The Time Sphere
Authors: A.E. Albert
The Time Sphere
By A.E. Albert
A.E.Albert
2014
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
The Time Sphere Copyright © 2014 by A.E. Albert. All rights reserved
First Printing 2014
Smashwords Edition
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of this author.
For my beautiful sister, Jennife
r.
I am going to die.
I feel weightless. As
my body moves toward the ceiling, my feet leave the ground. I can feel my mouth form into a scream, but I don’t make a sound. The abrupt silence filling the chamber is deafening.
I
feel a scorching heat touch my skin. Then I see it out of the corner of my eye. Fire. It’s coming toward me and I’m powerless to stop it.
When death comes to find you
, I thought it was your life that flashed before your eyes. But it’s not a life lived I can see, but the life not yet lived. I was given a task I will never complete.
I have failed.
As Billy felt the fist make contact with his face, he thought for sure his nose was broken. However, that thought was quickly set aside as he felt his backside slam into the hard and unyielding concrete. His face burned with heat when he heard someone in the crowd yell, "Get
him, Scott!" It was Trish, who Billy thought was the prettiest girl in his grade.
Billy looked up into the face of his assailant, Scott Wilinski. He was tall, blond and far too muscular to be in the eighth grade. Scott gave Billy a crooked grin, which was in no wa
y friendly.
Billy thought
if he used the side door he could have avoided this daily ritual. But of course, he couldn't be that lucky.
"You know, Townsend, if I keep rearranging your face like this, you might actually look half decent!" sneered Scott, as everyone in the crowd laughed.
Billy's eyes flashed toward Trish. When he saw her laughing along with everyone else, his already deep blush intensified.
He
felt an arm drape around his shoulders and squeeze too hard. Billy turned his head and looked into Scott's smiling face.
"Ahhh, come on, guys! Is this how we treat new students? I personally think Billy here deserves better than thi
s. Right, Bill!" grinned Scott as he grabbed his face and gave it a little shake. Billy had been attending St. Bernadette's for six months, but felt it was safer to keep that information to himself.
All o
f a sudden, Billy was bent over and Scott was holding him in a headlock. He immediately tried to pull himself free, but Scott was too big and too strong.
"Are you stuck, Billy boy
? Here's something that'll loosen you up!"
As Billy tried desperately to free himself, he fe
lt a cool and soft substance cover the top of his head. With a loud cry, his hand flew to the mess in his hair. When Billy looked down at his hand, it was covered with chocolate pudding.
"See there, Billy, don't say I don't do yo
u any favors," laughed Scott, as he released Billy and pushed him to the ground.
As Billy attempted to stand, his attacker grabbed him forcefully by the jacket. The fake smile was replaced with an ugly sneer. "Listen, puke, I keep telling you to use the back doors, so no one that matters can see your loser face."
Scott looked Billy up and down. He abruptly released his jacket and made a disgusted face which seemed to wonder why he had touched it in the first place. The bully then turned around and just walked away.
Billy knew that Scott was done and took the opportunity to run into the school so he could wash his hair out. As he made his way across the school's parking
lot, he could hear the kids yelling, "All right Scott, you really gave it to him!" and "That Townsend kid is such a loser!"
Billy was thankful that the school was empty. He ran through the quiet halls to the nearest bathroom. He threw his head under the faucet and vigorously scrubbed the gunk out of his hair. As he dried his face, he stopped to stare into the mirror.
Loser.
Since he started at St. Bernadette's six months ago, that had been what everyone called him. He could just imagine his home room teacher, Mr. Kroenberg. His eyes scanning the class, looking above his reading glasses as he completed morning attendance. "Is loser here today? Where's Loser?" Billy could almost laugh at the image.
Billy never did anything that would attract the attention of the Scott Wilinski's of the world. He was 13 years old, average height and weight. His hair was dark brown and glossy and fell in layers just above his shoulders. He had large, deep brown eyes which were framed by long lashes. However, Billy didn't think that this was an asset after his first grade crush told him that he looked like a girl. His nose was straight, and he had a neat, white smile. Billy wasn't a trend setter, but he held his own in that department by wearing the latest skater T's and jeans.
Nor did Billy ever go out of his way to be noticed. He never
really spoke to anyone because he changed schools so often, and he'd stopped making an effort. It seemed the more he tried to blend in with the walls, the more he was found on the school's most wanted list. Of course, not having parents and living in a group home didn't help either.
All of his life, Billy had either lived in a residential group home or foster care. Until he was five years old he had lived with the Hilliard's, but they only looked after children until a certain age. He had vague memories of butterscotch candy and something plaid. A pleasant feeling always came over Billy when he thought of the Hilliard's.
So he moved to another foster home. However, Craig, his foster father, got a new job in New Zealand and off he was sent to another home for boys until a suitable foster placement could be found. But one was never found.
They said
he needed to work on communication and emotional expression. He had ‘anger issues' that he needed to resolve. Yeah right, Billy thought. They didn't want to know what he had to communicate.
As Billy walked across t
he school parking lot, he put his earphones in and turned on his mp3 player. He loved to listen to
Simon and Garfunkel
when he was angry. The fact that Billy wasn't into the newest fad music didn't win him any popularity contests either. He thought that Paul Simon was the greatest poet since…Well better than any poet he was forced to read in class. He had heard someone say that once, but he knew it was true.
The day was an especially beautiful Louisiana day. It was May, and the sun was brightly shining. The humidity was characteristic for New Orleans, but the light breeze convinced Billy to explore the French Quarter that day.
He thoroughly enjoyed the spooky and unique shops, which he would visit almost daily. He would walk aimlessly down Rampart St and then up Esplanade Ave., admiring the French and Spanish style architecture. Billy's favorites were the Creole townhouses, impressed by their large courtyards and intricately wrought iron balconies.
He w
ould spend hours in Jackson Square, wandering through the flea markets and antique shops. Billy even knew some of the local street musicians and artisans, always waving a hello as he sauntered by. He would admire the beautifully built museums and artfully manicured gardens.
Billy loved living in New Orleans. One of
the local street musicians once told him that it had been different before Hurricane Katrina, the storm that had broken the levees and allowed 80% of this beautiful and historic city to be buried under sea water.
Billy just couldn't imagine it any better than it already was. He would regularly walk down the cobbled streets, lifting his head to smell the grilled shrimp and boiling crawfish. Whenever he had a
little bit of extra money, Billy would buy a beignet, a square shaped fried pastry he loved. He would continue his daily exploration, eating his tasty treat and catching a familiar jazzy sound floating out of a nearby open doorway.
Another pastime of Billy’s
was following the city tours around the Quarter. He would quietly lurk at the very back of the crowd, listening to age old stories about ghosts, ghouls and all sorts of strange happenings.
But
Billy's favorite sites to explore in this city of grand eccentricities were the old and misty graveyards of New Orleans. He loved their towering stone statues silently guarding the elaborately carved crypts. However, Saint Louis Cemetery was his absolute favorite place in all of the city to visit, explore or just think.
Billy would even sit and chat with Mr. Caleb Winterbourne on many of these occasions. Mind you, Caleb was 146 years old and dead, but he loved his massive grave stone and the frightening skulls carved around its edges. He would imagine that Caleb had been a pirate and was hung for treason.
That's what was so great about New Orleans. It was so different from any other place he had heard of or been to. It was so weird and bizarre. Kind of like him. This was probably why he loved this town as soon as he stepped onto Bourbon Street. This place was one of the few things in his life that he could relate to.
The other was books.
Billy had developed a vivid imagination through books and, unfortunately, because of his difficulties keeping friends. It was his defense mechanism against the world. His mind was the one place where no one could hurt him, bully him or leave him.
But as hard as he tried, Billy couldn’t imagine living in a group home away.
Living in one was one thing; it was everything else that came with it. The scenario in the school parking lot was only one of many unpleasant occurrences that seemed to follow Billy everywhere he moved. Once people found out where he lived, he was treated differently and usually not for the better.
Billy just didn't understand why everyone seemed to think that group homes were small jails specially created for the reformation of young children. What exactly are they being punished for? Oh ya, it was a criminal offence
to not have parents, he thought, which was in his case.
Billy’s
thoughts drifted to the kids he currently lived with or met through the years. Some didn't have parents, while others were taken away because their parents didn't know how to be parents. Sometimes he met kids that were so badly abused or traumatized, they would start screaming over the smallest issue and even become violent.
Billy wasn't at all aggressive himself, but he understood the heartache of not having your own family. People just didn't understand that residential homes existed to take care of kids, keep them safe,
not penalize them.
Of course, that didn't mean Billy didn't have concerns about living in a group home. Sometime
s he felt that that the staff in the house didn't truly understand what he was feeling. They just didn't understand what it was like to not have a family or feel that no one in the world truly loved you.
In the midst of these thoughts, Billy felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He turned around
in time to hear a high pitch giggle.
Jeani
e.
Great!
he thought. No one in this school wants to talk to him, but he can't get rid of the ‘mouth machine'. That was what everyone called Jeanie due to the fact her favorite pastime was talking.
It was not as though she was disliked. Actually, Jeanie was quite popular. She possessed this flippant and confident air about her that defied anyone from commenting on why she was sometimes seen tagging after the likes of Billy Townsend.
But Billy just couldn't get used to her excessive attention and felt it was safe to act perpetually annoyed in her presence. He couldn't risk feeling hurt when she finally got wise and left him alone.
The top of Jeanie's head reached Billy's nose. She had a s
lim boyish figure, with wild and curly red hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her petite nose. Jeanie had an ever present smile that made her midnight blue eyes shine with mischievous merriment. She wore her hair down, flowing behind her. She was dressed casually in a T-shirt and shorts.
Billy bent down and picked up an orange that was dented on the one side.
"Since I didn't eat it at lunch, I couldn't very well waste it, now could I?" laughed Jeanie, as she fell into step with Billy on the sidewalk.
"For future reference, my hearing is fine and you can yell my name next time," replied Billy, trying to act his usual irritated self in her company.
Jeanie tilted her face into the breeze and laughed. "Well, I can't be usual and boring, now can I? So what was that back there, anyway? You need to teach Scott a bloody lesson!"
"Ya, sure, if I want to get grounded for a week," mumbled Billy, as he kicked a crumpled can with his foot.
"Oh, come on, Billy, a week's grounding’s worth it to bring that jerk down a peg or two!" This was something about Jeanie that Billy had always liked. She had the ability not be drawn into the mob mentality that was an epidemic in most schools.
"If I keep ignoring him, eventually, he'll leave me alone. It's human psychology." Billy emphasized this by tapping his head. "Besides, I'm used to it."
"Nobody should have to get used to that!" sputtered Jeanie in a rage. "Listen, tomorrow, I'll hold him and you can give him a wedgie and a bloody nose!" She said this so solemnly Billy thought she was serious for a moment and his expression must have told her so.
"Geez, Billy, I just wanted to make you laugh. I know picking a fight would only make this whole business worse," Jeanie said, while looking at her feet and avoiding Billy's gaze.
"Besides, Scott's just jealous that you get better grades and are cuter than he is."
Billy turned to look at her and saw a becoming blush spread across her cheeks. He quickly turned away, feeling his own face darken.
"Ya, well, I doubt that, since Scott's the captain of the basketball team and his girlfriend is the prettiest girl in school." Jeanie turned to look at Billy then back again so quickly, he thought he might have imagined it.
"Well, some girls think you're cute, not that I do,"
she stated hastily. "You think Trish is the prettiest girl in school?" Jeanie's switch in topics made Billy a little dizzy.
