Title: Time Machine

Date: April, 2006

Author: Shades of Hades

A/N: This was also written for my class. It was rather hurried (I started this part the night before it was due), but I can't really complain about how it turned out. This is the last thing I wrote of that class. The rest is... well, not written or planned out yet. Unfortunately, This chapter saved weird, and the only way to get it to save as a .html file was to double-space it. Sorry guys.

Chapter Three

Within seconds I was on my feet, and he was violently shoving me into his bedroom.

“Stay out of sight!” he snapped, and began to stomp away, but I questioned him before he could get too far.

“But the door? Should I close it?” I asked, pointing at the worn down wooden door.

He shook his head and quickly added, “It will look suspicious if you do.”

I nodded in agreement and buried myself deep inside his closet, hoping the clothes would conceal me; I listened closely.

He carefully unlocked the door and I heard it creak open on rusty hinges.

“Darshan Galen?” asked a deep baritone.

“Yes, may I help you, officer?”

The voice that answered him was different, a smaller, softer soprano. A woman. “We understand that you may have let a dangerous man into your home. He is a fugitive and we would appreciate any information you may have on his current whereabouts.”

Did they mean me? I’ve probably only been here a few hours at best. How did they know I was here already?

There was some shuffling of feet as I assume Darshan let the officers into the small apartment.

“Yes officer, I have seen him. He was in front of my apartment building earlier, but I don’t know anything about him or where he is.” There was nervousness evident in his voice, which set my stomach fluttering with fear. Nervousness is never a good sign when you have a “fugitive” hidden in your closet. “W—what,” he stuttered and I swallowed hard, “what has he done?”

“That is classified information, I’m afraid I can’t release it,” the baritone said, then paused, changing the subject, “Do you mind if we have a look around?”

My fingers gripped an article of clothing beside me as I tried pushing my body deeper into the depths of the closet. My stomach gave a great lurch as footsteps grew closer, searching his room.

Not many places to hide a criminal in this place. I’m sure the closet and under the bed make pretty obvious choices.

The footsteps boomed closer and closer to the closet door, and I tried to make myself as small as possible as my fingers tightened to a numb grip on the poor article of clothing I clutched.

Hands were pulling back the clothing as if in slow motion and I was convinced my ragged, fast breathing would give me away any second.

The hands were inches from me now, and I almost gave up, my heart beating so fast I thought it might have burst through my flesh if not for the bone and muscles holding it back.

One more pull of the clothing and I was theirs…

“Candace, come here and look at this.” The hands stopped their search and I almost passed out from relief as the woman’s footsteps quickly retreated back to the living room.

“What is it?” She snapped at the other officer.

“This.” There was an unbearably quiet pause as I wondered exactly what had caused their search to stop. “Where did you get these, boy?” asked the male officer.

“That…” There was a fearful tone in this voice. I could tell without even looking at him, that he was shaking like a leaf. “That… isn’t mine.”

“Are you aware, sir, that tobacco is illegal?” My cigarettes. They were still lying on the table along with my lighter. Without anyone else here, he was the culprit. “Where did you get them?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” Darshan answered quietly.

I pulled myself out of his closet, leaning just beyond the edge.

“You’re under arrest for possession of illegal substances.” There was a rustle of clothing and a clink of metal, which I assume was the sound of handcuffs. Then I exited the closet, staying just at the edge of the bedroom door and peering out.

Darshan was being pressed against the table by a powerful looking man, cuffs fastened tightly around his wrists as the woman, a slight thing, uniform hugging her soft curves, moved around putting my cigarettes into a plastic evidence bag.

“Come on, boy.” The male officer said, dragging Darshan off the table.

This was the time for me to make a decision. If I let him be taken away, not only would I be responsible for his prison time, but I would also I lose my connection with this time. Besides, someone was looking for me. Someone knew I was here and I wanted to know whom.

They are opening the door when I step out of the bedroom, jaw set, and stomach fluttering nervously. “Stop.” I tell them, and Darshan looks up in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asked me, anger and fear clear in his voice. “I told you to hide!” he yelled at me as he grit his teeth, the male officer’s hand tightening visibly around his arm. He gasped in pain.

“I want to repay your kindness.” I told him, cringing as angry eyes pierced mine. “I’m the man you were looking for and those cigarettes are mine.” The woman pulled out her set of handcuffs and was at my side in seconds. “Let him go. He’s done nothing wrong.” I looked up at the officer as the other handcuffed my hands behind my back.

“Afraid not. He’s been harboring a fugitive. Thanks for making our job easier though. Figured I'd pinned you right when I started arresting the boy. Knew you would come out like an obedient child.” He gave me a sadistic grin as he twisted Darshan’s arm and he cried out in pain. “You’re both coming with us.”

The woman pushed me forward into Darshan and we both toppled over as the other officer let him go. There were tears of pain in his eyes as my knee collided into his stomach, the wind getting knocked from both of us as we fell onto the floor.

“Why did you try to help me?” Darshan wheezed out to me as the man picked him back up off the floor. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“And what would you have done?” I snapped back at him, as the woman officer yanked me up by my hair. The pain in my scalp was unbearable and I closed my eyes, willing the intense throbbing to go away.

“There’s a big different between harboring a fugitive and drug charges.” His voice was angry as he walked submissively in front of the officer and onto an elevator. We follow close behind and the doors close behind us. There is a familiar lurch as the elevator begins its way down, and I suddenly realize how high up Darshan’s apartment is. Twenty stories up. I find it hard to believe that a building that looks like this could even stand at that height.

The inside of the elevator is dirty, cramped and falling apart. Most of the numbers have been worn off of the buttons in front of me and the door opened a slight crack despite the fact that we are moving. There is a horrible grinding noise as the elevator comes to a halt at the ground floor and I almost lose my footing at the sudden stop.

Before I can compose myself I am pushed from the elevator and out into the entryway. The sun is setting on the other side of the filthy glass doors and my eyes ache at the exposure to the light. As we walk outside, a soft breeze was hitting the bare skin on my arms, sending a violent chill through my body.

Darshan is next to me, shivering, and I get the impression that escape is in his future plans. He signals to the police car across the street. I don’t understand. He jerks his head back towards the officers behind us and I nod, thinking that I get what he is try to say, but not entirely sure it would work.

My eyes wander back to the small woman behind me. She looks easy enough to knock out, but even if we escaped, where would we go? They would just send more officers after us once these two regained consciousness. He’s obviously not thinking straight. Anger and fear must be going to his head. Still, maybe he’s right, that we do need to get away. He knows more about the government and justice system than I do at the current moment.

Before I can think about how I could knock mine out, Darshan’s officer goes down and he’s looking at me expectantly, but the other officer is already drawing her gun from her holster.

“Stop,” she told us before either of us can act, and I’m staring down the barrel of her gun.

I stood stock-still, completely petrified. I had never seen a gun this close before, especially not pointed at me.

“To the car,”she ordered us, and we obey, my legs feeling like jelly as I moved them forward. I fear for a moment as I step out into the street that they might not support me.

Suddenly she’s ahead of us, opening the back door of the police vehicle, not all that different than the cruisers of my time, and Darshan and I are ducking into the back seat, obedient as she slams the door behind us and leaves to collect the other officer.

The car is silent. The boy is staring straight ahead, bangs over his eyes, tears glistening at the corners. He really is just a child.

“This is the same thing that happened to my parents…” he starts so quietly that I have to lean in to hear him. “Officers took them away from me, and when they got to the station, they were shipped to the F.B.I. No doubt that’s where we’re going.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask curiously, leaning back against the seat and staring out the front window at the empty city around us.

“You’re a fugitive.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs and we both quiet down as the passenger door is opened and his partner dumps the unconscious officer in the front seat.

The drive is long and silent, the only sound radiating from the police scanner on the dashboard.

Next to me the boy is slumped low in the seat, head hanging forward, eyes closed, lips moving but remaining silent. It was as if he was praying. Maybe I should be too.

We stop and I look up, completely transfixed at the new surroundings. No more tall buildings, but one long one, decked with windows and shining metal, several stories high. Darshan looks up as well, shock written on his features.