Out of Time - Ryan Matthew Harker (short books to read TXT) 📗

POCKET DIMENSION BOOKS PRESENTS

TIME THIEF

The Possibility Paradox

OR

Don't Forget Your Life Jacket

A NOVEL BY RYAN MATTHEW HARKER

ACT ONE

A million mortar bursts of sound and color explode in my ears and eyes as my head cripples a four poster bed. I must be hallucinating from the impact though because there’s no way I broke an antique, ornately carved, beautiful amalgamation of wood such as this… with my noggin!

My vision clears a bit as I tilt my head to one side and then it goes fuzzy again as I swing it the other direction. Fascinated by this I have absolutely no idea I’m not entirely in control of my actions and that my head is really swinging wildly back and forth on its own. I’ve lost awareness of my surroundings. I’ve also lost all awareness of the galute who’s placed me in this semi-comatose state of being, but not for long it seems. Strong arms scoop me off the floor and in a moment I’m weightless as I leave the eighth story apartment in a shower of glass.

Now, I’ve got to stop for a moment because, well come on, most people would probably find this to be a pretty awkward situation. Heck, I’m most people! I find this to be an extremely awkward situation! Well, I would anyway, if I could think anything even remotely resembling a coherent thought at this time. But I can’t think, can’t act, all I can do is plummet towards the pavement eight stories below as a thick tail of saliva trails off my upper lip. It extends twelve inches before parting ways with my face and begins to tumble, somersaulting through the air after me.

If I could see myself I probably would find it amusing. Not the fact that some poor schmo is about to meet his maker, no, just this single strand of saliva falling end over end. Where is it most likely to land? Probably splattered all over my face after I splatter all over the concrete I imagine.

Ah, such is life.

I’m a pizza delivery boy/male dancer and two weeks ago I’d been happily going to community college. Not to be a lawyer or a doctor though. Nothing that mamma would be so proud. No, I was quietly working toward a philosophy major while a minor in physics simmered on the back burner.

Some have asked me, “Now aren’t you going about things a bit backwards? Why don’t you major in physics first then minor in philosophy? Don’t you think you’d be better off?”

And my answer for them, every time, has been an emphatic, ‘NO!’

Truth be told, I’m a slacker and while I’ve definitely got a healthy curiosity about what makes my universe tick I believe we’d all be better off if we spent more time wondering why than finding out how.

Being a slacker is also how I’d come into my present lines of employment.

Pizza Delivery Boy- This job stems from the fact that hand and hand with being a slacker, I’m lazy, and I just don’t enjoy cooking. But I love pizza, I can eat it every day and actually I do… usually. So working at the pizza joint I’ve got access to my all time favorite food, I don’t have to cook it, and it’s nearly always free or at least really cheap.

Male Dancer- Yep, pretty much says it all though I don’t dance naked! Mostly. I do have my dignity after all (sort of) but putting yourself through college, even a community one, ain’t cheap and let’s face facts a pizza delivery boy may eat well but he don’t get paid well.

I was actually sitting in a strip club when I came to the decision to give dancing a try. I knew a few of the girls who worked there, a couple whom were putting themselves through school, and I asked myself, “Self, if these beautiful, intelligent young ladies can make a grip of cash taking their clothes off then why can’t you?” So I did some research and to my surprise found that yes, yes men can, and do, remove their decorative coverings for monetary compensation!

In this way I was sufficiently capable of staving off my financial obligations (girls, alcohol, marijuana, more girls, car payment, credit card(s) and, oh yeah somewhere in there, college) all while not having to break my slacker credo of laziness. Not that dancing isn’t hard mind you; it’s just not packing three hundred sheets of Oriented Strand Board through the mud and across the jobsite hard.

Yep, two weeks ago I was a twenty-six year old philosopher of mad science, slinging ‘Za, jigglin’ my junk and I was completely on top of my world. On top that is, until One Day When didn’t place and I lost twenty Gs. I hope they hobble that horse a month before it goes to the glue factory.

Two weeks ago was when I had to start looking over my shoulder, in my rearview mirror, whatever, I was working the eyes in the back of my head overtime. The first week was the worst because I knew I’d screwed the pooch big time this time. I knew, and I knew the bookie knew also. I knew because he’d already sent his Hench to make sure I knew.

I tried to leave them with false promises of having the money in a month, knowing full well no matter how many pizzas I delivered and no matter how hard I shook my money maker I would never come up with that kind of dough in four weeks.

They were going to leave me with a black eye and promises of what they’d do if I didn’t deliver their boss his money in two weeks. I pleaded for three, “Please give me three weeks!” I got the second black eye instead. Two black eyes, one for each week. Applaud the comic duo. I could see in their eyes they knew I was lying when I said I’d have the money. Their eyes told me they were itching to kill me and they knew I knew it. Loved that I knew it!

I only thought the first week was worse. Nopey, the second week was by far, wa-a-ay worse. Way worse for the fact that not only was I paranoid for my life there were dastardly men following me but now my paranoia was justified. Every look over my shoulder, in my rearview, yielded the Hench with my death smoldering in their eyes, just waiting for default in payment to fan the embers into a roaring blaze.

I couldn’t sleep at night. I was so immobilized with fear all I could do was lay on my back, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling while I contemplated any way out of this mess. But nothing short of leaving town came to mind and presently I hadn’t even the cash to do that.

After nearly a week of no sleep I was running on fumes and running out of time. I had until noon to deliver. It was eleven thirty and I was freaked. Time damnit, if ever there was a time when a time machine would come in handy it was now.

Yeah right H.G.; get your head back in the game.

I checked my rearview mirror for the gagillionth time today. I had yet to be graced with the Hench on my trail but for some reason I wasn’t relieved. Quite the contrary, I was terrified.

I was on my way to make a delivery and I pulled up to the curb outside the towering apartment building. An involuntary shudder went through me as I noted the digital clock in the dashboard, eleven thirty-five. I got out of my car.

The pizza warmed my hands through the box as I took the stairs. My delivery was on the eighth floor and of course the elevator was out. Climbing those steps just gave me more time to contemplate my plight, which did nothing to improve my disposition. My ears strained, my eyes twitched and my mind spun. After two weeks of chronic anxiety I had no clearer idea how I was going to survive.

I burst from the stairwell out of breath and trying to catch it. Going slow I silently gasped for air while silently promising to cut down on bong hits, if I survived to see the following day that is. An open door on my left caught my eye. Actually it was the extreme clutter of the apartment beyond that grabbed my attention. It was unique.

My breath caught in my throat and I forgot my troubles for a moment as I allowed curiosity to guide me closer toward the partially open entryway. Putting an eye to the gap I observed a section of an open room cluttered around the edges with what appeared to be scientific apparatus’ beyond my college education’s ability to comprehend. My curiosity burned and I pushed the door open wide.

“Hello, anyone home?”

I took a hesitant step across the threshold and called again, “Is there anybody Out There?!” and chuckled at my own wit without realizing it was the first time in two weeks I’d lost myself long enough to find humor.

Overcoming my apprehension at entering another’s domicile uninvited I made a loop around the room, casually poking and playing with the strange equipment. I felt like I was on a movie set or something.

Completing my tour I called down the darkened hallway in the room’s center, “Hello!” Still no one returned my greeting so I continued down the hall.

First door on my right yielded a cramped utility closet which contained a water heater and electric furnace. Boring! Onwards and the first door on the left revealed an equally cramped bedroom. Cluttered to the point of being unable to enter comfortably there were boxes of paperwork and filing cabinets stacked everywhere. No bed at all was definitely the deciding factor that this room was never used for its intended purpose. The second door on the left opened to pitch darkness so I reached in and flipped on the light switch. Involuntarily I took a step back in both shock and amazement. After witnessing the overall disorganization of the joint the pristinely kept and immaculately clean bathroom was startling. Shaking my head at the sparkle and shine I turned off the light and moved on to the final entryway. Free of a door it led to the kitchen which seemed to fall in a category of cleanliness somewhere between the order and chaos I’d already observed.

Again, I was about to turn away when I spotted something interesting. A small, squareish object, it sat by the microwave. Being something of a clepto when the mood strikes me, I walked over, grabbed the thing off of the counter and deposited it in my jacket pocket before leaving the apartment. When I shut the door tightly to the strange residence all my worry and anxiety rushed in and threatened to smother me. I threw a glance at my wristwatch and panic overshadowed the worry and anxiety. Oh my God! It was twelve o’ one! P.m.! Afternoon! Can anyone say, ‘Dead Man?’

I almost sprinted to my delivery. Buzzing the doorbell furiously while half formed notions of fleeing the country bounced around in my brain I was hardly paying attention when the door suddenly opened.

“Yer late!” the Hench growled, reached out, grabbed me by the front of the shirt, and drug me in.

Oh brother, I should have seen that coming.

What happened next happened so quickly there was no way I could stop it. I was thrown over the couch, picked up and thrown through the bedroom door. This is where I hit my head on the bed and everything went a bit wonky.

That fast, it all happened that fast and I find myself regaining a little of my senses as