Twisted Time

5 - Doubts

On highway A1, 23:37

Dan blinks, irritated by the sudden change of scene. Seconds ago, she was in a lab, gripping the rim of a table, while the lights flickered and failed. Now, her hands clutch the steering wheel in her cold and gloomy car. Is she dreaming or, worse, hallucinating?

A careful glance around doesn't shed light on her situation. Dan's mind is a swirling mess of questions. But she is afraid to voice them, not even in her thoughts, aware the answers might compromise her sanity. The car is a solid anchor to the mundane world. In this safe little patch of normality, nothing has changed. Stiff fingers caress the worn fake-leather cover of the steering wheel while her eyes try to penetrate the darkness outside. The soft drizzle has developed into a downpour. Heavy drops pelt the car's roof and run in rivulets down the windshield. Either the intensity of the rain changed unusually fast or some time has passed during her blackout.

The rearview mirrors show faint reflections of the lit tunnel portal, distorted by the raindrops glistening on the reflexive surface. Dan pries her fingers from the wheel and massages her cramped wrists. A picture from her childhood invades her mind. She must have been six or seven and prone to panic attacks. Her mother used to hold both of her hands, a warm smile on her face "Take a deep breath, Dani, count to three, release, and repeat. Calm down, and then we'll talk about it."

It worked, back then, and later at uni, when she required calming down during exams. Probably the well-remembered voice and smile of her mother did the trick. But she's no longer a child, and no one calls her Dani anymore, not in such a kind and caring way. Still, it can't hurt to put the old magic to the test. Unaware of the single tear in the corner of her eye, Dan follows her mum's imaginary instructions.  Perhaps the ritual of breathing will one more time comfort her frayed nerves and bring her relief.

After three repetitions, she admits her failure. The trusted exercise won't solve her problems, not this time. With a sigh, she stops and shoves her hands under her thighs to interrupt the trembling of her fingers. She must have fallen asleep and dreamed up the stupid story. This would explain why I'm close to freezing.

Shaking her head, she turns the key in the ignition. There's nothing to gain by blocking the emergency lane and contemplating her mental stability. She will be confronted with a dose of unsolvable puzzles tomorrow in the lab, and the way home won't get shorter while she wastes time woolgathering.

Dan speeds up and drives back onto the motorway. A string of bikers passes on the opposite lane, engines roaring, their ghostly forms accompanied by a howling tune. She wonders where they are headed this late and in awful weather. A glance at her dashboard tells her it's only eleven. Wait, that clock still shows wintertime. I wanted to adjust it for weeks now.

Dan shoves her tired brain into gear to determine if this means it runs an hour early or late. She is tempted to adjust it on the spot, but she can't remember how.

For a moment, she struggles with the concept of daylight saving. Visualising the sun setting behind the western hills helps her. It must be getting close to midnight. Almost half an hour has passed since I entered that tunnel. Damn.

The car's right-hand tires rattle over the rough surface of the safety line, and Dan swears under her breath. She cannot let herself get distracted—the easiest way to turn this cursed night worse would be a self-induced accident. With a frantic beating heart, she pulls the car back into the lane, stifling a yawn at the same time. Shouldn't be driving in my exhausted state.

A cup of coffee would be a saviour. Her mouth feels dry as soon as she thinks about it. Why didn't she ask Ric for one while they stood beside the futuristic hi-tech contraption he called a coffee maker? She should have made him prove he was right. But they were both stressed. She by the fact of her shift of location, Ric by his still mysterious job or mission, whatever it was.

While part of her brain follows this train of thoughts, another part registers there's something seriously amiss. What happens to her? What's real and what a product of her imagination? Who's this Ric who wanders through her thoughts uninvited?

In a sudden flash of panic, Dan floors the brake hard enough for the ABS to kick in. The car stutters to a standstill. Drained and shaking, she slumps forward, resting her head on the wheel.

A sports car overtakes her, honking and driving faster than it seems healthy in this weather. Dan stares at his waning rear lights until the rain swallows them, her mind blank. Still shaking, she restarts the car. Her brain returns to duty in slow motion, and it costs her a deliberate effort to suppress another panic attack.

Ahead, the illuminated sign of a rest area beckons with the promise of relief in another kilometre. Dan remembers the lot from passing by. It's not a roadhouse, just a simple picnic area, a few tables in the shade of trees and a toilet. She never considered using it before. But today, she needs a safe place to come to terms with herself and her strange visions. Better to get off the road than ending the trip wrapped around a concrete pillar.

Five hundred metres—another road sign spurs her on. However, the exit appears too sudden, and Dan almost misses it. Crossing the white line, she slows down into the exit lane with a muttered curse and stops her car beneath a bright yellow street light in the parking lot.

Dan runs a hand over her sweaty forehead and leans back in her seat. Is she developing a fever? She closes her tired eyes, and memories flood her brain as unstoppable as a tsunami. The sharpness and vibrancy of the pictures tell her they weren't born in a nightmare created by imagination.

Ric, in a high tech lab, pulling her into the cold storage compartment. Ric, holding her close in the dimly lit room to share the warmth of his body. And Ric, standing in front of a flickering screen, reading out data, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

The memories are too fresh to be born from a fever dream. But what other explanation is there for these surreal pictures dancing in her mind? Dan suppresses her rising panic and searches for a rational angle to solve her problem. She is a renowned scientist, after all, with a reputation for a clear head.

There are two things she is confident about: the fact her memories seem recent, and the fragrance of Ric's aftershave still clinging to her right sleeve. Considering she lost half an hour somewhere, the timeframe given by her memories seems possible. Where does this leave her? Is she ready to admit the existence of another dimension, a parallel universe, or a strange out-of-this-world place?

A more rational part of her mind screams she might be barking mad. Her Mum used to blame her over-imagination to an addiction to the science fiction stories she binged as a teenager. She still reads them in times of stress. Perhaps she should try chick lit, like her lab assistant. Dan smiles when she imagines how her intern would swoon about the dark, attractive protagonist of her alternate reality.

A vivid picture of Ric pops up in her mind, and she gasps. He is bent over a console and reads a name from a computer screen—her name.

The lighting of the parking lot flickers and fades into nothingness.