Miguel flew smoothly down the street on his bike, deftly swerving to avoid a pothole. The white crescent moon, hanging high in the Sunday twilight sky, seemed to grow brighter by the minute as he raced back to the beach house before darkness could fully settle in. He did not want the bicycle taken away from him, though he knew he might already be in trouble for wandering so far away. The late summer air rushed past him as he pedaled furiously, hunched over the handlebars. He turned a corner, taking it wider than he intended. Up ahead, he saw a parked pickup truck by the side of the road and a man walking steadily towards it from a house just blocks from where he was living.
Miguel glanced up again at the darkening sky, saw a handful of stars shimmering through already, and thought about the professor. He briefly wondered how many stars there were, and how far away they were, and how old they were, and then he wondered if all the white and brown dwarf stars that had expended their nuclear fuel and were now cold and invisible could indeed help account for a significant portion of the missing matter in the universe as a number of his colleagues had postulated.
As he fought to keep the speeding bike on a straight path, a strange sensation swept over him. His eyelids fluttered.
The bike started to wobble and he felt oddly uncoordinated, as if all his bicycle riding skills were rapidly fading away.
“Heaven help me. Where am I?” he whispered. “What the devil’s happening?”
He saw the back of the parked truck coming up fast but was powerless to do anything but close his eyes.
The bicycle hit the truck’s back bumper with a loud, solid thump. He flew up off the bike and sailed through the air, landing on his stomach in the thick reed grass by the side of the road. He immediately knew he wasn’t hurt and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
He heard rapid footsteps coming in his direction.
“Hey!” The voice was deep, filled with angry concern.
He rolled over and looked up at a man he vaguely remembered.
“You crazy kid, you could have been killed! Are you all right?”
He nodded and sat up, realizing he was wearing some kind of helmet.
The man looked at the spot where the bicycle hit his truck. “You’re damn lucky. Not a scratch.”
“I’m terribly sorry, really I am. I . . . I don’t know what I’m doing here.” He was surprised at how high and oddly pitched his voice sounded and wondered why he felt so small. The reed grass seemed ridiculously tall all around him.
“That makes two of us. Geez, you were flying down the road like a madman! Look what you did to your bike!” The man held it high in the air for him to see; it was nearly twisted beyond recognition. “No way can this be fixed, you know. No way. And it looks brand new. Whoever bought it for you isn’t going to be too happy.” He tossed the broken bike aside. “Where do you live?”
“Why, in the beach house a few blocks from here, where I’ve always lived.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “You mean the professor’s old house? Are you his nephew or something? Sorry to hear he died.”
“Died?” Marlowe laughed. “I think I would know if I were—” He stopped, remembering something about an experiment, then abruptly stood up in gap-mouthed wonder.
“Dorning,” he whispered.
The man gave him a quizzical look. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
He looked down at his arms and legs then patted himself on the chest. “The boy. It’s me. It worked. It actually worked!”
And then he felt lightheaded, put his hands on his helmet and fell to one knee with a soft moan.
When he looked up, Miguel stared at the man in front of him as if seeing him for the first time. “What happened? Who are you? Where’s my bike?”
The man came forward, a worried look etched on his face. “Geez, you must have taken a harder knock on the head than I thought.” He helped the boy to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you home. I think you need some medical attention.”
He ushered Miguel into the truck, then got behind the wheel and sped the short distance down the road to the professor’s house. The man helped Miguel out and guided him to the front door.
A note was hanging by the doorknob. The man read it out loud.
“Miguel. We are out looking for you. Stay right here. PS. You broke one of the bicycling rules. Afraid you must be punished.”
The man sadly shook his head. “Uh-oh. Looks like you’re in big trouble, buddy. Wait till they see what you did to your bike.”
Staring intently at the beach house, Miguel moaned again. His eyes rolled up and his head went back. He shuddered once, and when he lowered his head and his eyes refocused, he smiled widely at the sight in front of him.
“My house! Splendid, just splendid! Dorning? Are you here? I have some smashing news for you, Doctor, simply smashing!”
“Wait a minute. What’s going on here?” The man took the helmet off the boy’s head. “My God.” He dropped the helmet at the sight of the two bandages; it wobbled down the front sidewalk, forgotten. “You already have a head injury, maybe two of them.”
“Injury? Nonsense. This is amazing,” Marlowe said. “Why, I haven’t felt this alive in ages!” He looked at his hands then flexed his small fingers and laughed. “This is marvelous, but just look at how short I am now! It’s sure going to take some getting used to, I’ll tell you that.” He laughed again.
The man threw his arms up in the air. “Okay. That’s it. You’re talking gibberish now. I’m not taking any chances—we’re going right to the emergency room.” He steered the boy in the direction of the truck. “Don’t argue with me.”
“The emergency room?” the professor said as the man led him away from the house. “Yes. Dorning’s a neurosurgeon; he might be there. Let’s go. I won’t argue.”
The man helped him into the passenger side and carefully strapped him in.
The professor looked at him intently. “I know you. You’re Jordan, aren’t you? Jordan the architect chap. You helped design the new science building for the university where I used to teach. What was that, twenty years ago?”
Jordan stared at him in disbelief. “How the hell did you know about that? Ah.” He made sure the straps were tight then waved a hand. “The professor must have told you.” He hurried around to the other side, got in and sped back down the driveway.
The truck lurched down the gravel side streets, made it to the smooth coastal highway, and roared towards the medical clinic on the outskirts of town.
“How are you feeling?” the man asked without taking his eyes off the road. “You doing okay?”
Marlowe stared at the bright lights of the city far down the road.
“Just fine,” he said. “My, they’ve certainly built up over the years, haven’t they? It’s no longer the sleepy little town I remember.”
Jordan gazed at the sky glow from the city up ahead and shrugged. “That’s progress, kid.” He thought about what the boy just said and glanced at him. “Wait a minute. You’re way too young to remember the city when it was just a sleepy little backwater. I barely remember that. How could you?”
The professor gazed out the window, up at the streetlights as they flitted by. “I remember it well. Like it was yesterday.”
“Not likely,” he scoffed. “Is that another thing the professor told you? Sound exactly like something he would say.”
Marlowe smiled faintly but didn’t answer.
“Hey, do you know the phone number of someone I should call? I’ll tell them what happened and where we’re going or at least leave them a message.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and waited.
“A telephone number? Why, I don’t know. I haven’t used one in years. Natalie does all the telephoning for me.”
The man sighed. “Never mind. You’re still babbling nonsense.” He put the cell phone away and glanced at the boy with more than a little concern. “After I drop you off, I’ll swing by your house and tell them where you are.”
They finally arrived at the clinic. Jordan pulled the truck up to the emergency room doors. He hopped out, grabbed an empty wheelchair nearby, and helped the boy into it.
“I sure hope they don’t ask me about your insurance,” Jordan said, then wheeled the boy into the quiet emergency room foyer.
A blonde nurse was the only one on duty behind the admittance desk. She looked up from her paperwork as they came in.
“Oh no!” she said with a cautious laugh. “Not you again.” She came around the desk. “Now what did you do to yourself, young man?”
Marlowe looked up at her. “I—I’m not sure, exactly. This gentleman brought me here.” He nodded towards Jordan.
“I’m a neighbor of his. He had a pretty severe bicycle accident. I saw it all happen. I think he might have a concussion or something,” Jordan explained. “The things he’s been saying don’t make any sense.”
She bent down and slipped off her glasses, looked into the boy’s eyes. “Well, your pupils aren’t dilated. Do you remember me? You were here for some stitches on your head, and judging by this new bandage, it looks like you’ve already had them taken out.” She smiled and briefly touched the first bandage, then looked confused at the much larger one behind it. “Now that’s odd. I don’t remember a second bandage. Your name’s Miguel, isn’t it? Miguel Dorning, I think.”
The professor’s face brightened. “That’s right! Dorning. That’s who I came to see. Is he here?” He looked around. “I have to tell him it worked.”
The nurse looked up at Jordan with trepidation.
“See what I mean?” he said.
“Yes, I do. He’s already in our system, so we’ll take care of the paperwork later. The doctor will probably want an X-ray just as a precaution. I’ll take him from here.” She took command of the wheelchair and pushed the boy down the hall while looking back at Jordan. “You can wait right there if you want,” she said.
Jordan shook his head as he backed towards the exit. “I can’t. I have to go find whoever’s watching him and tell them where he is. They’re out looking for him. I’m sure they’re worried sick.”
“Okay. I’ll try calling, too. I’m sure I have his father’s phone number. Thanks for bringing him in.” She casually waved goodbye.
Jordan watched them go around a corner. “Poor kid,” he said to no one in particular then hurried from the emergency room.
The nurse found the doctor on duty near the X-ray station. He was studying a freshly developed plate by the fluorescent lights above.
“Doctor, we have a boy here who had a bicycle accident and might have struck his head. He’s not bleeding externally, but he does seem mildly incoherent. What would you like to do?”
The doctor looked down and gave the boy’s head a cursory examination, still clutching the X-ray in one hand. Then he thrust his free hand into a pocket of his lab coat and peered more intently at the boy.
“Hey, weren’t you here not too long ago for some stitches?”
“Why, I don’t know,” Marlowe said. “I suppose I might have been.” He looked blankly around the room and shrugged.
“Yes, he was,” the nurse answered for him. “The funny thing is he has two bandages now, one right behind the other, yet I’m positive we only put one bandage on.” She pointed accusingly at the boy’s head. “I don’t know why he has a second bandage. And look at the size of it!”
The doctor looked unconcerned. “So? Maybe he banged his head again and his folks just slapped it on, too embarrassed to bring him back. It happens.”
The doctor wordlessly nodded in the direction of the X-ray machine behind them as the nurse had thought he would, then stared back at the ghostly black and white images on the film he held.
The nurse wheeled the boy over to the table and helped him up on to it. “Now just relax and hold perfectly still. This won’t hurt a bit.” She gently positioned his head.
“Shortwave electromagnetic radiation? I suspect not.”
The nurse was taken aback and laughed uneasily. “My, how educated you are.” She moved the camera into position.
“Stars emit X-rays, you know, including our own sun. You should see how beautiful the sun looks in X-ray light. I always thought it was like seeing it through the eyes of God, it’s just that beautiful. It really is.” His far-away gaze was one of awe. “You should see it sometime.”
The nurse’s thin smile disappeared. She hurried over to the doctor and spoke quietly to him.
“I think he’s definitely delirious. We can’t rule out possible head trauma.”
The doctor finally put the film down and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Let’s get on with it.”
They went together into the X-ray control booth and shut the door behind them.
The doctor rubbed his stiff neck as he groaned weakly. “Man, I hate Sunday nights at this place. We have to do everything but cook the meals and take out the trash. Too bad I told Williams I was an X-ray technician before I became a doctor. Then again, I guess that’s one of the reasons why he hired me.”
He adjusted the controls then triggered the machine.
He sighed. “There. Back I go to develop another one.”
“Oh, the joys of working weekends at a small clinic in the middle of nowhere,” the nurse offered. She grinned.
“I guess,” the doctor wearily replied, and went to develop the film.