Chapter One
by A.E. Albert
What if you discovered an amazing secret, a secret that led you on an adventure to save the world and perhaps...yourself?
The Twenty-Third Century
I am going to die.
These were Billy’s last thoughts as he felt his body move weightlessly through the air. As he moved toward the ceiling, he could feel his mouth form into a scream. But he doesn’t make a sound. The silence filling the chamber is deafening.
He feels a scorching heat touch his skin. Then he sees it out of the corner of his eye. Fire. It’s coming toward him, and he’s powerless to stop it.
Billy had always thought it was your life that flashed before your eyes when death comes to find you. But it’s not a life lived he can see, but the life not yet lived. He was given a task he will never complete.
I have failed.
Chapter 1
As Billy felt the fist make contact with his face, he thought for sure he felt his nose break. 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 way friendly.
Billy thought if he had just 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!” Scott said with a sneer, 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 this. Right, Bill!” Scott grinned as he grabbed Billy’s face and gave it a little shake.
Billy had been attending St. Bernadette’s for six months, which didn’t seem to qualify him for new status, but he felt it was safer to keep that information to himself.
All of 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 felt 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 he looked down at his hand, it was covered with chocolate pudding.
“See there, Billy, don’t say I don’t do you any favors.” Scott laughed, 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 who matters can see your loser face.”
Scott looked Billy up and down. He abruptly released his jacket, looking at him in disgust, as if wondering 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’d started at St. Bernadette’s six months ago, everyone had called him that. He could just imagine his homeroom 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 Wilinskis of the world. He was thirteen 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 that 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 trendsetter, but he held his own in that department by wearing the latest skater tees 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.
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 Hilliards, 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 Hilliards.
He had moved to another foster home from the Hilliards. However, Craig, his foster father, was offered a new job in New Zealand, and off Billy was sent to another home for boys until a suitable foster placement could be found. But that never happened.
His social workers 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 the 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.
This was an especially beautiful Louisiana day. It was May, and the sun was shining brightly. The humidity was characteristic for New Orleans, but the light breeze convinced Billy that it was a good day to explore the French Quarter.
He thoroughly enjoyed the spooky and unique shops, which he would visit almost daily. He would walk aimlessly down Rampart Street and then up Esplanade Avenue, admiring the French and Spanish style architecture. He would 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.
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 eighty percent of this beautiful and historic city to be buried under seawater.
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 grilled shrimp and the aroma of freshly cooked beignets, while 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 the entire 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 Billy loved his massive gravestone and the frightening skulls carved around its edges. He would imagine that Caleb had been a pirate and had been hanged 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. That was probably why he had 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 away the fact that he was living in a group home. Living in one was one thing; it was everything else that came with it that made life impossible. 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 did they think they were being punished for? Is it was a criminal offense to not have parents? he thought. People just didn’t understand that residential homes existed to take care of kids, to keep them safe, not to penalize them.
Of course, that didn’t mean Billy didn't have concerns about living in a group home. Sometimes he felt 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 to feel like no one in the world truly loved you.
In the midst of these thoughts, Billy suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He turned around in time to hear a high-pitched giggle.
Jeanie.
Great! he thought. He had no idea why this girl wanted to be his friend. She already had friends, a lot actually. Yet, she seemed to seek him out, regardless of what the general school population thought of him. 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 safest 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 slim, 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?” Jeanie said, laughing 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 again. “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!”
“Sure, if I want to get grounded for a week,” mumbled Billy, as he kicked a crumpled can out of his path.
“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, he’ll eventually 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, 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.
“Yeah, 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 was so fast; it made Billy a little dizzy.
“A lot of guys do,” Billy replied, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Oh,” was all that Jeanie could think to say.
They continued to walk in silence for a few moments, both holding a steady pace and keeping their thoughts to themselves. Billy sometimes got the impression that Jeanie liked him more than a friend. It was better to dream about girls like Trish, who were safe and distant. Jeanie, on the other hand, was dangerous. If you let people in, they hurt you. This was Billy’s life’s creed up to that point.
“Um, I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place tonight? You know, study for Foster’s history test?”
Ugh, the history test! Billy had completely forgotten about it, and it was in three days. It didn’t help much that history was his worst subject. Billy hated pondering his own past. Why would he want to ponder somebody else’s?
“Sorry, I kind of have a kind of, um, kind of like a meeting at home tonight.”
Billy was referring to his house’s residents’ meeting. It was a mandatory occurrence once a week and unfortunately, unavoidable.
“A meeting! Why would your family have a meeting? Are you guys going to discuss the stock market or something?” teased Jeanie.
Billy knew that she was just playing around and hadn’t meant to be hurtful, but he couldn’t help but use the situation to his advantage. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned his whole body to face her.
“Listen, Jeanie, you’re nice, and I kinda appreciate the whole stray dog thing, but I’m not a dog. Sooner or later, I’ll move from here to a different place. I don't live in a normal house, as I’m sure you’ve heard. I live with other kids, who yell and scream all the time. The adults, they’re not my parents. Their job is to try to fix me. Get it? I obviously have some kind of malfunction. So my point is, I don't think this whole friend thing is going to work out, and I don’t need friends who feel sorry for me.”
Billy didn’t usually make such long speeches and felt somewhat winded when he was done. However, he stopped breathing again when he saw the look on Jeanie’s face. Her ever-ready smile had faded until her mouth formed a small ‘O,’ and her blue eyes took on a wounded cast. Then she simply turned around and walked away.
Billy had never felt so wretched in his life. Great! he thought. You want human psychology, here’s human psychology. When you’re down, bring everyone else down with you!
Billy continued to walk home, deciding not to make his daily jaunt to the Quarter. He didn’t notice, as he usually would, the various bird calls or fragrant smells that were associated with New Orleans. He kept on his way at a slow and thoughtful pace. Jeanie didn’t deserve that, he thought. But it was for the best. He kept telling himself that all the way home.
If you are interested in reading The Time Sphere, find it at:Amazon.
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