Chapters and the Hourglass of Time

  The pieces of the puzzle were coming together in a way Billy would have never expected, a kind of scary way.

  Acting mostly intuitively, Billy placed three fingers into the holes in the hourglass plate and squeezed them tightly as he had done with the bowling ball. Something snapped inside and the small plate popped up, pushing Billy’s fingers up.

  “Ghuahh.” It was so unexpected that Billy gasped for air. If his fingers weren’t deep inside, he would’ve withdrawn them right away. The small round plate with three holes in it was now sticking out about one inch and was easy to move. Billy slowly turned it to the right, then to the left. Every time the line on the small plate coincided with a line on the middle plate there was a tiny click inside.

  “It is not a watch,” Billy remembered that Professor Bauman had said. “It’s a calendar.”

  “Awesome,” whispered Billy, thrilled with his unanticipated discovery. On the other hand, he didn’t want to accidentally break anything, so he decided to push the small plate back where it was, at least for now. And so he did. Only, it didn’t stop there. Instead, as the small plate leveled with the middle plate, both plates moved down. They stopped about one inch below the outside plate. Now the small plate and the middle plate were locked together and could easily rotate left and right. Billy really started to worry now. What if he had broken something? What if it wouldn’t work again?

  Very slowly, Billy opened his fingers. Something inside the small plate snapped back and it stopped moving.

  He decided to try the hourglass, just to be sure. Carefully, he removed it from the bag and set it on the floor. He looked around; he was alone in the locker room. Billy took a deep breath and flipped over the hourglass.

  Right at that moment, everything became blurry, everything but the hourglass. Billy kept staring at it, unable to take his eyes of it, while at the same time feeling as if his stomach was turning upside down. A wheezing noise became louder in his ears. His legs got heavy. Things started to spin around. The shiny crystals were moving differently now. They were all over the place, completely surrounding Billy. He felt as if he was inside the hourglass descending with those crazy, sparkling stars. Finally, Billy’s legs gave, his knees bent and his body collapsed. Just before he hit the floor, he grabbed the hourglass and clenched it to his body with both arms. The thought of waking up and not finding it was simply unbearable. That is, if he was ever going to wake up. That was Billy’s last thought before everything turned dark.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  “Missing”

  “Hey, kid, are you all right?”

  “Hello!”

  Distant voices were slowly entering his mind. Billy moaned and forced himself to open his eyes.

  “Huh, where am I?”

  In front of him was a colorful group of three teenagers: a girl in a leather jacket, her hair colored purple; a guy with a blue spiky hair; and another young man with a large key-chain hanging from the pocket of his jeans down to his knee, his short hair dyed red.

  Billy’s head felt heavy, and he could hardly move. “Who are you?” he whispered, trying to recall what happened to him.

  “Is he drunk?” asked the guy with spiked hair.

  “I don’t think so,” said the girl in the leather jacket. “He’s too young for that.”

  “What, what’s going on?” Billy asked again.

  “Happy New Year!” everybody shouted at him at once. Then they broke into laughter.

  “What’s that in his hands?” asked the spiked-hair guy. “Is that a beer?” He stretched out his arm towards Billy.

  “No!” shouted Billy as he realized that he was still holding the hourglass.

  “Knock it off, Spike! Leave the kid alone,” commanded the girl. Then she addressed Billy. “You must’ve slipped and fell down. Did you hit your head?”

  “I don’t remember,” Billy said, trying to sit up.

  They helped him up to a bench in the locker room.

  “Okay, people. He’s fine,” said the guy with the key chain, “false alarm. You better watch your step,” he added. “It’s quite slippery in here.”

  Billy noticed many small puddles on the floor. He was sure they weren’t there before. There was also something strange about the people’s clothing. They all wore warm coats, hats and gloves.

  “Guys, why are you wearing all these warm clothes?” Billy asked.

  “Are you sure he’s okay?” Spike asked, again ignoring Billy’s question. “’Cause he doesn’t look very good to me.”

  “Spike, if you saw yourself in the mirror, you’d be dialing 911 already,” said the girl. Everybody laughed and moved to the exit.

  Billy rose. He put the hourglass in the bag and followed the group.

  When he stepped into the corridor, a sudden bright light hit his eyes. Outside the windows, everything was white. The cars in the parking lot, the trees and the bushes were all covered in a thick layer of snow.

  “Wow,” said Billy, exhaling.

  It was a rare occasion for snow to fall in this part of the country, even in the winter.

  Under other circumstances Billy would’ve really enjoyed it, if it weren’t for the fact that there had been no snow when he came to the game.

  Did I fall asleep? he thought. How long was I out?

  Billy felt the need for a breath of fresh air, and headed through the corridor to the exit door. As he walked by the bulletin board, something strange caught his attention. Among other flyers and ads, was a picture of a smiling boy. Billy couldn’t believe his eyes—it was a picture of him. Big letters under the portrait stated: “Missing . . . last seen in October.”

  No way, thought Billy. It can’t be. What day is it?

  He searched around for a clue, when his eyes stopped at a big banner that screamed “Happy New Year!” above the exit door. The colorful confetti and streamers on the floor started to make sense.

  “Two months,” whispered Billy. “I was out for two months.”

  Even if he had fallen asleep or had been in a coma, someone would have found him. There was only one logical explanation for this phenomenon—the hourglass. If it could stop time, was it possible that it could move within time as well? Billy felt his knees getting weak again.

  At this moment, he heard distant laughter. A group of kids was approaching. Quickly Billy ripped the “missing” poster off the board and shoved it into his bag. He stood by the board pretending to read until the group passed. Then he turned around and rushed back to the locker room.

  I have to go back, Billy thought. Somehow I’ve got to go back. He sat down on the bench and leaned against the wall. He tried to remember exactly what he was doing before all this happened. Think, Billy, think.

  He remembered when the small plate popped up; he turned it a few times. Then, when the small and the middle plates went down, he turned them too. There was also something clicking inside. Billy recalled Professor Bauman’s words: “. . . by moving the rings and combining these sections we can set a certain date.”

  Billy took the hourglass out of the bag and put it on his lap. So, that’s what you are, he thought, a time machine.

  The hourglass seemed to be the same, yet there was something special about it this time. All the little shiny crystals inside, all the writing on the plates had a completely different meaning now. He touched the glass and softly stroked its smooth surface. A few crystals moved, glowing like fireflies, responding to his touch.

  Very carefully, Billy inserted his fingers into the three holes and tried to turn the plate. It didn’t work. He tried harder. Nothing happened. A cold sweat covered his face. Oh no, I’m stuck. I’m stuck in the future. He was starting to panic. On the other hand, it could be worse, he thought. I could’ve gone in the opposite direction and ended up with dinosaurs.

  There was a way out, though. All he had to do was to go home and say that he wasn’t missing. Everyone would be happy. But then he would have to explain where he had been for the past two months
. Eventually he would have to tell about the hourglass, which meant they would take it away from him—the police or government or scientists. Professor Bauman would probably be the first in line. No, that was totally unacceptable. He absolutely had to go back.

  Billy focused and tried to remember every single detail, every move he had made, every thought he had before all this happened. He distinctly remembered thinking of Professor Bauman. He was also thinking of that man from the bowling alley. His words echoed in Billy’s head: “Control . . . focus . . . state of mind . . . who’s in charge?”

  “I am,” said Billy.

  He put his fingers deep into the holes in the small plate and squeezed them firmly. Something snapped inside the plate. The middle and small plates, locked together, were moving freely now. “Yes!” exhaled Billy.

  Easy now, he thought. Now I have to think backwards.

  Before he had gotten to this point, he had moved the plates two clicks clockwise and then two clicks counterclockwise, which meant he should keep the middle plate in that position.

  Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he couldn’t wipe his face—his hands were busy. It felt as if he was disarming a bomb. Gently, Billy moved his hand up until the middle and the small plates leveled with the outer plate. He heard a distinctive click, after which the middle plate stopped moving. Billy paused, took a breath and, keeping his fingers pressed together, brought the small center plate all the way up. Then he released the pressure and carefully pulled his fingers out of the holes. His fingers were numb. Billy put the hourglass on the floor and shook his hands to restore blood circulation. Now was a tricky part: he didn’t remember which way and how many clicks he had turned the small plate—he was too excited at the time.

  He positioned his hand over the plate without touching it and turned it in the air in both directions. His muscle memory was his only hope. After several tries, he decided that there were four and two clicks. The only problem was—he didn’t remember which way.

  Finally, Billy made a decision. If he initially turned the plate four clicks clockwise and then two clicks counterclockwise, then all he had to do now was to make two more clicks counterclockwise and the plates should be realigned with his time. Billy put his fingers inside the holes and squeezed. Then very slowly, he turned the small plate counterclockwise two clicks and pressed it down until it leveled with the other plates. He released pressure and took his hand away.

  This is it, he thought. There is only one way to find out.

  Billy mentally prepared himself for the worst, and then flipped the hourglass over. Everything except the hourglass turned blurry, just as before. Things were spinning around. Myriads of sparkling crystals were everywhere and, once again, Billy felt as though he was inside the hourglass. He felt dizzy, but not as bad as the first time.

  I might even get used to this, Billy thought in excitement.

  Soon objects came into focus: lockers and benches, walls and floor—everything came back to normal with the last drop of the shiny crystal. Billy looked around. He was in the same room.

  Did I make it back?

  There were no puddles from melted snow on the floor. Good sign, he thought. He packed the hourglass in his bag, and then rushed outside the locker room.

  In the corridor, the first thing he noticed was the absence of confetti and streamers. The most important thing, though, was that there was no snow outside the windows.

  “Great,” Billy whispered,” it worked!”

  Still, he needed more proof. Of course, Billy could’ve asked somebody what date it was. That question wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, unless it was followed by: “What year?” Billy didn’t really like the idea of people thinking he was a lunatic. In the window he saw a newspaper stand on the other side of the street.

  Bingo! Billy hurried out of the Galaxy.

  When he was on the street, somebody called him, “What took you so long?”

  Billy turned around. “Mike, Seth, it’s you!”

  “Yeah, right. Who did you expect, the Queen of England?” Mike grinned.

  “C’mon, man, it’s freezing out here. Did you fall asleep or something?” asked Seth.

  “Almost,” said Billy, smiling. Never before was he so glad to see his friends. “Let’s go.”

  This day, Billy didn’t dare to use the device again. He needed to think over this whole time machine/hourglass more thoroughly. The small and the middle plates appeared to set the day and month, so maybe the largest outside plate had something to do with the year. But instead of numbers or notches it was covered with small writing. There was no way Billy could have translated the writing without help. The more he thought of it, the more he felt that the idea of having this secret all to himself was too overwhelming. He had to share it with someone, someone he could trust. The only person he knew like that was Anna-Maria. The next day was her birthday. Billy decided that he would tell her everything.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Great Escape

  The following morning was unusually sunny for this time of the year. It was Saturday, and it was A.M.’s birthday. Billy had plenty of time to find a present for her.

  It’s going to be a beautiful day, he thought as he was leaving his house. The air was cold, so Billy walked on the sunny side of the street, enjoying the heat of sunbeams on his cheeks. When a familiar face unexpectedly appeared in front of him, they nearly collided.

  “Hello, Billy.”

  “Professor!” exclaimed Billy, surprised.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. How are you doing, Professor?”

  “Oh, I’m doing very well,” said Professor Bauman. “Billy, do you have a minute for me? I’d really like to talk to you.”

  “Of course,” Billy replied. I am so lucky, he thought to himself. The professor will surely help me translate the writing on the plate.

  “Let’s go into this coffee shop,” the professor suggested. “It’s quite chilly outside.”

  The inside of the coffee shop was warm and cozy. The smell of coffee and cinnamon lingered in the air.

  “What do you drink?” asked the professor.

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “My treat,” insisted the professor amiably.

  “Hot chocolate,” admitted Billy, giving in.

  The professor ordered hot chocolate and a regular coffee with milk and no sugar. They took their orders and sat at the table by the window. The professor slowly sipped his coffee as if he was deciding where to start.

  “Billy, have you ever heard of Nostradamus?”

  The question surprised Billy even more than meeting the professor.

  “I’ve never heard this name before,” he answered honestly.

  “Of course you haven’t,” said the professor. “I’m sorry, Billy, I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, last night I had very little sleep. Nor the night before. And it’s all thanks to you.”

  “Excuse me?” Billy had no idea what he had to do with the professor’s sleepless nights.

  “Oh no, I don’t blame you at all,” the professor carried on. “You see, the last thirty-six hours of my life were filled with excitement and discovery beyond my wildest dreams.”

  Billy said nothing. He looked even more puzzled, so the professor continued. “The photo of the plates that you and your friend left me the other day was so intriguing that I had to put aside everything I was working on to start translating the writing.”

  Finally we are getting somewhere, Billy thought.

  “I had at least two good reasons for that,” the professor continued. “The first is the language; Ancient Egyptian hasn’t been used for centuries. The other reason was that your artifact looked exactly like the one found in China in the 1920s, with only one difference—it is in near perfect condition.” The professor took a sip of his coffee. Billy drank his hot chocolate.

  “Professor Bauman,” said Billy, “that name, you mentioned before . . .”

 
“Nostradamus?”

  “Yes. Why did you ask?”

  “You see, Billy, I have reason to believe that there is a connection between Nostradamus and the plates.”

  “What kind of connection?” Billy asked.

  “Nostradamus lived in sixteenth century France. He was a writer, philosopher, alchemist, astronomer, but mostly he became famous for writing a book of prophecies, or predictions of what will happen in the future. For instance, he was able to predict the French Revolution, the rise of Adolf Hitler, even the atom bomb. Well, that’s according to his supporters, of course.”

  “You are not one of them, are you, Professor?” Billy guessed.

  “I am a scientist, Billy. I believe in facts. You see, the prophecies were written in a form of four-line poems called quatrains. Since most of them are not specific at all, they could be interpreted any way you like. Besides, you can’t really tell the future just by reading them. You can only apply certain quatrains to events that have already happened to see the similarities.”

  “So, you don’t believe any of this?” asked Billy.

  “I used to be skeptical, but now I’m not so sure anymore,” the professor said. “As a matter of fact, at this point I don’t know what to believe.”

  “You’re confusing me, Professor.”

  Professor Bauman leaned closer to Billy and announced quietly, “I was able to translate some fragments of the writing.”

  Bingo, thought Billy. “What did you find out?”

  “Something I wish I hadn’t,” the professor said, as he leaned back and took a big gulp of his coffee.

  “What do you mean?” Billy touched his schoolbag underneath the table with his shoe to make sure it was still there.

  “As you remember, there are four rows of writing all the way around the plate,” started the professor. “They were written in continuous lines, so it is practically impossible to tell where one sentence ends and another begins. Anyway, after numerous hours of laborious work, I finally completed the first line.”