In Time

         I’m pulling my measuring tape from my bag when I notice the object. About five feet away, it sits there, staring at me, nestled between two granite rocks inside the giant cave we are excavating. I take a few pictures, then carefully pry it free. I admire it for a moment before calling my sister Helena over to have a look.

         “What is it?” she calls back, already on her way over, brushing dust from her jeans.

         “I’m not sure. It might just be a strange rock, but have you seen this sort of pattern before?” I ask.

         Helena replies that she hasn’t, nor has she seen such vibrant colors. We spend a few minutes staring and together reach the same conclusion.

         “Let’s take it back to the lab.” Helena pronounces. I bag it, suddenly slightly uneasy, though for no reason that I can explain.

         A few hours later, we leave the dig site. We’ve been working at it for only a couple weeks and it already seems that there isn’t much to be found-- aside from today’s interesting discovery. As we drive home to our lab, we’re both eagerly anticipating the chance to get a closer look at this interesting find.

         Back at home, we discuss work over dinner. I’m sorry to say that this is a rather routine practice of ours. We probably got it from our dad, who never could separate work from home. When our mother was alive, it used to drive her nuts. She died when we were very young, and our father brought us up on his own.

         It was our inheritance from him that paid for the extension on our house that we currently use as a lab. He died just last year, and I still ache thinking of him from time to time. Helena has held up a bit better than I, but we refrain even now from mentioning him to each other. We talk about work instead and make up for his absence by staying close at all times. Though we are both in our thirties now, we still live together and know that things are best this way.

         As we finish washing dishes, we’re already hypothesizing as to the colorful rock’s origin. Helena thinks it must be some weird hoax, like crop circles or Loch Ness Monster photographs. As for me, I believe it to be a genuine artifact. If someone was to go to that amount of trouble to create a hoax, why not construct a Big Foot or Dragon skeleton? Why a colorful rock?

         I switch on the lights to the laboratory, and remove the object in question from the bag to be examined. We stare at it together silently. The colors are so alive that it is hard to believe that it is still covered in dirt. Helena pulls on some gloves and picks up the object for a gentle dusting. All theories of hoax are temporarily suspended.

         As she finishes removing the dirt, I point out to her that the object seems perfectly symmetrical. She lays it down on the table and we trace its pattern together, then turn it over. It is an oval object about the size of my hand and, aside from the colors and shape, it appears an ordinary rock. Still, something about it makes me nervous. I had never seen such a rock before.

         “Hey! Look at this, Nora,” Helena exclaims, tilting the rock from side to side. I blink out of my reverie. She looks like a squirrel examining a nut and I have to suppress my laughter.

         “What is it?” I ask. I move closer to see what she’s watching, then begin to exclaim excitedly, “Helena, do you see the way the colors--”

         “Yes, that’s what I was trying to show you! The colors are practically holographic! They change with the light… Isn’t that amazing? How did this get into the cave with a bunch of broken pottery-- table decoration? Religious artifact?”

         “I’m not sure,” I murmur. “It’s getting late, though. Already two in the morning… How about we go to bed and examine it some more tomorrow? It’s too late to come to any conclusions.”

         “Okay, alright. I’ll go to sleep soon. I just need to take a couple quick samples. You go on to bed-- I’ll see you in the morning.” She hadn’t taken her eyes from the rock the entire time she talked. I chuckle to myself as I walk to my bedroom.

         I get up early the next morning. Too early. I didn’t sleep well. Weakly, I push the covers to one side and roll out of bed. I take my glasses from the bed-stand and head downstairs where I pour myself some cereal and open the newspaper.

         I leave the paper open to an interesting article and set it down to make some tea. My sister should be up by now, and would probably enjoy the article. My tea boils and I turn off the burner before going to look for her. I climb the stairs to her bedroom and stop in the doorway. She isn’t in bed.

         I go downstairs to the laboratory and find that she isn’t there either. I check outside. No Helena. I decide to wait a few more minutes and stay calm. I pick up the paper again and try to read the funnies, but find that I’m too worried to focus. She never leaves the house without telling me.

         I go back outside and check to see if our car is still there. It is. I return to the lab. All our tools are still resting on the tray. It’s unusual of Helena to leave such a mess in her wake. I check our computer. A new entry outlines the tests she must have made last night, but I don’t have time to read them.

         I call her cell phone and it rings where it sits in her purse by the computer. Now I feel like rushing everywhere at once. Where could she have gone?

         A few hours later, there’s still no sign of her. I decide to call the police. My hand quavers as I reach to pick up the phone. I feel that to dial would be to admit defeat. I drop the phone back on the receiver weakly and cry. I get up and remove my now fogged-up glasses.

         Defeated, I dial the number. They transfer me to Missing Persons and tell me dryly that an adult cannot be filed as missing until he or she has been missing for a period of twenty-four hours or more. I hang up reluctantly and cradle my head in my hands.

         A few hours later I go back to the lab to read the latest computer entries. Apparently, before she disappeared, my sister discovered in the object some very bizarre qualities. Along with the rock’s strange coloration, it also-- according to Helena’s entry-- changed density. It would increase and decrease in volume without a change in mass. What could this mean? My curiosity concerning the object erupts afresh, almost causing me to forget my sister.

         My sister’s log brings a new question to mind-- the object. Where did it go? I look around the laboratory, and even run around the house a bit. There’s no sign of it. I double-check. Unless she hid it away somewhere, it would seem that it disappeared with Helena sometime last night.

         The phone rings.

         I pick it up. It’s my cousin Gerald. He’s a bit of a freak, but that’s family. At this point, any family is good family. He asks me how I’m doing-- of course I give him the whole story. He’s very supportive, which is a bit unusual of him. Then again, everything is unusual about him, and I leave it at that.

         “So what are you going to do?” he asks, concern in his raspy voice.

         “I’m not sure. I called the police, but apparently Helena doesn’t count as ‘missing’ just yet,” I explain. “I’ll try calling again in a few hours. Until then--”

         “Is there no reason she might have just left the house? Does she have a boyfriend or something?” Gerald interrupts.

         I sigh, the strain of worry having weakened me. “No. She’d tell me before, even if she did. This all just seems so unlike her. I was even thinking kidnapping.”

         “Kidnapping? Who by? Why?” his voice urgently barked through the phone’s speaker.

         “Oh, you know… Jealous scientists. We did find a curious-looking rock the other day, and it went missing with her. I dunno. I guess the idea is a bit juvenile. Why would scientists be after our research on a funny-colored rock, assuming they even knew we found one?”

         “I’m sure there’s more to it than that.” he says, “Kidnapping isn’t a bad idea. It’s good to look into it-- find out who might have the right motives. You could definitely mention it to the police.”

         We talk a little while longer, until he tells me he has to go. I close my eyes, fervently wishing to wake up and discover that this was all some strange nightmare. I open my eyes, but I’m still here, in the flesh.

         Reluctantly I return to the computer entry. Little as I like it, I’m on my own until the police get involved. The more I find out before they arrive, the easier I’ll make it for them to find my sister. I pull myself together and go through the recent calls on my sister’s cell phone. There are none. I look through the laboratory-- the tools are still scattered upon the tray, but I notice something different.

         Next to the keyboard of the computer I see a strange pool of grey. I step closer and trace the dry outline with my finger. It is almost as if someone dyed the wood. As I trace the circle, I notice a slight indentation towards its center. This discovery leads to another.

         Upon the tray of tools is a ruler we commonly use for simple measurements. Along a portion of this ruler’s edge lies a similar grey indentation, from approximately the three to the five inch mark. The grey portion feels brittle to me, almost as charcoal might, and it crumbles slightly under my nail.

         I spend the next four hours examining the specimens, taking photographs of both desk and ruler, and bagging the ruler quickly when I hear a queer knock at the door. I look up at the clock and start. It’s already well past noon. I remove my gloves and walk to the front of the house. One normally doesn’t find mail in one’s slot come Sunday, but this is an exception-- I can tell immediately from the magazine-cut font that this is no ordinary mail.

         The letter reads, “We HavE YouR SisTer.” I break into tears. It appears that my worst fears have been realized. Somebody really captured my sister. What do they want? What do I have to give? My sister and I have always looked out for one another, and now this. How am I supposed to save her when I don’t even know why they took her?

         I return to my mad scientist theory and this thought sobers me. Do they want our research? I hurry back to the lab and find everything still intact. If they kidnapped her, then they must have come through here. As far as I can tell, she never left the room. She always clears up before she turns in for the night. If they wanted our research, they did a pretty good job of getting it before making off, and all without waking me up. The mental strain of working out the crime begins to give me a headache and I force myself to sit down.

         The doorbell sounds. I get up and walk over to answer the ring, and find myself facing two police officers.

         “Hello, officers,” I stammer. “I don’t remember calling--”

         “You didn’t, Ms. Powell. We’re coming here as part of an investigation concerning the disappearance of your sister, Helena Powell,” the shorter of the two explains to me carefully.

         I nod and let them in. “Would you like some tea?” I ask, at a loss for words. If they aren’t responding to my call, then who’s call are they responding to?

         “No thank you, Ms. Powell,” the shorter one replies. “We’ll only be taking a few minutes of your time. As I said, this is an investigation, and we cannot afford to be delayed in our search.”

         “Of course,” I nod nervously. “I understand.”

         “Now, Ms. Powell,” the shorter begins again, “I am Officer Shermann Louis and this here is Detective I.B. Karr. Of course you’ve heard of him?”

         I nod, though I haven’t.

         “We’ll only be asking you a few short questions, and then we’ll be on our way.” Officer Louis pauses for a breath and then continues, “What time did your sister go missing yesterday?”

         “Sometime last night,” I respond, perplexed.

         The Detective begins to jot down notes. “Good,” Officer Louis nods. “Now tell us, you came into quite a sum of money last year, correct?”

         My puzzled expression straightens into a frown. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this officer, but our father did pass away just last year, if that’s what your asking. We-- my sister and I-- inherited some stocks, and enough money to pay for the lab that we use for our research--”

         “That’s all I asked, Ms. Powell,” the Officer cuts me off. The Detective is now scrawling furiously in his little black notebook. “Now we’ll be on our way.” The Officer gets up to leave and the Detective follows suit, clicking his pen and pocketing it along with the notebook.

         “Wait,” I hear myself saying. The note… The kidnapping… They didn’t ask me anything about her disappearance. “Do you think she was kidnapped?” I ask the two men standing in the door-frame.

         “What makes you ask that, Ms. Powell?” The Detective asks. It is the first time he’s spoken, and his voice has a lofty ring.

         “Well, I got this note right before you arrived.” I pull the letter from my pocket to show them. “I was thinking that maybe some crazy scientists might have kidnapped her?” My voice sounds tiny and weak to my ears.

         “We’ll take it into consideration, Ms. Powell. For now, would you mind if we take this letter in for evidence?” the Officer asks brusquely. I nod and he encloses it in a large zip-lock.

         I close the door behind them and slowly sink to the floor, feeling alone and lost. I thought that the police would solve all my problems, but I feel more hopeless than ever. The way they questioned me made me feel like I was their prime suspect, when nothing could be more absurd.

         “I guess I’m on my own now,” I say to myself. Hearing these words grounds me. I stand up and begin to pace. I think about my options. There aren’t many.

         I think back on my conversation with Gerald and the kidnapping. What are the kidnappers’ motives? It is possible that the rock is somehow involved. Unfortunately, I didn’t do much research on it before it vanished along with my sister. The only data gathered on it lie in the entry left by Helena the night of the disappearance. I do a mental double-take. The specimens!

         I think back on the discovery of the grey circle on the desk, and the grey line along the ruler’s edge. They’re all I have, my only clues… I ponder this for a minute. If they might have something to do with my sister or the mysterious object, there’s no point debating about it. They’re my only leads and, even if false ones, my pacing here isn’t doing anyone any good. I move towards the lab and pull on some new gloves.

         I turn on the computer and stare at the entry. Helena marked the measurement of the strange object to be about eight inches, which just about fit with the grey line on the ruler-- allowing for curvature. What property of the object could have left this mark? Did it get really hot? If so, why wouldn’t Helena have mentioned this in her log?

         I reread the entry and think for a few minutes. The only idea that springs to mind is that this might be a real, live organism. Helena mentioned a change in volume; maybe the rock wasn’t really a rock at all. The strange coloration and light diffraction could be similar to that of a butterfly’s wing. That would explain the symmetry. I ask myself why I hadn’t thought of these things before.

         I begin hypothesizing on the grey tracks. Maybe the rock-- or organism-- somehow ate away at the wood of the table and ruler? I shake my head and chuckle to myself. It’s already past midnight and my theories are only becoming more far-fetched. I decide that I am in dire need of some sleep. A tired scientist rarely gets anywhere.

         I make it half-way to my room and no further, conking out on the living room couch.

         I wake up the next morning and, in mid-yawn, jump to my feet. Though I slept in, apparently it wasn’t enough. The vision I just had is seared into my memory, still, bright as life. From my spot on the couch, facing the front windows, I could have sworn I just saw my cousin Gerald. I shake my head and slap my cheek, telling myself to wake up.

         I stand and decide to make myself a cup of coffee. Though I’m certain that what I saw couldn’t have been anything but the remnants of some nightmare, I become acutely aware of my growing anxiety. Why did the police get involved so fast? They told me that they weren’t responding to my call… What does this object have to do with everything? Why would anybody kidnap someone as sweet as my sister, just to get a funny-colored object? What if they were really after my sister, not our discovery at all?

         My heart pounds loudly in my chest. If  these kidnappers only came for my sister, then I’ve been on the wrong track this whole time. I break down and start to cry when I hear a knock at the door; the same strange knock. I rush to answer the door, but too late to apprehend the messenger. I run out to the street, but find no car, no person in sight. Back to the doorstep I walk, to fetch the inevitable letter of magazine-cut script.

         I read it over several times and sigh inwardly, some of my questions put to rest. It’s asking a ransom, for the safe return of my sister. Part of this ransom includes the mysterious rock, which they already have and ask me to forget.

         The rock, the grey marks; do the kidnappers know what they signify? How did they know about the rock we found, assuming they were after it in the first place? These questions all remain unanswered, but they are key to my understanding of the kidnappers’ motives. My mind wanders back to this morning and my rude awakening. Why was I dreaming of Gerald?

         As I step inside the house, my eyes fall on the telephone and I stumble back with realization. Gerald was the only one that knew about the rock. Apart from my sister, he was the only one I told. Could he be in league with the kidnappers? He has always been interested in our family’s fortune. Our wealthy father was his father’s brother, and much tension had existed between the two.

         My uncle, Gerald’s father, never wanted to work, and my father always did. When my uncle asked to borrow money, my father would refuse, telling his brother to get a job. I guess my father’s success only acted as a burr in my uncle’s side, a symbolic ‘I told you so.’

         What if Gerald was behind the ransom notes? He was certainly creepy enough, and he had the right motives. Maybe what I saw this morning wasn’t part of a nightmare, but real. Was Gerald the one planting the notes? For the first time since my sister’s disappearance, I get in our Honda Civic and turn the engine over under my key. I’m off to the police station, bringing with me the ransom note and the grey ruler-- for luck.

         Once at the station, I blink as my eyes adjust slowly to the dim light. I approach a secretary near the front of the building, and ask for Officer Louis. As I wait, my resoluteness dwindles and finally leaves me empty. The Officer approaches.

         “You called, Ms. Powell?” he asks, arms crossed.

         “Yes, um,” I stumble over my question, “I wanted to ask if you could investigate my cousin, Gerald Powell? I have reason to believe that he may be behind the kidnapping of my sister.”

         “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” the man asks impatiently.

         “Well, his father was always after my father’s money, and I think I saw him leaving this ransom note sometime this morning.” I pull it from my pocket and hand it to the Officer. He inspects it abruptly and sets it aside.

         “The thing is, Ms. Powell, the department isn’t incredibly inclined to go along with your suspicions. You see, we checked the last letter, and found only your fingerprints.” He continues, “In any case, your cousin has been very helpful in our search. We believe we have found our culprit.”

         “You have? Who?” I ask, stupefied.

         “Well, you, Ms. Powell. We’d like to take you in for questioning, and were indeed on our way to fetch you when you happened to stop by the station, yourself. You’ve saved us a trip.” His squashed countenance took on an obnoxious smug.

         “How can you do that?” I say, raising my voice to a piteous pitch of outrage. “Where is the evidence against me? What did my cousin tell you?”

         “He told us enough. He gave us the heads-up and everything. Told us about your father’s money and family business. Wanted it all to yourself, didn’t you?”

         I shake my head, shocked to be hearing such outlandish accusations. Suddenly, I notice the Officer’s expression changing and I turn around. The secretary from the front desk whom I had checked in with a few minutes before beckons to me with a phone to her ear.

         “One Helena Powell calling for a Nora Powell?” she asks. I gape at her and the secretary questioningly hands the phone to Officer Louis. “The woman called in through Missing Persons, and I told her that Nora just recently checked in here at the station. Good timing, if you ask me,” the secretary half-mumbles to herself.

         A few blurred moments later, which I failed to comprehend, the Officer hung the phone back on its receiver and addressed me once again. “I think we ought to head back to your place. This is just getting stranger and stranger.” He seemed to retreat in on himself, and the tough officer that had stood there a moment before was no more.

         I’m not sure how the next minutes passed, but they did so quickly, and we were soon back at my house, walking through the door. There in the living room stood my sister. We fell into a silent embrace and the next minutes were completely obscured by a waterfall of tears that streamed down my face. As far as I know, my sister answered the Officer’s questions and saw him out of the house.

         Weeks later, we were still sorting through the details of the investigation. Though nobody ever found out exactly what passed those couple days, Helena and I still have our theories.

         According to my sister, she never left the house. She stood there, and it seemed to evaporate around her. She was holding the object one moment, and suddenly her fingers started to burn-- not from heat, she tells me, but cold. The house reappeared and she hastily dropped the strange rock, removing her glove to inspect her hand.

         Strangely enough, there is still a clear grey pattern laced along her palm. I sit next to her now and brood on the strange grey marks I found in the lab. After I told her about them, she began asking me the same questions that I still ask myself from time to time, and she asks me again:

         “Do you still think it could have been an organism of some kind, Nora?” Her voice takes on a hopeful note and she locks gaze with me. I draw her hand closer and stare at it where it lies in my lap.

         I shrug quietly. “Yeah. It might have been. The colors and pattern weren’t those of an ordinary rock, and the way it changed density was definitely not ordinary. Not to mention the grey marks it left behind--” I pause. “But what ever happened to it, Helena? When you dropped it, did you see where it landed?”

         “Yes. I saw it land, but soon after I removed my glove, it vanished. Sometimes I think I even saw it flicker out-- into the folds of time.” Helena closes her eyes as she says this, and I know that she is recalling her journey-- the journey I will never know.

         “You think the rock-- the organism-- can time-travel?” I ask her, wonderingly.

         Her eyes lock on mine once more and they laugh. “I don’t know what to think, I only know what I feel, what I believe.” She pauses to change the subject, “So Gerald got away with framing you as my murderer?”

         “Luckily not, thanks to your timely return, but yeah. He’s still on the loose, the weasel. The ransom notes and everything… I suppose there’s no solid proof of his ill-intent. He had an alibi for the morning I spotted him in our yard. I’m just so glad to have you back.”

         Helena smiles and squeezes my hand. “Yeah, me too,” she says to me, though I can tell that her mind is off in some other dimension. I frown and close my eyes. Things may never be the same between us, but I meant what I said and hold my breath.