it ended. God only knew how long he’d be caught in this time trap. His mind turned sluggish and his eyes closed against the dreary light in the room. He needed a nap, a good nap to clear his head and restore his strength.
* * * * *
A film of sweat cooled his brow when Gary’s eyes popped open, a fuzzy awareness of where he was at gradually coming into focus. Reaching lazily down into his pocket, he pulled out his watch and held it close to his eyes. 3:10. Quite a nap, he thought. He had been dreaming, dreaming of Shelley, of her taunting him:
“…really, Gary, from the past?”
“I’m telling you, Shelley, it’s the God’s honest truth.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “When are you going to come down from that dream world you live in?”
“Shelley--”
“A harmonica! What next, Gary, a hobby horse? Or maybe a cowboy suit or--”
“That’s enough, Shelley. If you don’t believe me--”
“Oh, I believe you, Gary. That’s the problem. I believe you believe what you’re saying, but I think you’ve been spending so much time in that attic of yours that you’re getting a few bats in your own.”
“I wish you’d stop mocking me, Shelley.”
“And I wish you’d stop coming up with these silly stories. And why are you wearing all those Mickey Mouse watches on your arm? And look at that ridiculous jacket you’re wearing. What Salvation Army bag did you dig that rag out of?”
“If you don’t like what I am, or anything about me, why don’t you say so, Shelley. Someone else out there might not think I’m so funny.”
She smiled, and her icy blue eyes chilled him to the bone. “Like who? Like who, Gary? Like the girl you’ve got your eye on?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her face came close, closer, so close he could actually feel her icy breath in his face. “Like the one with the big, brown eyes? Like SSSSarah?”
The name hissing off her tongue like a fiery lash awakened him with a start. He lay there, breathing hard, thinking, waiting for the unsettling effects of the dream to wear off. This trip back in time was becoming a nightmare; he didn't need any more in his sleep. The glamour he had imagined was beginning to lose a little of its luster, in fact, a lot of it. Of course he had come totally unprepared. If he had only known-- but that was all past history now.
Simple as this world was, or seemed to be, it posed great problems for him, problems and dangers, seen and unforeseen, problems he’d have to solve if he hoped to save the little girl named Dolly Czarnowski, who had only days to live.
Chapter 17
Needing to freshen up, Gary gathered his things, fished the comb from the bag and put it in his pocket. As he stepped into the hallway, towel over his shoulder, the smell of onions was thick enough to glue wallpaper. Starting for the bathroom, he saw someone emerge and head toward the back stairway. Shadowy at that far end of the hall, the man’s face would have been unrecognizable even if he had been facing Gary, but it was definitely a man and, if memory served him right, the same man Gary had run into the night before when he had come in from putting the garbage out. No doubt about it: the same stooped gait and hunched shoulders. The same air of secrecy, or so it seemed. Gary wondered if the man could be a Nazi spy. He remembered reading that there were many saboteurs in this country during those years before the Word War II. What organization was it that was so active at the time…the Bond? The Bund? Bund, yes, that was it.
Back in his room Gary slipped on his jacket and went out down the hall to Mrs. Harmon’s apartment. When she opened the door he was properly polite. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Harmon, but yesterday you mentioned a hot plate?”
“So I did, so I did. Step inside.” Wrapped in a maroon housecoat, ballooned behind with her hefty rump, she padded off in big, floppy, pink slippers into the kitchen. He heard a radio playing somewhere in the apartment. Moments later she returned, carrying the hot plate before her like a libation.
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