everything else was just collateral damage.

Weaving his way towards the front door of the home, he took another look at his watch. He still appeared to be going in the right direction. But something else was present, another dot. At first he panicked, not immediately understanding what it meant. But soon the details he needed to see marched out of his mental barracks. It was clear. He had changed something. The incredible piece of technology had registered it and was reporting correctly. Which means if he could see it, so could Jo. This was a recipe for trouble. Undoubtedly, he would be skewered alive when he got back. But it did bring up a couple of interesting ideas . . .

Not now, just shut up and focus on this! Please!

At the door, he rehearsed the back-breaking routine he’d need to get it open. At first it held its ground, refusing to succumb to his violent yanking. But with a few more firm pulls, he was able to wedge himself through it, allowing it to vibrate back into place. Waves of energy passed over him like a transparent flock of butterflies. It was miraculous. The inside of the house was the perfect picture of an ideal American home; spotless countertops, cheap, trendy furniture, and a warm plate of cookies, sitting front and center in the middle of the room. Seated around the snacks was a group of young adults, smiling ear-to-ear. Their pearly-white teeth shined like the keys of a new piano. All were dressed in the latest fashion, each one working hard to keep up their facades. It made Thomas sick. Looking them over quickly, he found them to be utterly useless. The sea of details around him was turning out to be nothing more than a kiddie pool.

He took a few more steps towards the kitchen. Once there, he took in every detail in the blink of an eye. Standard living equipment for the standard billboard family. Thomas could see nothing of note. But there had to be something. The killer was brilliant—defiantly so. He wouldn’t waste his efforts on a whimsical trip to the past just for fun; especially not to visit a quaint, middle-class neighborhood like this. There must be something hidden here.

Continuing through the kitchen, the enticing scent of freshly baked cookies filled his head. The left-over cookies were still on a cooling rack on the counter. Thomas thought them lucky to need not suffer the mindless banter undoubtedly occurring at the living room coffee table. They looked delicious. His stomach started to groan. He was hungry. His insatiable curiosity had been trumping his physical needs. Even a freak like him needed to eat once in a while. Pausing at the rack of cookies, he let his stomach take the helm. He bent over them, letting even more of their tantalizing scent tickle his nostrils.

Well, I’ve already ruined the universe with a gnome, why not?

Snatching a cookie, he opened his mouth, preparing to sink his teeth into his top contender to be devoured. Unfortunately, his choppers were stopped by the resilient forces of time. But he had tasted the tiny bits that had broken free and they tasted like heaven. As he lingered over the sweet tease, he noticed something interesting. On the fridge was a calendar that had something written across the top:

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

It appeared to be in pristine condition; a true vintage classic of a great flick.

I really liked that big guy.

He looked more closely at the calendar to inspect the dates. He knew now that dates could be critical in an investigation of the past. Aside from the year and month, there were blank boxes displaying the days, but nothing was written in them. It was completely devoid of detail. This area was worthless. He had taken nothing in that his mind marked as critical. But the plain needed to be assessed as much as the odd. Maybe the vintage calendar held some importance to its owner. A hobby or career connection? He was stymied.

Moving from the first level to the stairs leading to the second floor, he was bombarded by family photos. Each hung in an aesthetically pleasing location, with the family in matching outfits and appropriately themed backgrounds for the occasion. It was really becoming too much to bear. At this point, he felt that the entire family was either guilty of being the most perfect family ever conceived in a laboratory, or being closet, homicidal maniacs with a secret basement filled with bodies. Either way, he knew he didn’t belong here.

Where are you, murderer of mine?

Sneaking a peek at his watch midway up the stairs, he saw that a few minutes had already elapsed. But aside from his alteration, nothing had happened. The center of activity was close. It could be upstairs, downstairs, or in the basement. All Thomas knew was that something needed to happen to make his glimpse worthwhile. Should the overlap fall at the end of his glimpse, this might ultimately be a pointless waste of time.

Time . . . always with the time. I hate time.

Getting to the top of the genealogical display on the stairs, he took a deep breath. Even briefly passing by the pictures had left his mind buzzing.

Mrs. Whoever, what is it with you and those damn turtle necks?

The upstairs was as scrupulously decorated and put together as the basement. Additional pictures dotted the walls alongside generic quotes about home, family, and other saccharine subjects. There were only a few rooms off the hall, with a wide open door at the end. It was that one that caught his interest. The room’s placement suggested it might be used as a home office, or at least a hobby nook. The potential for juicy details was much higher in there. Never mind the extra perk, that he wouldn’t have to wrestle with a belligerent door that didn’t know when to quit, just to get in. If he ever saw this place again, he’d kick the front door down.

With a few quick strides, he made his way through the hall. Brief glimpses through cracked open doors divulged additional details. Two girls and one boy, or at least that’s what the room’s décor suggested. In one room a young boy was sprawled out on his bed, playing with some sort of gaming system that accurately resembled a grey brick. Thomas’ mind pranced around, gleefully absorbing the information all around him. It felt at times as if he and his mind were actually two different, distinct life forms. Maybe in the future he could get a lobotomy. The Egyptians pulled the brain out through the nose. Excerebration . . . that was what it was called. But that wasn’t done until after the person was already dead.

Get a grip!

Shaking his head violently to calm his overactive mind, he stepped into the room. His hypothesis just became fact. The room was an office; the type of office that someone who was afforded the luxury of working from home might have. Here was the real meat of the find. Maps of highways, railroad tracks, subway systems, and a plethora of other related items were scattered all about. It was an astounding amount of data to take in, but Thomas’ brain was working in overdrive to try and make it happen.

“What is all this?”

Foraging through piles of maps and notes, he was looking for the delectable, potential trove of new info he could use to begin connecting the dots; dots that would have repercussions for years to come. He found himself impressed by what he saw—impressed by the genius like intellect of the mysterious man who was orchestrating this. The set-ups were impeccable—the execution—nearly perfect. His idealistic acclamation quickly faded to the horrible reality. Was he really going to be able to beat this monster?

He felt his thumb slide over the rigid edge of an exposed piece of paper. It nipped into his flesh, leaving a narrow slit behind. A few tiny drops of blood squeezed out before he stuck the finger into his mouth.

Still sharp.

As he sucked on his finger, feeling the sting of his minor injury, he saw something that made his heart jump. Directly across from the desk, fastened tightly to the wall, was an enormous map of a city. The city needed no introduction. He knew it like the back of his hand; it was his city. Every street and tunnel was accounted for. Each purposefully labeled, showing an overall picture. So many lines going this way and that, all connecting one point A to another point B, or C, and so forth. It was a true marvel of organization and design. Like a massive spider web splattered on the wall, it loomed over everything else in the room. Encroaching on the giant tapestry of paper, he saw a few other interesting clues. Small pins with yellow string stretched over various areas of the map, perhaps pointing out the changes to future renditions of the city that he knew in the present tense. There were so many lines crisscrossing each other all over the map. It was a super-sized serving of mind clutter. Even with his unusual ability, it was exhausting. He glanced at his watch. Still nothing.

Where are you? Why here, why now?

Feeling frustrated by the deluge of what seemed to be unhelpful details, he exited the room. He decided to check for a basement when he found himself curiously drawn to the room of the small boy. The door was just ajar enough to see in, but with a few forceful jerks, it was open. He looked curiously around the room; cartoon character posters, superhero figurines, and a tiny basketball hoop dangling out from the closet. It truly was an amazing room for any child to aspire to have. He glanced at the boy, who looked far-off and indifferent. To Thomas, it was the look of pure ecstasy—to have his mind dwelling on something as pointless as a video game for hours on end—to be able to finally close his eyes and blank out. The thought alone was intoxicating enough to induce in him an emotional high.

He took a step towards the boy and clumsily plowed his foot into something on the floor. He spewed out a slew of profanity as he picked it up. Fighting rising anger, he looked down to see a large train set. It was laid out on the floor carefully. The miniatures created an almost satirical design compared to what the real world looks like. Little crops of corn suddenly transitioning to a quaint little town, with only the most necessary of buildings allowed. Happy, smiling faces on disproportional bodies stuck forever in some artist’s rendition of how life should be. Then there was the train; its tiny details carefully placed with a dot of adhesive on plastic. It was stuck half way inside a slender little cave that led into a forest green mountain of plastic.

I wish I would’ve had one of those . . .

Feeling a bit of nostalgia, he closed his eyes. Perhaps in another life he could just spent his time playing with trains. His eyes jutted wide open as suddenly a flash of blinding light lit up the world he was standing in. He knew all too well what had just happened. He wasted no time. Scanning the room frantically, he tried to find anything that had been moved, changed, or altered. But he was coming up dry. The child’s room was barren of anything of interest. Out of frustration, he gritted his teeth forcefully.

“Come on! Where is it! What have you done this time?” he growled under his breath.

Looking at his watch, he could see all of the vibrant activity animating its outputs. It looked like an electrical storm. And yet, in his own relative space in time, nothing appeared out of place. Perhaps he wasn’t as talented as he had thought. Unwilling to give in, he pressed even harder. He closed his eyes and pressed a finger into each temple. He took the photograph of everything he had seen and began dismantling it down to each pixel. But still the room held nothing. That’s when it hit him. He was in the wrong room! The tight space between the walls had convoluted the location. It wasn’t accurate enough. But the daunting task of dismantling the room next to him was near impossible. He hadn’t seen all the maps, read all the notes. Even for him it would be an impossible task. Lowering his arms, he let out a furious cry of anger.

“I can’t let this happen! Not again! I’m running out of time!”

As he allowed his eyes to slowly open, he let them rest on the train set ahead of him. He felt the world muffle itself to a whisper. He imagined the small boy playing with it. It reminded him of the half-filled balloons, streaming down sidewalks, being tugged along by the display of youth and energy he held in his memory of children from somewhere long ago. The train sticking part way into the tunnel, stuck in its place in time.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles . . .

Without another moment’s hesitation, he burst from the room, squeezing himself through the door, before sprinting into the office. Once there, he let it flow.

“Trains, automobiles, and maps . . . What does this guy do? It doesn’t matter! All that matters is what was done! Come on, Tommy! Don’t be so stupid!”

He bolted through the room like a streak of lightning trying to find ground. He needed to find something that had been changed. Had it had been here all along? Altering a substance like cookies had been draining. Whatever had been done, must have been minor, yet important enough to start off a catastrophe. He gazed up at the massive map on the wall.

There’s so much there. Too much. I can’t do this!

But deep down inside he knew he had too. The ripple in time had to be here, and in his mind it had to be the map. He closed his eyes and pushed his brain to its upper limits. It began to resonate within his skull like a humming generator. Every single detail it could possibly pull out from the cerebral synapses that were popping like fire crackers it brought forward. There was a picture of the room—the room from just moments ago in his relative space—the clutter of papers, the mess of maps, and the large city on display. It was the city he focused on. There had to be a logical reason for the map to be changed, but what was it? It had been so many years before; what possible effect could it be?

You can do this, Tommy! Come on!

A sharp river of pain crept out from his head and into his body. The pieces of string streaming across the board were being traced at break-neck speeds by his mind. Each ran to a location marked as correct by his memory. Time and time again he repeated the process feeling like the world around him was on the verge of collapse, sucking him back into its time warp.

Faster, Tommy. You don’t have time for this.

The pain in his head and body was now excruciating. He pressed his mind faster and faster. His hands were clenched tightly. The slender cut bled in a trickling stream under the immense pressure. One string here, another there, another, another, a line connected, a location identified. Suddenly, he felt an immense wave of energy begin to swallow up the room whole. Time had finally run out.

No, no, not like this! Not this time!

Fragments of a past reality broke free, swirling around him like a tornado. But he continued to focus, continued to push himself past his limits. Another string, another location, a sprawl of possibilities. He felt himself begin to drift into the tremendous force of time ripping him away. The board was falling apart now; all that remained was the image in his mind. In the final moments, at the very last second, his eyes shot open and took one calculated glimpse at one very specific location. With a scream of anguish, the spiraling light and energy enveloped him. His trip to Pleasantville had come to a hellish end.