CHAPTER THREE
They sat in Audrey Maher’s sun-bright kitchen, two cups of coffee and a dish of store-bought bear claws between them. Gillian hadn’t touched the pastries, but Audrey had nervously shred one bear claw into ragged wedges.
Audrey Maher had built her shop onto the front of her small, tidy cottage. The kitchen window offered a clear view of plateaus and red rock formations in the distance. Gillian’s gaze occasionally shifted to the vista outside as they spoke. The stoic timelessness of the mountains seemed to calm her.
Audrey shook her head slowly, her eyes bright with moisture. “Lou Gehrig’s disease – but you’re so young. Aren’t there any treatments available?”
Gillian glanced quickly out the window, and then returned her gaze to Audrey. “Not much – or at least, nothing that would save my life. And certainly, I have no intention of prolonging my eventual suffering. Even if I knew I had many years left to me, I’d rather be dead than suffer systematic paralysis. I’m not Steven Hawking, with a great intellect to sustain me through such disability. I want to continue to lead a physically active life as well. Shallow, I know – but it’s a quality of life issue for me.” Then, letting go with a firm huff of breath, “That’s why you must help me.”
Audrey let loose a quick sigh of her own. “But how? If you mean mind-diving then I’m afraid I must disappoint you: I don’t even know if it will work!”
“It hasn’t been...done?” Gillian said, blinking. She had assumed that mind-diving might be possible, that someone had actually traversed time – or at least, it was what she’d hoped. “How – why – would you even mention such a thing to anyone?”
Audrey rolled her eyes and sighed again. “You can chalk that one up to...oh...self-aggrandizement or ego I suppose – or maybe just a loose tongue. I only mentioned the subject briefly to a few of my closest friends – or so I thought they were my closest friends. How was I to know they’d go blabbing to some tabloid talk-show producer?” She paused, and then frowned; chin resting upon her clasped hands. “I have to confess, though, that when the show’s producers interviewed me...I may have mentioned some brief little blurb about it. But when they insisted I talk more about it, I told them that I had nothing to substantiate the theory of mind-diving and that I preferred the subject not be discussed publicly. They gave me their word that nothing further would be said about mind-diving. I just wasn’t show-business savvy enough to realize that nothing said to anyone in that business is confidential. So, I suppose the show’s host thought the subject might lead to an interesting discussion between the other guests. I have to admit, they were incredible boors. I suppose I shouldn’t blame the woman for trying to entice them into a spirited debate on channeling. My big mouth!” Audrey tucked in her lower lip and shook her head.
“Where did you get the idea of mind-diving, anyway? Why would you even think it possible?”
“Nine years ago,” Audrey began, glancing briefly out the window, “my husband – he passed away three years ago – and I were exploring the ruins of pueblos built by the Sinagua Indians in Tuzigoot in the Verde Valley. We found a small cave – maybe used by the Hohokam before the Sinagua came and settled Tuzigoot. Anyway, we felt a kind of...I don’t know...a kind of eerie feeling, waves of nausea whenever we grew close to the end of the tunnel. I have to tell you, it took a lot of coaxing by Vern – my husband – to get me closer to the source of that queasiness. What we saw, though, made the nausea disappear, or rather, it scared the shit out of me…excuse my language.”
Gillian held her breath for a moment. “What was it?”
Audrey’s eyes seemed to glaze briefly, then cleared. “A shimmer of coruscating light; it seemed to come in intervals. On a whim, Vern threw a small stone into the shimmer and it disappeared completely. Vern got excited and pulled out an old bullet shell he’d kept from his days in the Phoenix police force and threw it into the shimmer.”
“And it was gone too?”
Audrey nodded her head and smiled grimly. “Oh yes, it vanished all right. When the shimmer disappeared, Vern knelt and passed his hand through the soil: nothing, no sign of the shell at all. Vern got really excited. He came up with the theory that this shimmer was some sort of space-time rift, a portal of sorts; that any object thrown into the light would find its way to its time of origin. Mind you, my husband was a big science fiction fan: both books and media. And he had a vivid imagination, too. Nothing he theorized is based on fact or research, just a very creative imagination. In truth, I have no idea what that phenomena is.”
“But the mind-diving,” Gillian said, shrugging her shoulders, open palms imploring, “where did that idea come from?”
Audrey Maher grinned sheepishly. “That was my theory: a little bit of fantastical extrapolation expanding on my husband’s wild conjecture. After he passed away, I just couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d discovered together in that cave. It became a kind of obsession, perhaps a way to keep my husband’s essence with me. I don’t know. Still, to my limited knowledge nothing like mind-diving could be possible. I’m no physicist, but I kind of understand string theory. I mean if this shimmer is a time-travel rift, then God only knows where one would end up if one were to step into it! I hate to admit this, but I only agreed to appear on that talk show to drum up business for my shop.”
Gillian fell silent. The crazy idea had held so much hope, absurd as it had been, as she had made ready for her flight, as she’d endured the inane conversation of her garrulous seatmate and as she’d ridden in the taxi. She’d been anticipating an assurance from this woman that she, Gillian McDaniel, could mind-dive into another life and thus escape all that lay ahead of her in this one. Now that hope, fleeting after all, had been kicked out from under her and she found herself hanging once again from a noose of doom.
“I’d still like to try,” Gillian said, the words riding a slow, weary sigh.
Audrey shook her head, fear lighting her eyes. “I can’t. I’d be responsible for your fate! You’d no doubt disappear, maybe into some void for all we know!”
Gillian slammed the flat of her hand on the table, sloshing a bit of coffee from cup into saucer. “But you’d still be responsible for leaving me to this fate!” she said. “Believe, after learning what I’m about to face in a few months, I’d rather be swallowed up by some unknown merciful void.” Gillian sank the fingers of both hands through her hair at the scalp, head bowed. “I’m sorry for being so dramatic,” she said calmly as she brought her face up to meet Audrey Maher’s. “But you see, I’m also quite desperate. I don’t care if this rift-shimmer of yours kills me. I’m as good as dead, or I will be in a few months. You’ve got to help me, outlandish as this theory of yours might sound.”
“But I don’t even know if I can help you,” Audrey said, her voice earnest and looking as if she might want to slam her hand upon the table as well. “And I don’t mean to sound selfish, but what if you do disappear off the face of the earth and it becomes known that I was the last person to see you? Somehow, I don’t think blaming your sudden disappearance on some weird phenomena will be enough of an alibi for me.”
Suddenly, Gillian felt a bubble of laughter break deep in her throat. “What: murder by time travel? That would be an interesting interrogation!”
Audrey paused for a moment, and then joined Gillian’s laughter with her own. After their laughter had ebbed into sighs, the older woman looked evenly at Gillian. “I guess I’m as crazy as my idea. I’ll help you – or, at least, I’ll try.”
Gillian smiled. “That’s all I was hoping for.”
###
Audrey Maher greeted Gillian the next morning with a grim smile. “I found some disturbing information about this little box of yours.”
Gillian’s heart sank a few degrees at the pronouncement. She had shown Audrey the battersea box, explaining her plan to hopefully mind-dive into the girl who’d once possessed it. The older woman had cautioned that they should make some effort to discover the girl’s identity first. “After all,” Audrey had said, turning the small object over in her palm, “she might also have had a short life. Childbirth, disease, and unsanitary living conditions: everything we don’t have to endure in this modern age. I mean, they pickled everything in arsenic and plastered lead on every surface, for heaven’s sake.”
Reluctantly Gillian had allowed the woman to keep the object with her as she communicated via E-mail with a British friend of hers. Apparently the friend was an avid collector of battersea boxes as well as an archivist of sorts. He even maintained a website devoted to the tiny boxes.
“What did you learn?” Gillian almost didn’t want to know.
“Well,” Audrey said, motioning to a chair in her tidy living room. “I think you’d better sit down for this one.” Then, taking a deep breath, added, “This lovely young girl of yours,” handing the battersea box to Gillian as she sat down, “was convicted and hanged, along with her lover, for murder committed in the latter part of the eighteenth century.”
The news came as a slap as Gillian stared down at the demurely innocent face looking up from the small box. “But how can that be? She looks so young...what could possibly have driven her to aid in a murder? Do you know who she helped murder?”
Audrey Maher shook her head sadly. “It’s the same old story, only with an eighteenth century twist: the girl, along with her lover, murdered her new husband. Greed apparently was the motive. There really weren’t many details; either about the murder or the girl herself, only the girl’s name, Taylor Ashworth, and that she was twenty years old – nothing beyond those sparse facts. Now, do you still want to go through with this? Perhaps we can find another object...”
Gillian stared into space for a moment, the information settling itself in her brain like fallen leaves: the girl: a murderer, doomed to hang. The news couldn’t be direr. “No.” Gillian shook her head firmly. “No, there’s no time to find another object; and what if each object we find also has dark portents surrounding it? Besides, there’s the possibility that the girl received the battersea box before the deed. Maybe there would be time to keep the murder from happening.”
Audrey Maher shook her head slowly, warily. “That’s a big ‘if’.”
“No,” Gillian said again, her voice taking on an excited edge. “No, listen, it makes perfect sense: the girl, this Taylor Ashworth, most likely did receive the box prior to the act, perhaps as a bribe, a reward for things to come. It might be possible to prevent the murder from ever happening!”
“Now we’re getting into paradoxes,” the older woman said, crossing her arms upon her chest. “You might change history in some way: altering the timeline as my Vern used to call it.”
Gillian stared into the distance, unblinking, feeling the sting as she let her eyes glaze over. “I don’t care. I’ll take the chance. And besides, if I end up with a noose around my neck, it’ll be a quicker death than ALS will give me.”
###
The morning sun was bright and the air dry as Gillian looked out the window of Audrey Maher’s well-tended fifteen-year old Toyota Land Cruiser. The four-by-four nimbly negotiated the deeply grooved trails as Audrey steered the vehicle with a stoic efficiency, steady gaze trained ahead of her.
Gillian had agreed to meet Audrey at her shop early the next morning after the bad news about Taylor Ashworth’s fate. Audrey had packed the Land Cruiser as if she were preparing for a camping trip. “You never know,” the older woman had said as she’d shoved a couple of jugs of water into back the vehicle. “It’s only a ten, fifteen mile trip for me, but it could translate into a longer one for the both of us – if you know what I mean.”
Gillian had smiled. “I’ll try to come back if I can.”
“Well,” Audrey shut the Land Cruiser’s tailgate, “if that object of yours does take you to eighteenth century England, the best place to find someone like me, or an actual mystic, would be Glastonbury Abbey, near Cheddar Wells in Somerset County. Though, I’m wondering how well an eighteenth century mystic would react to such a story.”
“No worse than a twenty-first century mystic I would hope.”
Audrey had smiled, and then offered a good-natured laugh in reply.
Now they were headed for the Tuzigoot National Monument near the Verde River, and hopefully Gillian’s destiny. Gently she opened a pocket in her knapsack and peered at the tiny battersea box: the girl, Taylor Ashworth, gazed up at her, still bored. What kind of life did you lead? Were you important, or merely some girl-child waiting for the right time to murder your new husband?
For a moment, Gillian felt a touch of guilt. After all, if successful she would be assuming this young girl’s life. Everything that this girl had ever been, or was destined to be, would be arrested the moment Gillian’s essence dived into the girl’s body. Still, Gillian might be able to save her from the gallows, even though the girl’s life itself would no longer be her own. And if it turned out that the girl had helped plot and execute the homicide, then losing her identity would be fitting punishment – so long as Gillian could save the girl’s physical body in time.
Gillian closed the pocket and stared at the rugged scenery beyond the window; the red wind-carved plateaus curved up from the red earth like the crest of an ocean wave. The mountains were quiet and did not accuse her of anything.
But at least the girl’s body would still be alive, something that could not be promised Gillian in this life.
###
“Well, there it is,” said Audrey Maher as she pointed upward when they stood at the base of a steep red cliff. “Montezuma Castle, built by Sinagua farmers in the early twelfth century.”
Gillian gazed up at the immense pueblo carved into the mountain’s cliff face; it had to be at least a hundred feet above the valley. “We’re not going to climb that, are we?”
Audrey laughed. “Oh no, no. The cave is a few yards around the base. I just thought I’d show you the monument...I mean, while you’re still...here.” Audrey cleared her throat. “You know, you haven’t told me how you’re going to explain your absence to friends and coworkers.”
“They think,” Gillian smiled at the woman, “that I’m staying at a health retreat for an extended period.” And she’d made sure not to mention where; for all they knew, she could be in Switzerland or Mexico.
Audrey Maher gazed at Gillian with a look of concern and curiosity, but stayed silent for a moment. Then, dusting her plump hands against her denim shorts, said simply, “Well, let’s get my provisions out of the truck and into the cave.”
Audrey didn’t say another word until they were in the cave.
###
Gillian felt her stomach dip with the pull of nausea as she and Audrey approached the location of the shimmer.
They had arranged the water jugs, foodstuffs, sleeping bag and kerosene lamp near the mouth of the cave. Against Gillian’s protests, Audrey had insisted that she would remain in the cave for at least two days, maybe three. The older woman had left the remaining store of provisions in the Land Cruiser, just in case, she’d said, of a longer wait. After all, two or three days might translate into two or three years in another time period. Audrey Maher wanted to be there should Gillian reappear.
“I’ve prepared for that,” Gillian had said as she’d removed a small black disposable cell phone from her knapsack and handed it to the older woman. “When you do leave the cave, put this somewhere in an obvious place. If I come back, I’ll just call you. As long as it isn’t powered on while I’m gone, there should be no problem, plus, I made sure the carrier covers this area.”
Audrey Maher had laughed, shaking her head as she’d accepted the phone from Gillian. “You know, I hate these things – I’m probably the only one in town who refuses to carry one. I do have an iPad, though, which I rarely carry around. But smart phones! ‘Smart phones for stupid people’ Vern used to say. I loathe seeing people yakking on them while driving, drifting through the supermarket checking Facebook or Twitter, or pumping gas with a phone glued to their ear. I hate hearing them ring in movie theaters. But just this once, I’m glad for cell phones.”
Gillian smiled to herself as she and Audrey Maher moved farther into the cave. The mixed sensations of anxiety and nausea became stronger and Gillian glanced quickly at Audrey. The older woman stumbled slightly, the light from her flashlight playing erratically across the cave walls. Gillian caught the woman’s elbow. “Are you all right?”
Audrey squared her shoulders and held the flashlight more firmly. “I’m okay. But do you feel it: the queasiness in your gut? Once we get to rift-shimmer those feelings should subside; I guess you build up some sort of immunity to it. Vern and I stayed in here for another hour and felt nothing unusual.”
Gillian hugged herself and shivered. “Well, when do you think the immunity will kick in?”
Suddenly Gillian caught a haze of bright light flickering in the darkness as they rounded a corner. As she moved closer to the light, Gillian felt the nausea and anxiety ebb. She turned to look at Audrey. “Well, that certainly doesn’t look like a campfire.”
Audrey Maher shook her head as she stared at the bright shimmer in the short distance. “Anything but. Wait till we’re closer.”
Once she’d reached the shimmer and stood directly before it, Gillian saw that it was more than just a plume of light. The shimmer ran the length of the cavern wall horizontally and vertically, its basic shape like corrugated metal or a woman’s crimped hair. As she stared at the shimmer, Gillian noted that it did not merely twinkle, but energy seemed to move within it in random pulses, not in the wavy, breeze-driven flicker of a flame. Gillian was no expert on physics, but she was sure that nothing like this could exist naturally.
“You have to admit,” Audrey said, nodding toward the shimmer, “it’s a pretty awesome sight, whether or not it’ll actually accomplish what you hope it can.”
“That it is,” Gillian murmured as she continued to gaze at the shifting glow, its light crawling restlessly up and down the cave wall. She swallowed hard and took a wobbly, instinctive half step backward. Suddenly the reality of the situation was upon her: that she would actually enter this anomaly with its uncertain destination, if any. As much as dying slowly of an incurable disease terrified her, so did stepping into an unknown void. You could say that death was an unknown void, whether or not you believed in Heaven or any kind of afterlife, it remained nothingness no matter your faith. No more sensations to experience, no more events to witness, no more minutes, hours, or days to tick off. Stepping into this sparkling glimmer might be just that. Still, there was no going back. She had to do this.
As if sensing her companion’s thoughts, Audrey Maher turned to Gillian, her voice calm and deliberate. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can call this whole adventure off.”
Gillian answered with a single nod of her head, intended for Audrey’s question. She shrugged her backpack from her shoulder and withdrew the battersea box. As she stared down at the delicate object, Gillian said simply, “Of course I’m going in.” Then she set the backpack on the cave floor and began to walk toward the shimmer.
“Wait,” Audrey called out, her hand upon Gillian’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t you take the pack with you? You might need – ”
Gillian turned to face Audrey, gently taking the older woman’s hand from her shoulder. She shook her head slowly, offering a sad smile. “No I don’t think I’d need it where I’m going – if I’m going anywhere at all.”
“This is your last chance. We can go back to town, back to this life.”
Gillian shook her head firmly this time. “No. There is no life for me in this time, as I am. You know this. I’m not backing out, quitting. If I enter nothingness, then at least I’ll have some peace.” Then grinning at the woman, added, “It’s less painful than slitting my wrists.”
Audrey Maher’s eyes began to fill with tears, and she gave Gillian’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll wait as long as I can.”
“Thank you,” Gillian said. “Thank you for helping me.” And then she let go of the woman’s hand and walked resolutely into the waiting light.
###
Thirty minutes had passed since Audrey Maher had watched the young woman walk into – through, she hoped – the rift-shimmer.
Audrey Maher brought her palms a little closer to the small fire she’d built near the mouth of the cave. She planned to venture back into the cave every ten, fifteen minutes and check to see if the shimmer – and Gillian – had reappeared. She knew it might be a long wait.
She had brought with her three days worth of provisions, an air mattress and sleeping bag, lamps, and extra batteries. She hoped that the wait wouldn’t go beyond her three-day deadline; she didn’t like the idea of leaving only a cell phone behind. Besides, who knew how many people might visit the cave after she left? She envisioned a couple of amorous teens stumbling upon the cell phone and taking it with them when they returned to civilization.
Audrey Maher promised herself that if she were forced to return to town, she would periodically drive the Land Cruiser back to the cave. Either way, it would be a long wait for she and Gillian. She sighed heavily and rubbed her hands together, feeling a sudden queasy chill.
Yes, she knew, it would be a long wait.