Paranormal Realities Box Set (7 page)

“Actually, that idea is called the
grandfather paradox.” Mr. Hutson smiled.

“The mc² will need you since Chase
and I are going on a date and won’t be there. You gotta go.” Petra spoke over
my shoulder from her seat behind me.

I held up my textbook again. “At least
you guys should go somewhere else other than the hospital to battle the BQs.
I’m telling you there’s something funky in those tunnels that plays with your
mind.”

“You mean like you get high?” Chase asked
from his seat next to Petra. “That’s so cool!”

“I guess it would be okay to do the race
someplace else,” Senji said. “The railroad roundhouse is awesome. We can go
there instead. I’ll tell Billy.”

Mr. Hutson continued to drone. “The
grandfather paradox and the theory of relativity have both been used to prove
that travel
back
in time
is not possible. In other words, time travel is possible, but only
one-way. To the future.”

"So if we make it another place,
you’ll be there. Right?” Franky asked.

“No. I can’t make it tonight,” I
reluctantly revealed.

“Other scientists theorize time travel to
the past
is
possible
,” Mr. Hutson added. “And that if I traveled to the past before my
birth and I killed my grandfather, I would not necessarily disappear. Instead I
would continue to exist and two separate timelines would be created, one for
each of two separate dimensions.

“Why can’t you make it, Kizzy?” Franky
demanded.

“I’m going on a date with Rom.”

“What?” Petra exclaimed with pleasure.

“What?” Franky asked with an agonized
tone.

“What?” Senji asked in disbelief.

“I’m not going spelunking,” I said. “I’m
going on a date.”

“Anyway. Back to relativity.” Mr. Hutson
returned to the chalkboard and drew a large circle designating the earth. “Theoretically
if a spaceship took you to a distant planet and back to earth at the speed of
light, for you only two years may have passed. But on earth, twenty.”

“What about wormholes?” Mike something
asked.

“Wormholes weren’t theorized by Einstein.
That's a subject for another day.”

“Break that date, Kizzy,” Senji said. “We
need you.”

Chase chimed in, “I guess I could give up
my date to support the crew.”

“What?” Petra squawked. Man, did she
sound incensed.

“We can go on our date another day,
sweetie," Chase stated. "Mc² needs us. But I want to go back to
the hospital, Senji.”

“You don’t care about missing our date?”
Petra asked.

“I care about beating the BQs too,” Chase
replied.

“Yeah, like you cared a lot last night.
You didn’t even race,” I observed. “You just stood around snogging with Petra.”

 
“Chase is giving up his date for the crew,” Franky pointed
out. “That’s major. You should give up your date too, Kizzy.”

“Chase just wants to get high.” My voice
rose. “I’m not missing my date with Rom. Is that clear enough?”

“Very clear, Miss Taylor,” the teacher
said. Glancing up I saw him standing over me. Obviously, he hadn’t been
lecturing for some time. “But some members of the class are trying to listen to
me since this information will be on the exam. They are not interested in your
social life.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hutson.” I scrunched down
in my seat.

“See me after class.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

As the teacher turned away, I shot a
glare at each of my friends and then turned my undivided attention to my notebook.

* * * * *

Mr. Hutson harangued me for five minutes
after class about my “rude behavior”, saying “my sad circumstances” were only
going to get me so much leeway. Keeping my head down, I endured the punishment
stoically. At least he wasn’t giving me detention. Finally, he let me go with
an admonition about studying for the test next Monday. I dutifully answered,
“Yes, sir,” even though I had no such intention.

The thought of the tunnels and what I’d
seen, or hadn’t seen, continued to bug me. Since I had two free periods, I got
permission from my homeroom teacher to leave the school grounds on the pretext
of research for a paper in the Georgia Historical Society’s library. I knew
they would have information about the yellow fever epidemics in Savannah and if
the tunnel was dug at that time, there must be information about it too.

Unfortunately, Petra and Franky spotted
me leaving the building and wanted to tag along. At first, I firmly rejected
their company. After some nagging I relented.

“This is going to be research, not a chat
fest,” I insisted.

On arrival, I told the librarian we were
searching for information about the old hospital tunnel.

 
“I personally don’t know much about it. Only that part of it
collapsed a few years ago and killed a group of vagrants.” Bending over her
desk, the librarian scribbled on a post it note and handed it to me. “This is
the name and contact information for someone in town. He’s a local historian of
sorts. I would bet he knows a lot about the tunnel.” She grimaced. “He’s sort
of eccentric but he knows about the ‘oddities’ of Savannah.”

“Thanks.” I took the paper and slipping
it into my purse. “But is there anything we might find here?"

“Possibly,” she said.

After having us leave our backpacks at the
counter and issuing us cotton gloves, the librarian walked us to a flight of
stairs. “You might be able to find something about the tunnel in the old
newspapers on the second floor.”

A few minutes later, seated one of the
wooden tables, I flipped through the pages of an index to the museum’s
newspaper archives.

“I can’t believe how Chase dissed me.”
Petra slid into a chair across from me at the table.

Not answering, I continued flipping.

“You aren’t really going on a date with
Rom are you?” Franky took a seat on my right.

My admonition really worked. They were
both so totally going to leave me alone.

On the notepad in front of me I jotted
down all the references to yellow fever epidemic and the tunnel. After
retrieving the first volume of compiled newspaper clippings, I returned to my
chair.

“I mean, the guy is weird,” Franky said.

“Yeah, Chase is weird.” Petra frowned and
twirled a lock of her hair.

“I meant Rom,” Franky said.

“Shut up you two.” I shot them a quelling
glare.

The first article from 1876 reported the
death toll was rising and the city council had voted to authorize the firing of
a cannonball to disperse the vapors of sickness.
Yeah that would help
, I thought,
but only if the
cannonball hit the mosquitoes who actually transmitted the disease.

“You don’t care about me.” Petra pouted
and jumped up. She made a big production of flouncing over to a chair on the
opposite side of the room and plopping down on it, legs crossed. With a huff
she pulled out her cell phone and started texting, as she swung her top leg
back and forth.

I couldn’t deal with her tantrum. Turning
back to the digest, I noted another article that talked about the symptoms of
the disease: from high fever, chills and muscle aches to vomiting, bleeding and
jaundice.

“If you want to go on a date, I’ll take
you.” Franky's pale face went bright red with a blush that seemed to start at
his forehead and seep down to disappear into the collar of his shirt.

“Franky, you’re like a—” I
swallowed down the word brother. “I like you. But we’re just friends.”

Now I knew what the word crestfallen
meant. His face actually sagged.

My phone pinged and I glanced at the
face. A text from Petra:
I might as well be living in Siberia with no boyfriend and no best
friend.

After a supremely disgusted glare in her
direction, I turned back to the digest.

Through the next series of articles, I
learned there had been three yellow fever epidemics in the city. The tunnel had
been constructed at the time of the 1876 outbreak. But it was just a rumor that
the tunnel was used to transport any of the more than one thousand victims for
mass burial.

Another ping and I’d received a second
message from Petra:
I’m going to go to the spelunk tonight, but only to throw myself off
the top of the building and go splat.

Her words stunned me for a moment and I
continued to examine the text. When her words fully registered, my eyes flew to
her. Petra’s face blanched.

“Oh, Kizzy.” She tripped slightly as she
rushed over to me, pulled me from the chair and wrapped me in a hug. “What a
turd I am. I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I mumbled into her shoulder.
“I know you didn’t mean anything about…”

“I love you, Kizzy.”

I didn’t want to love her back. The ones
you loved were the ones who could hurt you.

“If you love me so much,” I said with a
choked chuckle as I pulled out of her arms. “Get over there and help me with
this research.”

“I found something for you here,” Franky
announced with glee. Petra and I moved to the table and read over his shoulder.

The article was from 1892, a number of
years after the last big epidemic, and bore the headline: New Yellow Fever
Strikes?

Apparently, people had disappeared.
Authorities feared the victims became delusional with fever and wandered off.
Not only that, a number of other people had died mysteriously.

“Sorry. This article isn’t about the
tunnel after all.” Franky's face fell as if he’d let me down.

“This is hopeless,” Petra said. “We need
to get back to school. There’s nothing here about that stinky tunnel.”

“Ok, let’s go.” My eyes quickly scanned
the rest of the article. Local doctor Robert Hopewood was quoted. “This isn’t
yellow fever. Those people died of blood loss from some kind of animal attack.”

Weird. But I couldn’t see how that would
have anything to do with the tunnel.

* * * * *

“Wear something girlie.” Petra’s voice
was faintly tinny through the cell phone as I held it to my ear. “How about
that knee length poppy print dress.”

“I’m so not taking that advice.” I
rummaged through the closet and pushed past the poppy dress. Its hanger clicked
as it jammed the neighbor. “Rom might think that I think that this is serious
boy girl stuff.” I plucked a pair of jeans hanging on the rack. “What about my
Diesels? He might as well know I’m not very girlie.”

“No,” Petra insisted.

Putting it on speaker, I set down the
phone on my bedside table and tugged on the jeans.

“Not those horrible ones with the holes
in the knees.”

“What’s wrong with them?” I asked
defensively.

“They make your butt look fat,” she
answered.

“What?” Twisting and turning I examined
my posterior in the full-length mirror on my closet door. “No way.”

“Well, if you really want to wear
something that looks heinous on you, go right ahead,” Petra said.

I could almost picture her secret smile.
I knew she was psyching me out...but it worked anyway.

 
“Okay, okay. I’ll wear the dress.” After tearing off the
jeans, I wadded them into a ball and tossed them into the corner. “What about
you and Chase? Spelunking or date?”

“I’m still working on him. Later. Smooches.”
She hung up.

I put on the dress and after a few
minutes standing in front of the mirror, I had to admit the dress seemed a
better choice for the balmy evening. The weather, not Petra or Rom, dictated my
choice I assured myself. Topping the dress with a light half-sleeve sweater
would cover the scar on my arm. I wouldn’t worry about the scratch on my leg.

Convincing my mother to allow me to leave
home that night had been impossible until I told her about my date. Then her
entire face lit up with a smile. She couldn’t agree fast enough at that point.
Mom barely remembered to make a perfunctory inquiry about whether I’d finished
my homework, which of course I said I had. Although “finished” was a stretch.
So when Rom arrived promptly at seven p.m., Mom practically danced to the door
to answer it.

She saw Rom, sharply dressed in a white
shirt over jeans topped with a black jacket, and she glanced at me with a gleam
in her eyes. Was that a thumbs up she gave behind his back as he walked in? All
my strength went into preventing an eye roll.

At least Mom didn’t interrogate him. She
did however, bring up my stepfather and his deployment to Iraq as if the fact
he had access to guns would intimidate Rom out of trying anything funny.

Rom accepted it all with his signature
twist of a smile, assuring Mom my care would be of “preeminence” to him. With
Mom’s admonition to be home by 10 p.m. and “have fun, honey,” we were finally
out the door.