Out of Time by Ryan Matthew Harker (uplifting books for women TXT) š
- Author: Ryan Matthew Harker
Book online Ā«Out of Time by Ryan Matthew Harker (uplifting books for women TXT) šĀ». Author Ryan Matthew Harker
Anyway, approximately fifty-three minutes from now my phone would tell me if it werenāt dead again! What the heck, I just charged it? I fish a plain, black plastic, rectangular cube out of my other pocket. WHAT THE HECK! Does this TRU thing only work when it wants to?
I touch the screen and nothing happens. I shake it, again nothing. Panic rears its ugly head just a bit and I shake the device even harder, gripping it with both hands as I do so. What makes me think I can go trip-trailing down the time stream? I so do not want to be stuck in the past, even if it is only two weeks ago! Itās not like Iād be able to have my own life with me already here living it.
Suddenly a dull glow blurs from my fists and I stop my jumping up and down and good thing too because my frantic dance is drawing the attention of the early morning traffic, pedestrian and otherwise. The last thing I wanna do is draw any attention while in possession of a time machine. Thank god itās working now! So I wonder if the thing works on some kind of kinetic energy, itās a possibility I suppose. Iāve seen it with watches. Iāll be sure to investigate this mystery later.
I take off in the direction of the track and barely make the bus I want. I wave the bus down as it careens away from the curb and it comes to a screeching halt. Winded from the light run I feed my money into the machine sitting next to the driver and take a seat. As the bus takes off again I stare out the window and contemplate my plan. I finally admit to myself that Iām just a little bit out of my league here but itās still not enough to stop me. I donāt know what Iām going to do when I get to the track, Iāll still have time to kill before I get there. Oh well Iāve got a whole bus ride to figure it out.
My brain is a bowl of cold oatmeal and like a stuck spoon the only idea to penetrate its congealed surface is- Iām going to have to confront my past self when he gets to the track. Another cardinal rule of time travel broken without qualm but who knows maybe Iāll think of an alternative before then. I hope so ācause the bus is stopping and Iāve only got another couple blocks to hoof it before Iām there myself.
A cloud of black diesel smoke engulfs me and I cough a farewell to my old friend the bus. Once upon a time I was a full time public transit rider but my second job led to the acquisition of my automobile and itās been some time since our paths have crossed. As the smoke clears a figure on the other side of the street becomes visible, a man and heās clearly looking right at me. A chill goes up my spine and I begin walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the track. A glance to my left confirms I have a tail. Heās wearing a long jacket and I think I see a rifle concealed within its shadows, a couple brief glimpses as he walks. Not waiting to see if he follows I duck into an alley and begin running to beat the wind. I donāt know who this guy is but he doesnāt look like any Hench Iāve ever seen.
I donāt know what Iām going to do. I donāt think I can go to the track now. This gunman knew exactly where Iād be, how? I didnāt even know what I was going to do until this morning and thatās two weeks from now! No matter, Iāll think on the fly. I zigzag down streets and alleys, all the while maintaining a direction away from where I lost the gunman, away from the dog track and any chance I have of preventing things from going south between the bookie and I. The little voice in my head takes this opportunity to ask why Iām running, I have a time machine. I dodge into another alley and skid to a stop.
Blazing bright incandescence bursts forth from TRUās screen like a ray of light from God as I rip the device from my pocket. I press and scroll until the TRAVEL button lights up and press some more. I stretch and snap back and this time a car does hit me. THWACK! The bumper clips me and I go over the vehicleās front quarter panel. I bounce off a dumpster and everything goes black.
How many times can you have a near death experience in a week? I think if I have many more Iāll lose track! I wake up in a hospital room. Iām semi-conscious, unsure of my surroundings, and definitely in need of some painkillersā¦ OOH, I hurt! Wake up, wake up, all I have to do is wake up just a little more.
My vision defrosts slowly and I groggily survey the room through a sea of pain. A twitch in my left side as my head turns and suddenly itās an ocean. Oh, this is no good. What am I supposed to do now? Whereās TRU? Nausea from the combined pain of my body and my situation and, crippling pain or not, I bend over the bedrail to regurgitate noisily.
My pulse monitor slips off my finger and I flatline.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEā¦
The āPā doesnāt come but three nurses do, two women and a man. The man is in a state of panic. One of the women looks, of all things, bored! And, wait a minute; the other oneā¦ the other one is Staci! Oh yeah, did I mention Staciās a nurse.
I groan more from the fact that itās Staci helping me sit upright than from the pain. And the worst part is it isnāt even Staci, itās Staciās past self. Hmm, it seems as a defense mechanism I refuse to think of these past incarnations as real people. Interesting on a psychological level but not a very appropriate tangent of thought for this particular situation, me thinks.
My head is once again engulfed in beautiful soft goose down and I try to concentrate on what Staci has to say but I canāt. āThe paaiiin!ā I wail. Man I can be such a baby. Okay, maybe Iām playing it up just a little but hey, I did just get hit by a car after all.
A syringe in my I.V., a surge of sunshine and my aches and pains fade to a dull roar. Man, Iām tired. I slip back off to sleep.
My room slumbers but Iām awake. I peer through the shadows and try to find the clock. I can hear it ticking but canāt see it. I chuckle softly, it seems time is my new obsession. But itās dark and quiet and this leads me to believe that itās night. Iād like to know what time of night. Not for any real reason I realize, my body tells me itāll be a couple days before itās ready to leave. With this realization I close my eyes and let myself drift off.
When I awake once more Iām in pain. Not the excruciating pain I felt the first time but itās there. Looking around I donāt see any way in which to administer my own meds but I do see a button inscribed āCALLā and I reach out slowly to press it. Yeah, the pain has definitely diminished somewhat. I retract my arm a bit quicker and wince, yeah, only somewhat.
My self-exam is cut short by the nearly silent whisper of the door followed by, āOh Davey, youāre awake. How are you feeling? You look like youāre feeling better!ā
I smile weakly. āIām in one piece anyway. How about gettingā some more meds babe?ā
Staciās forehead scrunches up and concern fills her voice, āPretty painful, huh? I bet it is.ā She moves around and pulls a syringe out of one of her pockets and smiles angelically. āI thought you might need this, itās been a while since your last one.ā
āHow long have I been here?ā I ask while she administers the syringe into my saline line. My euphoria returns but I donāt go out again.
āAlmost forty-eight hours since the guy dropped you off. He was driving a Volvo, the guy who hit you, thatās why Iām not surprised youāre in pain. Volvoās are tuff. He said you just appeared out of nowhere, can you believe it? I think everyone must say that.ā Staciās laughter tinkles sweetly.
āStace, whereās my stuff?ā
She stops mid chuckle and answers with a frown, āOh, well they cut your clothes off but your shoes, wallet and everything else you had on you is right over here.ā She walks over and smoothly opens a drawer.
āUm, will you hand me my phone?ā A shot in the dark.
āSure,ā she removes my battered, little Samsung smart phone from the drawer. āOh, itās dead though.
Drat, my heart sinks.
āNever mind then,ā I tell her and close my eyes in contemplation.
āYou know when we had dinner last week I had no idea the next time I saw you would be here. I wish it wasnāt like this but isnāt it so weird how we keep running into each other?ā
Whoa! Hit the brakes! āLast week?ā I ask.
āYes, silly, when we had dinner.ā She looks at me like Iām touched in the head and all I can do is groan.
When Iām using TRU to flee through time I need to pay more attention to the date before pressing TRAVEL. āWe had dinner last week?ā
āYeah, du-uh.ā
Last week would mean Iām in the future, after I deliberately left for the past and after my run in with the Hench. Well then, I suppose this isnāt too bad. It seems I lost TRU but at least Iām alive, and there are no extra meās around to ruin my life. The Hench think Iām dead, not necessarily a bad thing and even though Iām broke as a joke I suppose I can somehow find a way to quietly leave town. This is gonna take some careful planning. Good thing Iām laid up in a hospital bed with nothing better to do. I allow Staciās voice to put me back to sleep.
A week later and Iām being rolled out of the hospital in a wheelchair. Not by Staci, she has today off, but the green eyed brunette who has the shift is even more stunning. I swear, with all the tail Iāve seen running around this place since Iāve been here, it could be General Hospital.
After being inside for eight days the sun burns into my retinas and causes my eyelids to shut involuntarily. Man itās a beautiful day! I carefully grunt my way free of the wheelchair and stand on my own two feet. Iāve gotten pretty friendly with all the nurses here so green eyes gathers me up in a warm, pillowy hug farewell and returns to her duties at General Hospital. I canāt help but enjoy the view as she walks away and smiling, I face the street. First thingās first, I need to find a bus.
I canāt help it; Iāve made peace with being stuck in the (near) future but I have to know, if I can, what happened to TRU. The bus I want pulls up to the curb and I get on, ride it down to the next stop, get on that bus and take it within the vicinity of the alley where I was hit by the Volvo. Still aching from my accident I gingerly walk the final few blocks.
Tall brick buildings to either side, a scattering of tattered newspaper and old concert flyers, the usual city debris accumulated in its corners; the alley looks much the same as I last
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