Time Locked

1

T I M E L O C K E D

By

R. Vincent Riccio

S m a s h w o r d s E d i t i o n

Copyright 2010 R. Vincent Riccio

2nd Edition (10/2013)

** Science Fiction Series **

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

Bart Giovanni was ten years old the first time he recognized he was having a vision of something that might indeed happen at a future time. As he was growing up in New London, Connecticut, he’d had some clairvoyant episodes, but, as a child, paid them no mind, treating them as dreams which meant nothing. Later on, still in his younger years, they were unclear and indistinct. He could not always make out the specific characters or events, like most dreams.

It was the day of his tenth birthday, a Saturday, and he knew his parents were going to have a party for him. They always did, for both himself and his older sister, who was now sixteen and in high school. But this day, while he was eating breakfast, a chopped up soft-boiled egg on toast with a cup of tea and orange juice, sitting in his breakfast nook, looking out the storm windows on his left, gazing at the birds that were flittering about in the trees and making nests with the advent of spring, the trees and birds he’d been watching dissolved into vapor, and a new apparition suffused through the glass windows, replacing the outdoor scene he’d just witnessed.

He saw himself, returning home with his father in their black Jeep Cherokee; watched his ash blond hair, matching his father’s, blowing in the slight breeze; he witnessed the car doors open and himself get out with a few packages, his father holding a couple more, and the two of them walk up the flagstone walkway to the stairs of his colonial house. They ambled up the three concrete steps to the glass storm door and opened it up, walked inside and to the left, making their way to the kitchen.

His mother, Beverly, was there waiting, and accepted the shopping bags he and his father brought, putting them aside on the red topped kitchen table, the table at which he now ate breakfast. She gave Bart a small package of ribbons from one of the bags and told her son to bring it into the livingroom to his sister, which he complied with dutifully. As he walked down the two steps into the large, sunken room, over twenty people sprang out from kneeling positions and behind chairs yelling Surprise! Happy Birthday! They surrounded him, patted him on the back, some of the women and girls came up and gave him kisses, the boys and men shook his hand, and he saw himself laugh in good humor with all the attention he was getting.

The pleasant vision lasted about five minutes, until his mom, Beverly, shook his arm, then grasped his chin between her thumb and forefinger, turning it away from the window and toward her face, her large blue eyes opened wide, staring into their mirror images in her son’s countenance. Bartholomew! Stop daydreaming, Sweetheart. Let’s finish that breakfast. You have a lot to do today. You need to go shopping with your Dad while I clean up around here. She rustled his hair and then went about her kitchen business. The vision had evaporated.

Bart looked back out the window and again saw the Blue Jays dancing about the branches, in a flurried, feathered rush to do whatever bird things they thought were important. The vision was officially gone and could not be retrieved. He wondered if what he’d seen was a daydream, or something more. There had been no talk of a surprise party - naturally. Everyone had been behaving normally. There was no evidence that his friends and family were coming to the house today, if it was in fact today that he saw. His parents had never thrown a surprise party for himself or his sister. Julie had a very nice sweet sixteen party in February, with ten of her friends, given by their parents, but everyone knew about it, and the elaborate, flamed-filled party at the Asian Hibachi restaurant worked out very well. A surprise party was out of character for them; and, he was only ten. Nothing particularly special about that, other than entering double digit years. Maybe they thought that was something. Or, maybe the whole thing was just a fanciful daydream, which meant nothing.

His mind was changed for all time later on that day, when the surprise party went off exactly as he’d seen it, leaving him to wonder that night as he put his head down on the pillow to sleep, how exactly that had happened. He vowed to pay more attention to these visions the next time one occurred, if he ever had one again.

That was the first time he realized he had this psychic power, the ability to have a glimpse into the future. He didn’t understand all the ramifications of it at the time, but he would come to know them as he grew, and the visions became more frequent.

The next time a meaningful vision appeared to Bart was a year later, shortly after he’d entered sixth grade: Middle School. The institution itself was only a year old, and was built next door to the High School, only a stone’s throw away. It was a rainy day as he heeded his Mom’s wake-up call, and got out of bed to wash up and dress into his school clothes. He headed downstairs from his second floor bedroom and into the kitchen where a bowl of oatmeal and light toast was waiting for him with a glass of grapefruit juice and cup of tea. His sister was already gone, taking the earlier bus to High School, and his Mom was at the sink, washing things.

No sooner had he taken a spoonful of the oatmeal, when the tan booth across from him dissolved into a foggy vapor and displayed his school bus plodding along the bumpy road toward his stop. The bus put on it’s lights and extended its little fence as it came to a complete stop. He saw a young girl, one of his classmates, Shirley Timmerson, running up the street, on the other side, toward the bus stop. She’d been a little late, which was not unusual for her. As she quickly crossed over the lane, a car came speeding down the gravelly road, behind the bus, and passed it, running into the girl and dragging her along the ground until it came to a stop some hundred feet further.

Shocked at the scenario he had just witnessed, Bart immediately choked on his food, and began coughing, trying to catch his breath as some oatmeal had gone down his trachea. The vision vanished as his mother came to his aid and gave him a few pats on the back, offering a glass of water to sip.

Here, take some of this, Sweetheart, and try to stay calm. It’ll pass.

Her son sipped some of the cool water and swallowed a few times, coughed a couple of more, then took in some deep breaths to clear his throat.

Better? his Mom asked with due concern.

He nodded. Mom! he called out to her.

What’s the matter, Honey?

I - I had - had - He didn’t quite know how to proceed, since, up to this point, he hadn’t told anyone about visions he’d had, never had to describe one. He wasn’t yet sure that he believed it himself, whether the visions were something real.

What did you have, Bart? his mother said consolingly.

I had a - a feeling!

A feeling? What kind of feeling, Dear?

That - that something terrible was going to happen to one of the kids going to school!

Really! Beverly said with surprise. Well, what do you think will happen?

She - she’s going to get run over by a car! Mom! I think this will really happen! Honest!

My goodness! What makes you think such a terrible thing would occur, Sweetheart? And - whom do you think it will happen to?

One of the kids at school. A girl I know. A classmate. A car. It just runs her down. I think it kills her.

Oh my! That’s a terrible thing to think, Bartholomew! Why in God’s name would such a horrible thing occur to you?

"I’m not thinking it, Mom! It’s ... it’s ... something I think will happen. For real!"

Well, I don’t know ...

Mom! We have to do something!

I don’t know what you’d want me to do, Bart. I mean, do you even know who this girl is?

Yes! Her name’s Shirley. Shirley Timmerson. She lives one street over.

"Oh. Yes. I know the family. Very nice people. Oh my, that’s their only child. That would be a horrible thing to happen, Sweetheart."

I know! You have to do something!

I don’t know what you think I can do about that, Bart.

Can’t you call them?

Call them? And tell them what!

Tell them ... tell them they have to take their daughter to school today, he said brightly. Because something terrible will happen if they don’t!

"My goodness, Bart, I don’t think I can tell them that. Just because my son has a feeling?"

"But, what if it’s a right feeling, Mom?"

His mother stared out the window thoughtfully. That would be a truly awful thing! On so many levels, she uttered quietly, then sighed.

Mom! You have to call them! Please! What if it’s right!

Beverly shook her head befuddledly. She sighed again. Well, I want you to eat your breakfast, Bart. I’ll give Mrs. Timmerson a call and see what I can do.

Bart went back to nibble at his food and watched his mother walk to the wall phone and call the operator to get the Timmerson’s number. She dialed it and got Ethyl Timmerson, young Shirley’s mother.

Ethyl? Hi. This is Beverly Giovanni. How are you. Uhm, listen, I don’t know where to begin here, but - my son seems to think that something bad will happen to Shirley if she takes the bus today. Is it possible for you to take her to school? She waited a minute. Oh, you can’t. An appointment huh. Well ... She looked over to her son, whose shaking head and intense look continued to implore her to action. Alright. How about if I take the kids to school this morning. Would that be okay? Alright. Fine. I’ll pick her up in a half hour then. Bye. She looked over to her son. I hope that keeps you happy, Bartholomew. I feel like such a fool doing this, really. Finish up your breakfast, I’m taking the two of you into school. She shook her head. It just never ends, what I do for you kids, I’ll tell you. Then she went upstairs to change her clothes for the short drive.

Beverly and Bart picked Shirley up a half hour later and brought her to school; Bart internally praised himself as he walked to his first class for having cheated death, or at least gotten the best of his vision. This was a talent he could be happy about, he thought, something he could use to his benefit in the future, perhaps to protect innocent people from the inauspicious harm that might otherwise befall them; he could be a hero, if he wanted. He’d have to be sure to make the best use of any vision he happened to receive, so that these miraculous occurrences didn’t go to waste.

That was the way Bart felt until the following Friday, another rainy day that found him climbing into his seat on the bus, looking out the window to catch the slightly late Shirley running to her stop before the bus took off. Helplessly he watched the speeding car run the young child down and drag her crumpled body a hundred feet before stopping. The car started and stopped after that, shaking off the mangled, rag doll body that had become attached to it, and then sped off again, leaving the bus, the children, and any onlookers in its dust.

The driver immediately called the police, keeping the bus stationary by putting the brake on, while he ran outside to check on the condition of the unfortunate child. He looked over the grizzly body, torn and mutilated, not sure she was still alive, but not daring to touch her for fear of making things worse, or contaminating the crime scene.

An ambulance and a Rescue truck from the Fire Department came quickly after that, with two police cars escorting it, the whole entourage pulling around the mangled and scrunched up little form. Medics check over the small girl and quickly put her in the ambulance, which took off immediately for the hospital. After another half hour of investigating and cleaning up, the police escorted the bus to school and three officers went inside to the principle to advise them of what had happened. Sixth grade classes ended early that day, with several teachers and two Nurses having an assembly to comfort and explain the unfortunate event to the students, then send them home.

All through the short day, Bart felt sick in his stomach, and was unsure exactly why. Certainly the tragic accident he’d witnessed was upsetting, but it was more than that. He had the inner feeling that it was somehow his fault, that he should have been able to prevent it if he had only paid proper attention to his vision.

This was another occasion in which the psychic impression he experienced came true, and came true exactly as he had seen it. That in itself was a disturbing phenomenon. He began to have the uncomfortable feeling that this unique psychic ability he had was not as much of a blessing as he’d originally thought. However, as his sharp, eleven year old mind dwelt on the experience that afternoon at home, he thought perhaps he’d simply read the vision wrong, and didn’t utilize it the right way. He should have realized that the image he saw need not happen the same day he saw it. This event didn’t.

If someone had driven Shirley to school all week, his musings continued, he could have prevented the accident. There might be other clues to tell him when an event would actually occur. He wasn’t sure what the rules were with these psychic visions, but it didn’t seem possible that he would be seeing things too far into the future. After all, he considered intelligently, the farther away from the present you got, the more unpredictable the future had to be, since too many other things would be influencing it. The further you got into the future, the more things would occur between the present and then.

Bart had the uncomfortable notion that he might never know precisely when these events might happen: simply some random time in the not-too-distant future. That didn’t seem to be a great benefit. In fact, it could actually be a distraction not to know precisely when. Only time, and experience with a lot more visions could make him more adept at utilizing them. He wasn’t sure he was happy about that, or if he ever wanted to have another vision again. Such foreshadowing images were complicated things, not so simply understood. At eleven years old, and having only experienced them clearly a couple of times, he could not be expected to be adept at exploiting something he barely understood.

His mother was surprised at the circumstances which delivered her son home early that day, particularly considering Bart’s worried premonition earlier in the week. She thought it was one of those things which occasionally happens to people when a tragic event unfolds. She believed that when something truly terrible happens, there are always sensitive people around who seem to sense the ether surrounding them which forebodes the terrible thing to come. Her son happened to be one, this time. She truly hoped, for his benefit, that it never happened again. She realized it could only be a stress, and a lot for a mere child to put up with. There were adults that were unable to handle similar episodes well, and either became neurotic, or went mad altogether. Thus, she consoled Bart Giovanni the rest of the day, and would advise his sister and father when they came home.

Having concentrated so much on the day’s unwholesome incident, Bart received another brief vision just before supper that evening. It was of a group of people standing around a casket in a cemetery. He saw his parents and himself, Shirley Timmerson’s mother and father, a priest, some students and several other people circling the wooden casket. He paid specific attention to everyone, to see all he could see; but there was nothing much happening, nothing he would even want to change. He actually heard the priest’s voice this time, from a distance, chanting prayers over what could only be young Shirley Timmerson’s final resting place. Then the vision vanished.

He knew the little girl was going to die, or had already died, and they weren’t informed yet. He was quiet and solemn at dinner, and only poked through pasta that he normally gobbled up. His mother questioned him, asking how he felt.

Okay, he answered, Just sorry about losing Shirley. She was a good kid. She was pretty, and she laughed a lot.

Well, we don’t know we’ve lost her yet, Darling, Beverly said.

Yes we do. She’s gone, Bart replied despondently, Or ... she will be pretty soon.

His mother eyed him critically, and dared not ask the obvious questions, but changed the focus of their conversation. Did you or any of your classmates ever see who was driving that car, Bart?

Her son looked up, blue eyes wide. No! he answered with some surprise. "I never really thought about that. I think I was the only one looking at her, because, well, you know. The car took off, dragging her along the ground."

Everyone scrunched up their face at that.

It stopped, Bart continued, and it went along a little, then stopped again, and then it just took off. I guess shaking Shirley free of the car. She was kind of stuck on it.

More facial scrunches.

Beverly shook her head, while Paul, her husband, pressed his thin lips together, shaking his head in disgust.

They ought to find that guy and give him the death penalty, Bart’s father said. I can’t imagine what was going through that driver’s head. Must have been drugged or drunk or something. I mean, who the heck speeds by a stopped school bus! I don’t even want to think about what her parents are feeling right now. He shook his head with obvious displeasure.

Beverly nodded. Tragic. Tragic. She thought to herself a few minutes, while everyone ate quietly. Bart, Honey. I know this is a difficult thing to think about right now, Sweetheart, but, I was wondering if you were able to make anything out about that car. They haven’t been able to find it yet. No one seems to know anything, and they don’t want to upset the children too much. They’ll probably be around to talk to everyone eventually.

I didn’t think much about it, Mom. It was just too terrible a thing to think about.

Yes, I know, Dear. But I wonder if there was anything you saw that might help the police track this person down.

What’s the difference. It’s not going to bring Shirley back.

No, I know that. But bringing people like this to justice, or at least make sure they never do anything like it again, that’s our responsibility. This was something that could have been prevented. It was a heartless action by someone who clearly doesn’t care anything about other human beings.

Your mother’s right, Son, Paul chimed in. We have to be sure, every way we can, that such people are brought to justice. We can’t allow them to be out there doing whatever they want, not caring about other human lives. You have to man up, son, if you can. I know it’s a lot to ask of a young man like you, but, what did you see with that car? Now’s the time to think about it, while it’s still fresh in your head.

Bart thought to himself, with some macabre amusement, that he should be able to recall something, since he had actually seen the thing happen twice. It was a dark car.

Dark like black, or some other dark color, like brown or blue? his father asked.

Hard to tell, Dad, since it was very dirty. But I think black. Uhm, like a Camaro, or Firebird, or maybe a Mustang. One of those.

So, a sport car.

Uh-h, yeah, I guess. That’s what it looked like.

Could you see the driver? his mother asked.

Bart closed his eyes and thought about both the vision and the actual occurrence. From his position in the bus, he couldn’t see who was driving, but his perspective in the vision was from the other side, and above. In his memory, he was able to look down into the car. It was a man.

Paul looked at his wife, putting down his fork, then looked over to his son. You’re sure?

Positive, Bart said.

Good. Good boy. Could you see what he looked like?

Bart shook his head. Not too well. He was zipping by pretty quick.

Yes, I know, his father said with disgust. I just can’t imagine why he would do it. He shook his head. Anything else, son?

Bart’s eyes were closed again. He found he had a clear recollection of his vision, as clear as the actual event. He had something in his hand.

Which hand, Paul asked.

Right hand. It’s a bottle. A little dark bottle. And he was drinking out of it.

Paul frowned sternly and again looked at his wife, whose eyebrows had raised. So that’s it. Liquor! Ridiculous! Can you tell if he’s from around here?

Bart shook his head. No. Can’t see him that well. But he has dark hair, like, black. I don’t think he’s too old.

Now that’s pretty darn good, son. Anyone else in the car? Can you tell?

He shook his head again. No. I can’t see anyone else. No one next to him anyway. Bart was now switching back and forth in his mind between the actual occurrence and the vision he’d had.

It went right past you, and then it stopped for a moment. You said that, right? his dad asked.

Right.

See anything in the license plate? I know that’s a long shot, Son, but concentrate and check if you can make any of it out.

He closed his eyes again and looked the car over from both vision and reality. It’s dirty. Hard to see, the young lad said.

Well, do your best, boy. You’ve been great so far. Anything will be a help.

Uhm - okay. There’s a ‘K’ - at the beginning. Then a lot of dirt. And there’s an ‘X’ a little after that. And a ‘3'. That’s all I can see, Dad. It was pretty dirty.

By God, I’ll bet that’s enough. Are you sure about all this, son? We don’t want to send the police off on a wild goose chase.

No. I’m sure of those, Dad. I just can’t see anything else.

His father got up immediately from the table and called the local police. They sent two men over within ten minutes, and questioned Bart along with his parents, obtaining the information the young boy had given his father.

Thanks. That’s a lot of help. We should be able to do something with this, one of the policemen stated. We’ll let you know if anything comes of it. Then the two men left quickly.

It was the next day just before supper time that the family was together and the Giovanni’s received a call from the police telling them that they had caught the driver. It had been a man who was separated from his wife, and who lived here locally; but he now resided in another town, and had come to meet with her. They had an argument, apparently most of the night. They both drank a lot of liquor, and the man angrily took off in the morning, alcohol bottle still in hand. He didn’t know much about what he was doing, and just barely remembered that there was any kind of accident. That was that. A drunk driver episode, and a man that might have gotten away with a terrible crime, perhaps not even realizing it, if not for Bart’s recollection of him and his car.

They also found out later that day that Shirley Timmerson had lost her valiant fight, and passed away, casting a pall over what would otherwise have been a satisfying bit of detection.

You should still be proud of what you did, son, his father advised him. These are difficult things for people to do, especially very young people, like you. But you did it anyway, and we’re proud of you.

Yeah. Thanks, Dad. When are they going to have the funeral?

I’m not sure exactly. I think this weekend. I’ll call and get the specifics. Did you want to go?

He nodded his head. I think, probably, lots of our friends from school will be there, too. I think we have to go.

Paul nodded. She’d be very pleased to have friends like you, Bart. This is the most you can do in situations like these.

Sure. I know, Dad, came the somber, thoughtful reply.

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Chapter 2

The next few years of Bart Giovanni’s life became more interesting, as he adjusted to his psychic power, an ability whose scope he kept to himself, for fear of being thought of as a freak, or, worse, a harbinger of doom. Not that all his visions were tragic by any means, but the ones that represented unfortunate events would make a big impression, while the others would have no impact at all.

During his early teens, visions did not come regularly, or on demand. He couldn’t manage to force them out, although there were times, when he was concentrating on something, that he was able to receive a vision regarding it. He came to know that his visions were of events within the next couple of weeks; there was never anything long range; at least, so far. Again, he reasoned this made sense, since the distant future was far more random and unpredictable, involving many millions of other events which could affect it

Most of Bart’s visions were not unhappy events; many of them were quite ordinary and uneventful. Since they began, they occurred roughly once every month; sometimes there were a couple of them in a month, but such was the nature of his early teenaged experience. During this time he managed to see a couple of fishing trips that he and his father were going to take, view what they caught before they left; and some days he was able to see himself simply walking to school with his friends a week or so in the future, where nothing of any consequence occurred. Sometimes he wished he were able to have control over his ability, and other times he was glad he didn’t. He could make a case for either position, which had a lot to do with the nature of the future event he saw.

One of the marginal benefits he found was in his test taking; a few times he actually saw himself putting the answers down, which didn’t work out to be as much of a help as he’d thought, since he still had to study for them. There was twice, however, that he saw a class review of the completed test with the proper answers, and that was more of a help, enabling him easily to score in the high 90's. As time passed, he came to know the harder he studied, and the more he concentrated on the material, the more apt he was to have a vision about the subject matter; however, since he still had to study hard to get the visions, his psychic ability was not as much of a benefit to schooling as he would have liked.

Other psychic episodes entailed him seeing a future fire drill, his classmate, Billy’s detention, a couple of snow days where the school closed due to a blizzard and he knew he didn’t have to bother setting his alarm clock the night before. He saw his sister getting accepted to the college she wanted, a family Christmas party, the new color his mother wanted to paint the outside of the house, and the new, white Acura SUV his father surprised everyone with one day: everyone but him.

These were not Earth-shattering things, but he came to have a familiarity and comfort level with the predictions he was able to garner on occasion. He came to think that, as far as abilities go, this one was not particularly substantial or powerful. The most important discovery he made about his psychic visions was that they had always come to pass, with absolute accuracy. He wondered if it would always be that way, or if there were actually a way to change what they showed him, if he tried hard enough.

Once he knew that his dad had it in his mind to get a new vehicle, he tried to test his vision’s accuracy by attempting to influence his father’s car decision. He showed up with catalogues on BMW and Mercedes SUV’s, telling him that he thought these were great cars, going over the many features that they had, particularly their safety features. Paul looked the material over in deference to his son, nodding a few times, and Bart thought he might even have swayed his dad’s mind; but he showed up with the Acura anyway.

He tried a few times, in these earliest days, to controvert his visions, unsuccessfully, just as he had in trying to influence his father’s SUV choice; but only a few times. Ultimately, he was afraid of what might happen; after all, any change might be a whole lot worse than whatever his image showed was going to occur. So, for instance, he didn’t try to answer a few questions wrong on the tests that he saw, so that the outcome would be different than his vision; that seemed entirely too dangerous. However, once that particular thought entered his head, changing test answers, he never had a vision of another test result. He began to think that if, indeed, he could not change the future events he saw, his psychic ability was not a very beneficial one. He could imagine several scenarios that would be definitively painful, like a fatal accident to one of his family or friends, or even himself. Just as it had occurred with young Shirley Timmerson.

He’d always thought that there was more he could have done for his young 6th grade classmate, that because of his youth he had simply not read the vision correctly, or inspected it closely enough, to see how he could change it; he continued to feel guilty about that. But if it were true that he could not change the outcome of a vision, that it was, in fact, some future historical event that was inviolable, then there would never have been anything he could have done to affect that outcome, or any outcome.

He couldn’t conceive how this could ever be an advantageous ability to have. Of course, one never really had control over what abilities or talents he or she was born with. From what he was learning in Science, creature’s characteristics developed so as to be an improvement to the creatures’ adaptability and survival. If he could change the unfortunate outcomes he saw in his visions, that would be a positive characteristic. Then again, there were developments and mutations over the eons which were not beneficial to a creature’s survival at all, and those creatures died off. Maybe this was one of those: a mutation, or characteristic that randomly developed, and was of no particular use to him in improving his life or survival. That could be the reason hardly anyone else had it, and if some did, why they didn’t make a big deal out of it. Perhaps some had developed it in the distant past, but they died off, too, not having a better adaptive trait; that was a disturbing thought.

It took until he was sixteen that he found a decent use for being able to see things before they happened. His friends were taking bets on certain football games, and there were some of those whose outcome he was able to see, including their Thanksgiving Day game with the local rival high school. The other school’s team had lost only one game, at the beginning of the season, while his school had lost two. This final game of the season would determine who won the state championship. Since the rival