If the Stars Found the Time

The cigarette filled his lungs with ash, belligerently making him want more of the poison. How he could have let the addiction get so far embroiled in his limbic systems, he did not know. Gerard pondered this every time he saw a star, wising he could somehow discontinue pouring that same fire into his body. The freezing air that whispered its succor across the breadth of the New York City street turned his arms chill with gooseflesh. Shrugging on the smooth leather jacket taken from the back of some unnecessarily murdered doe, he fought off the niveous night atmosphere. The hum-and-drum of the life that festered in the streets filled his ears with cacophony as they brought on the corrupt glares of police. This man dealt with police of a different caliber, however.

Roaring to life, the headlights of his motorbike cut ribbons of pale fluorescence through the smog. His foot popped on the pedal and he was off, kickstand up, and nothing but the wind to stop him. Gerard’s eyes flickered mischievously towards the unobtrusive button near his fingertips with its worn chromium tempting him further. Right here? In the middle of the New York slums? asked his omnipresent conscious. The daredevil on the other side of the table just smirked, imposing his will on the tintinnabulations that worked within his hands.

Yes. With a press of the knob a gale made of no natural order fell over him as he opened a worm-hole. See, that little control did a whole lot. First, it threw up a force field around the bike and its occupants. Second, it folded two of the nearest platelets of three-dimensional space-time to touch each other. That created an invisible fourth dimension from which this worm-hole emerged. Throttling the motorcycle, he crossed over into a different time-stream, using his mind to choose where and when the automobile took him.

Of course, the motorbike itself was not the one with the power. Jean was just the capsule that he put his power into. When he turned twenty-one, he got his first bike, his grimy silver car having given out a month previous. That was the same age when his ability to travel time took him by surprise. It was too much power to be inside his body, he understood that immediately, and Gerard stored a good three quarters of the energy inside of his new bike, whose moniker Jean Grey, was not at all accurate. He settled for the pseudonym, though, because he could call himself Scott Summers when he needed a quick identity. That was too often than he would like and eventually he ceased to be Gerard, and Scott was the mirrored perspective of himself that everyone else saw. With his power came knowledge too great and terrible to speak of, making staying still impossible.

‘Scott’ and Jean traveled time so often that they rarely returned to their own home time-stream. If rarely was redefined as never, that is. Family was forgotten and left behind and friends became no more than tokens picked up when he needed to fuel his bike. Sometimes people, compatriots, came with him and Jean, but every person took him farther away from himself and closer to being Scott. Gerard tried to break free from being the visage of the unbidden, feared time traveler. He could never stop running, though, running was too second nature when the present held missing signs. The future was always better, despite the fact that every minute he stayed somewhere the rest of time was that much closer to catching up with him. He biked to the end of the universe and back, always feeling a gaping hole growing inside his chest.

Time travel came with the perks of space travel, as only three hundred years past Gerard’s birth, humans began their segue-way into interstellar travel and relations. This was not where Gerard went in this specific venture, though. He took a ride to sunny California, in the twenty-first century. Grape-vines hugged the line of the road and he could just smell the savory fermenting of Napa Valley grapes nearby. The sun dipped into its jagged zenith, casting a reddish hue on the green fields before me, and putting fervor in him that had been unseen for the past few years. The road had a country essence to it, the packed dirt clearly having been used for years before this. The tread of the motorcycle barely made an imprint, though the engine spooked some of the local wildlife.

With a smile on his face he advanced down the road, looking somewhere for a big old highway or just a good trail for a fun ride. He found something else instead as a shot reverberated against his keen ears. The bike groaned in protest as he turned it as sharp as a knife and raced in the direction of the gunfire. Shouting became apparent as he reached the scene of the crime.

“You were just using me!? You lousy son of a bitch!” That was most definitely a female, who came in sight very shortly, and who, not surprisingly, was holding the gun. The son of a bitch lay on the ground, panting and sweating with a scintillating sheen as he dodged her heels. The rifle had left a hole in the earth where she had shot, hopefully to scare her lover. They turned at the sound of his engine.

“Get out of my sight. Don’t you ever come back here again,” She fired again near his balls, deadly accurate. This chick knew how to use a shotgun. I wouldn’t get on her bad side. The girl resisted her scorned womanhood enough to let the dumb fellow go. Pivoting on her heel, she unloaded the buckshot and raced towards Gerard, fury still apparent on her furrowed brows.

“Good evening,” His cheer was unmasked at her situation, and he smiled at her with his most charming smile, careful not to let a tiny bit of his accent slip.

“This is private property. These roads are my private roads; if you’re lost I’m sure I can help you.” That little girl owned the vineyard? Impressive, maybe she was just the kind of girl to be impressed. Aweing her out of her small, country mind would not be a tall order at all… if he could get her on the bike, that is.

“Maybe I’m not lost. What’s your name?” Bold, ambitious. That could do as a strategy for talking to her.

“I can assure you, you’re lost. You have no business knowing my name, unless you saw the sign that it was Carris’ Vineyard, in which case you already know my name.” Cold and ever lonely, maybe she could do with a hug.

“I think I just found what I’m looking for. Do they have first names in California or is everyone just referred to by their surname?” Her face was turning shades redder by the minute. Two jobs now: get the gun out of her hand and get her on the bike. Flashing a charming smile, he awaited her infuriated riposte.

“Is this how you pick up women? Break onto their land and sweep them off their feet with your motorcycle and warm good looks? Well, I’m not biting. Get off my property or I’ll reload.” When he did nothing but sit tight on his bike, she reached into her pocket for more bullets.

“My name’s Scott. What’s yours?” His eyes flickered over her person, as he attempted not to look like an entire pervert. Gerard noted no name tags, no identifiers. Good thing he finally got to her enough for her to tell him:

“Elise Carris. Go home and Google me, I’ve shot two intruders on my land before and I’d be happy to add a third to that little printed sheet in my police file.” Elise. It had a ring to it. He held out his hand to shake, and met a cold glare. Gerard retracted his hand.

“I don’t have a computer; I don’t really like material items. I kind of just wander.” She scoffed at his response. Maybe she was expecting an ‘I already have,’ to boost her hubris.

“Wander? Sounds like a fun life. Meanwhile I’ve got money and a place to stay. What have you got an old bike and a hostel or two?” Her cynicism wore away throughout the entire sentence, her eyes brightening slightly at the end as she regretted her own phrases.

“Ah, see, that’s where the problem lies. You’ve got money and a place to stay, but you aren’t happy, are you?” Elise bit her lip and he knew he had caught her.

“Who needs happiness?” This was his turn to scoff; she was just trying to get out of her own head at this point.

“You’d be surprised. Once you have a little, you can’t get enough.” By this point the bike had become symbolic of happiness, joy, and all those good things. It had also become a temptation, which is just what he wanted.

“Do you want to take a ride?” Her eyes returned to her homestead behind her, ruminating on the grapevines that she saw every day.

“Sure.” She hopped on without as much as a second thought, not even asking for a helmet.

“Hold on tight.” Elise’s life must have flashed before her eyes right there and then. He put the pedal to the metal and headed straight for the house, pressing his special button and thinking real hard about the most magical place, anytime, anywhere. Her screams were drowned out in the roar of the worm hole.