The Time Keeper Part 8

He touched that carved teardrop, and it became an actual drop of water on his finger.

He moved to where the stalact.i.te and stalagmite had grown to within a razor's edge of each other. He placed the teardrop between them and watched it turn to stone, connecting the two formations. They were one column now.

Heaven meets Earth.

Just as he had promised.

Instantly, Dor felt himself rise from the floor, as if being pulled by strings.

All his carved symbols lifted off the wall, moving across the cave like migrating birds, then shrinking into a tiny ring around the narrow throat that joined the rocky shapes together.

With that, the stalact.i.te and stalagmite crystallized into smooth, transparent surfaces-forming an upper bulb and a lower bulb-the shape of a giant hourgla.s.s.

Inside was the whitest sand Dor had ever seen, extremely fine, almost liquid-like. It spilled through from top to bottom, yet the sand in each bulb neither grew nor diminished.

"Herein lies every moment of the universe," the old man said. "You sought to control time. For your penance, the wish is granted."

He tapped his staff on the hourgla.s.s and it formed a golden top and bottom with two braided posts. Then it shrank into the crook of Dor's arm.

He was holding time in his hands.

"Go now," the old man said. "Return to the world. Your journey is not yet complete."

Dor stared blankly.

His shoulders slumped. Once, the very suggestion would have sent him running. But his heart was hollow. He wanted none of this anymore. Alli was gone, she would always be gone, a teardrop on a cave wall. What purpose could life-or an hourgla.s.s-serve him now?

He brought a sound up from his chest and, in a faint whisper, finally spoke.

"It is too late."

The old man shook his head. "It is never too late or too soon. It is when it is supposed to be."

He smiled. "There is a plan, Dor."

Dor blinked. The old man had never used his name before.

"Return to the world. Witness how man counts his moments."

"Why?"

"Because you began it. You are the father of earthly time. But there is still something you do not understand."

Dor touched his beard, which reached his waist. Surely he had survived longer than any man. Why was life not finished with him yet?

"You marked the minutes," the old man said. "But did you use them wisely? To be still? To cherish? To be grateful? To lift and be lifted?"

Dor looked down. He knew the answer was no.

"What must I do?" he asked.

"Find two souls on earth, one who wants too much time and one who wants too little. Teach them what you have learned."

"How will I find them?"

The old man pointed toward the pool of voices. "Listen for their misery."

Dor looked at the water. He thought about the billions of voices that had wafted up through it.

"What difference could two people make?"

"You were one person," the old man said. "And you changed the world."

He picked up the stone that Dor had used for his carvings. He crushed it into dust.

"Only G.o.d can write the end of your story."

"G.o.d has left me alone," Dor said.

The old man shook his head. "You were never alone."

He touched Dor's face and Dor felt new spirit filling his body, like water being poured into a cup. The old man began to fade away.

"Remember this always: There is a reason G.o.d limits man's days."

"What is the reason?"

"Finish your journey and you will know."

30.

After Ethan's cancellation, Sarah might have thought twice about another date.

But a desperate heart will seduce the mind. And so, two weeks after the disappointment of the black-jeans-and-raspberry-T-shirt night, two weeks' worth of boring science cla.s.ses and nights eating dinner in front of the computer, Sarah tried again. She got up extra early on a shelter Sat.u.r.day, 6:32 A.M., and dressed as if she were going to a party. She wore a low-cut blouse and a skirt that was just tight enough. She spent extra time on her face, even checking a few websites that gave tips on blush and eye shadow. She felt awkward, considering all the times she'd criticized her mother's heavy makeup ("It's like you're screaming for attention," Sarah would complain), but she justified her efforts because a boy like Ethan could have beautiful girls anytime, girls with even more makeup and even lower-cut blouses. If she wanted him, she had to change some habits.

Anyhow, Lorraine was still sleeping.

So Sarah slipped out, took her mother's car, and drove to the shelter, feeling OK with her decision, until a few of the homeless men saw her, whistled, and said, "You look fine, young miss," and she blushed and made up a story about an event she was going to later, and suddenly she felt ridiculous. What was she thinking? She was not the kind of girl who could pull this off. Luckily, she'd brought a sweater. She yanked it on.

And then Ethan entered, a box under each arm. Caught off-guard, Sarah straightened up and ran a hand through her hair.

"Lemon-ade," he said, nodding.

Did he like this look?

"Hi, Ethan," she said, trying to be casual, but feeling a rush all over again.

31.

Victor sat at his desk, looking through the manila folder. He remembered what Jed, the cryonics man, had said two weeks ago.

"Think of the freezing as a lifeboat to the future-when medicine is so advanced, curing your disease will be as simple as making an appointment.

"All you have to do is get in the lifeboat, go to sleep, and wait for the rescue."

Victor rubbed his abdomen. To be rid of this cancer. To be free of dialysis. To live all over. As simple as making an appointment.

He reviewed the process as Jed had explained it. The moment Victor was declared dead, his body would be covered in ice. A pump would keep his blood moving so it wouldn't clot. Next, his bodily fluids would be replaced with cryoprotectant-a biological antifreeze-so that no ice could form inside his veins, a process called "vitrification." As its temperature was continually lowered, his body would be placed inside a sleeping bag, then a computer-controlled cooling box, then a container where liquid nitrogen was gradually introduced.

After five days, he would be moved to his final resting place, a giant fibergla.s.s tank called a "cryostat"-also filled with liquid nitrogen-and lowered in headfirst, where he would remain suspended for, well, who knew?

Until his lifeboat found the future.

"So my corpse stays here?" Victor had asked Jed.

"We don't use the word 'corpse.'"

"What word do you use?"

"'Patient.'"

Patient.

It was easier when Victor thought of it that way. He was already a patient. This was just a different kind. A patient being patient. Like waiting on a long-range stock fund or enduring a negotiation with the Chinese, who always insisted on endless levels of paperwork. Patient. Although Grace might disagree, Victor could be patient when he had to be.

And being frozen for decades, maybe centuries, in exchange for coming out the other side, ready to resume his life-well, that didn't seem a bad trade.

His time on Earth was almost up.

But he could grab new time.

He dialed a number on his phone.

"Yeah, Jed, this is Victor Delamonte," he said. "When can you come by my office?"

32.

In the immeasurable centuries he spent inside the cave, Dor had tried every form of escape.

Now he stood, the hourgla.s.s in his arms, and waited by the edge of the pool. He somehow knew this was his only way back.

Could this really be over? he thought. This endless purgatory? What kind of world awaited him now? The Father of Time had no idea how long he'd been away.

He thought about what the old man had said. Listen for their misery. He looked down at the glowing surface, shut his eyes, and heard two voices rise above the din, an older man and a younger woman: "Another lifetime."

"Make it stop."

Suddenly, a wind roared through the cave, and the walls lit as if splashed by a midday sun. Dor clasped the hourgla.s.s to his chest, stepped back, and leapt into the air above the pool, whispering the only word that ever truly gave him comfort.

"Alli."

He fell right through.

Dor descended in open air.

His legs flipped over his head, then his head back over his legs, and he dropped quickly into a gleaming mist filled with light and colors. He saw fleeting views of bodies and faces, the men being shaken off of Nim's tower; only they were going up and he was going down. He tightened his grip on the hourgla.s.s and sped into brighter light and deeper colors, the wind piercing his flesh like the blades of a rake, until he was sure he was being torn apart by the sheer velocity. He fell through bracing cold and searing heat, through blowing rain and swirling snow and then sand, sand, pelting sand, whipping sand, spinning him and cushioning him and finally dropping him the way sand dropped through his hourgla.s.s, a straight line until he came to a stop.

The sand blew away.

He felt himself hanging from something.

He heard distant music and laughter.

He was back on Earth.

EARTH.

33.