The Portal At The End Of The Storm

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Fritz

EIGHT YEARS. All that time, I've waited. When would that day come, the day they find me? A couple of times the cops must have seen the heels of my shoes on the way out. I've been lucky, so far. Working off the books, working hard and keeping my head down has kept me out of trouble, or the electric chair. The two men in the corner are paying too much attention.

Not many students leave college with a back-up marketable skill, or a need to work to get through the four years. I did. The demand for short order cooks has kept me in a position to rabbit when the walls closed in. Still, I wonder what's happening in the real world, my real world.

“Hey, Kraut, you got that order yet?”

“Scotch-Irish on my mother's side, and hybrid English on my father's. And who are you calling a Kraut, Ms. Frankfurt.”

“Hey, asshole. Does that work better?”

“If it works for you.” Cindy Frankfurt has been a pain for the past year. But she pays me on time and other than regular insults, she knows, or rather suspects that I'm not on the up and up with her. Need to know, Cindy, and you don't.

Eight years is a long time to be gone, from family and friends, from a comfortable life, a job teaching history that I looked forward to after I found the portal. In that life, I had a son. And in that life, the last thing my wife, Linda, said to me was “I don't love you anymore.” In that life, I even had a different name. I had a friend. Ashley. I'm sure Ash and Jane are married by now. Eight years is a long time for a time traveler to be stuck in one place, but I never thought I'd be stranded in an alternate dimension. Believe me when I say that time travel can be unpredictable.

When my shift here ends, all I can look forward to is my dumpy efficiency apartment, and maybe a trip to the library. I don't buy books anymore. I don't buy much of anything. Thank God for car leases. At least, I'm not stuck with constant repairs anymore. Hiding and running has been a nuisance, but it's easier to hide in plain sight. Here, now, it's just me. I have no family, no roots to tap to give my life a sense of continuity. I have accepted my anonymity, both sadly and gratefully. I've even heard that the Feds are looking for me. Will I ever find a way back?

I tapped the bell at the window to get Cindy's attention. “Number seventeen, up. Eggs over easy, home fries, bacon and toast. Times two.” The two suits in the corner look suspiciously like law men. I've had too many brushes with the type not to know. The back door is only a few feet away. I'll be keeping an eye open in more than one direction until they're gone. I haven't seen those two before. No extra pepper on the potatoes. No reason to make them mad.

Cindy did her usual ballet of serving and bussing. I had to admit, she was good. A lot of banter, anything for a tip. She stopped for a moment at the window and told me they had complimented me on the perfect over-easy eggs. I glanced at the table. The guy on the far side kept his eye on me. I nodded to him and told her to tell him I said thanks and come again.

“Tell them I make nice waffles, too.”

She cleared the other empty tables and started the routine lunch prep. We had about an hour until the crowd would begin to trickle in. I unlocked the back door, but stayed near the service window to see what they would do. When they had finally exited, Cindy waltzed into the kitchen, and told me I had a new fan.

“When he left, he said again, 'My compliments to the chef.' Then he asked your name.” I must have blanched because she reacted swiftly. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. My stomach just grumbled.” I remember a phrase from my youth that has proven true—if you can't think big, think fast. Ashley had hit the proverbial nail on the head. I lied well, and I had had many situations where lying had come in handy. But it didn't always work out.

“Uh-huh. And I have a bridge to sell. Those guys upset you. I saw. You hardly took your eyes off them. Who are they?”

“Never saw them before. And I hope I don't again. No one even notices a chef in a place like this unless something's wrong. They're suspicious.”

“You're paranoid.” I disagreed. Cautious, not paranoid, but I let it pass. They were cops, no doubt. In my old life, having a cop behind me at a red light gave me butterflies. Having them invade this world shifted my strategy for escape into high gear.

She watched me go through the motions for lunch, but I could ignore her more easily than forget why I worried about two guys who just had breakfast. I worked faster than I needed to, and then told her I'd be out back having a smoke.

I poked my head out into the alley and checked for unwanted guests. No one, nothing. I took a deep drag, then sat in the chair I'd salvaged from a dumpster ages ago. As alleys go, this one was pretty usual, except cleaner. The trash guys around here are careful. Never have seen that before. And I make a point of picking up the occasional flotsam and jetsam that drifts back here. Linda would appreciate how neat I've become.

For eight years, I've avoided any contact with the people from my old life. On the bad days, I hold myself back because I've already messed up their lives, not just mine. And the damage to them is nothing compared to what I had set loose on the rest of the world. That's why I've expected that eventually I would be found. President McCain wants me strung up to the nearest tree. At least that's what he'd allowed his vice-president to say. She meant it, even if he didn't.

After an uneventful lunch crowd, I finished up and went home, stopping at the ATM to grab the cash I'd need until the end of the week. I stashed the bills in my pants pocket, not in my wallet, ever. Over the years, I've learned some of the tricks of the street. Check to see if anyone's watching. Never have a lot of cash, but always have some.

That's when I spotted them. As I walked to my car, the guy who watched me in the shop sat in the passenger's seat as they went past. His quick glance gave away his pretending not to notice. My chest tightened and my pulse raced. I watched until the car turned out of sight a few blocks down. By the time I reached home, my nerves had calmed, and I had my plan ready.

Over the years, I have collected backpacks. In the car trunk, ready for escape, I had a few changes of clothes, extra toiletries, only the necessities. My small apartment didn't have room for me to be a hoarder, so packing the rest would require little time or effort. I hadn't planned to leave yet, but when I went to work in the morning, I could choose to vanish or not. Some of my old life had remained, like this lesson from Tom Andrews—always be prepared and always do the unexpected. Wow, Tom Andrews. I haven't thought of him in years. The head of the president's secret service detail, killed during a failed assassination attempt. That was a sad day.

Caution has served me well, just not soon enough to have kept me from being here. I had originally planned to fix things and just go home. The portal had been my friend. Not this time. I've found it easier to blend in, chameleon-like, where I wouldn't be a curiosity. After a few years out west, I'd come back to where I pretended to be just another East Coast guy going to work, going home. Some days, I hoped to be caught just to end the monotony.

We restocked on Saturdays since most customers worked nearby and spent the weekend at home. My job included ordering supplies for the next week, which allowed time to analyze my predicament. This world wasn't real, at least not for me. I had no relationships, no friends, not even an occasional one-nighter. “Solitary Man” ran through my head, a tune that would remain until a new one could replace it. Elections were over, Christmas just around the corner.

After orders had been placed and my late breakfast crowd had departed for Saturdays unknown, Cindy dragged out her holiday decorations. I had been a minimalist when putting up lights meant extra unnecessary work. Linda and I had agreed that just the two of us didn't need it. I wonder if she'd decorate for TJ. This year, in that life, he had just had his first birthday. Or does he even exist, if I've been here all this time? I never have figured out the various permutations of time travel possibilities.

“Are you gonna help?” Cindy called, as she pulled a big box from the storage room.

“I hadn't planned on it.”

“Change your plans.” I abandoned my to-do list and carried the box to the dining area and at her direction began untangling the multi-colored twinkle lights.

“You know I have things to do, Cindy.”

“Yeah, and one of them is helping me with the decorating.”

“It's almost lunch time and I'm not set up.”

“No one's here. You have time.”

“This crowd won't care.”

“I do. I love Christmas.” A smile, seldom seen by me from this hard-bitten, tough-talking woman, changed her face.

“You should do that more often.”

“What?”

“Smile. It takes ten years off.”

“Just do the lights.” But her smile returned.

In the year plus I'd worked here, we hadn't talked much about anything personal. I certainly didn't want to share, that California concept I'd run away from years ago. I'd guessed her to be in her 50s, and probably not bad looking at a younger age. A little wrinkling, a little gray mixed into the brown. And being on her feet all day, a pretty nice figure held up by shapely legs. I guessed she'd had a rough time of it. But I'd never asked. That would have meant letting down my guard. Thanks, Tom. Caution. I know.

She caught me staring as I unwound the tangles. “What are you looking at?”

“Knots,” I lied. “You know, you can get new lights for three bucks per hundred at the market. This is stupid. Why don't I go get some new ones. And when you put them away, wind them and wrap them. You won't have this mess next year.”

“Will you get them after lunch, then? We can decorate this afternoon.”

I don't know what possessed me, but I told her I would. Maybe eight years was softening my resolve, or just my need for human contact. “Just no music.”