“You think that could happen, Sammy?” asks Allison.

  “I don’t know, but it feels like a possibility. We need to figure out a way to narrow down the date.”

  I glance at Roxy, who’s doing her best to absorb all of this. Under different circumstances, she might have questioned, well, everything. But with her twin brother quite possibly disappearing beyond any of our psychic ranges, she’s close to panicking.

  “Well, we need to do something fast before we lose our connection to him,” says Alexis.

  “It would be nice if Allison and I could combine our skills,” says Roxy. “Together, we might just locate him. You know, with her seeing the creature and me feeling him.”

  “If only,” says Allison.

  We all think about that and more as Allie pours us each a glass of wine from Roy’s collection on the bottom shelf of his fridge.

  Our thinking juice, so to speak.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Roy

  I’m about three feet off the ground when I realize I need to ditch the flipper.

  It served its purpose by keeping my foot relatively protected from the foulness down here. Unfortunately, with it on, I can’t get any purchase against this slimy intestinal wall... which mercifully sports the occasional fleshy node. Could be cancerous. A polyp perhaps. The big guy should have it looked at.

  Hanging from a claw firmly hooked into the creature’s stomach lining, I reach down and pull off the flipper. I toss it down onto what’s left of the meat raft. With luck—a lot of luck—I’ll never see the flipper or raft again.

  Though bloody, my damaged foot—along with my healthy foot—definitely helps me cling a little more securely to the wall.

  I work the left claw loose and, with all the strength I can generate, slam it into the lining above me. As it hits home, the entire stomach shudders as the creature itself jerks. How much pain this causes it, I haven’t a clue, nor do I care. Likely, this is nothing more than a bit of a stomachache.

  Again, don’t care.

  Just want out.

  Desperately.

  God, I miss my sister. By my reckoning, I’d only been in here for an hour or two. Weird to miss someone in so short a time. Of course, according to my watch, I’d gone back dozens of years into the past... only to be creeping forward in time again.

  So weird.

  Monster blood drips on my face as I climb. The lining is surprisingly soft and easy to find purchase with the claw. I feel a bit like a climber scaling a frozen waterfall. Thanks to all the swimming, my shoulders are rounded with muscle, and my chest sports thick, square pecs. All of which adds up to me not having too much of a problem holding myself on these makeshift ‘ice axes.’ Of course, doing so for another hour or so might seriously suck.

  Of course, anything is better than being slowly dissolved alive in this thing’s stomach.

  So far, so good.

  Shortly, with my bare feet slipping down the wall, due to the extreme angle of the oval-shaped stomach, I soon find myself at a mass of thick, fleshy folds. The esophageal sphincter would be my guess. It takes all my strength to get an arm inside the muscle folds. Once that’s accomplished, I work in my head as well. Meanwhile, the fleshy entrance quivers in what I can only imagine is some degree of pain. Next, I drag my shoulders through the opening, gasping as the muscle squeezes down on my torso. I push with all I have—and up pop my hips, thighs, and feet.

  I’m in. God help me, I’m in.

  I’m also standing on the sphincter, hunched over, gasping with the effort, until something surprising happens...

  Daylight appears above me, followed by the roar of rushing water.

  The light winks out, but the water only intensifies. Crap! The beast appears to have swallowed seawater, though I know that’s not usually the case with seafaring mammals, who rarely drink seawater. It’s too salty, even for them. Then again, this creature couldn’t possibly be a mammal. Likely, it really was a dinosaur. As such, how it deals with excess water is lost on me. More likely, it had just swallowed lunch.

  Which means...

  The ‘floor’ beneath my feet begins opening, shuddering as it does so. I leap off where I’m standing and, with claws out, cling to the sides of the esophagus, which spans about five feet across and is lined with the same slick, yet rubbery flesh as the stomach.

  It is there that I cling as water and food come raining down upon me. I’m smacked by what appears to be salmon-sized critters. Big enough to hurt, but not enough to knock me off my perch. Should a bigger shark come crashing down, I would be in trouble, but it appears this thing had only made its way through a school of bigger fish.

  With the torrent done, and with me having lost one of my handholds, the ‘floor’ closes beneath me. Except I don’t drop down. Instead, I find the claw where I had lost hold of it, grab it again, and begin climbing up the esophageal wall, hand over hand...

  Up, up, up...

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The wine was either going to make us too tired to think or loosen us up enough to let the ideas flow through. Luckily, it is the latter.

  The need to get up and look through one of his books on swimming hits me, and I do just that. In his living room is a sort of shrine devoted to all things writing. Along one shelf is a row of his books on swimming, with seven or eight copies of each title. I take one of the books down, titled Swimming the Bering Strait, and I’m about to crack it open, when I pause and stare at the cover, which features Roy himself surging through frothing water, goggles on, left arm and hand dripping water, about to plunge down into the undoubtedly freezing ocean.

  I study the pic... then quickly reach up for the next book: A Swimmer’s Journey. The photo on the cover is different. In fact, so different it’s from under the water, pointed up at a swimming Roy. This time, his right hand plunges forward, his left trailing behind. Bubbles are everywhere. But not so much that I can’t see what’s on his wrist.

  “He was wearing a watch,” I say suddenly, turning to the group of women still at the table, two of whom had been watching me, both having caught a whiff of where I was going with my thought process. “He was also wearing a watch in the vision I had of him.” I stop short of saying ‘the vision I had of him being swallowed whole by a monster.’

  “He always wears a watch,” says Roxy. “A dive watch. In fact, the company sponsors him. He has like three of them here in the house, all different colors. Wears one for his swims, and the others for daytime use.”

  “Do you know where he keeps them?” I ask.

  “Sure, in a watch display, kinda like a jewelry box. Hang on, I’ll go find it.” She pushes away from the table.

  “I just need a watch similar to the one he was wearing at the time of his disappearance.”

  “Right, hang on.”

  Roxy slips out of the kitchen and down a short hall.

  “But Sammy,” says Allison, following my train of thought, “how do we know if his watch will display the correct date?”

  “We don’t,” I say. “At least, not yet.”

  “Here’s. The black one, the one he wears out at night. It’s my favorite.”

  I remind myself that twins are closer than most other siblings. I seriously doubt that Tammy has, say, a favorite shirt of Anthony’s. Anyway, she hands me the watch. I’m surprised by its weight—or lack thereof. Made sense for a swimmers watch not to be too heavy. After all, they’re different than a dive watch. No need to weigh down a swimmer’s hand.

  “Any idea how to use it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, and I start pushing buttons, which soon leads me through various screens. It’s a smartwatch, similar to an Apple watch, complete with a variety of swipeable screens. Wow, you can connect your music to this sucker. It has GPS tracking, too, and any number of other features. Another swipe and I find what I’m looking for: the date. It’s currently set to today’s date and time. It’s a wonderful piece of machinery, no doubt. I move through the watch interface a few times, getting the hang of it. Takes just four swipes to get to the date screen. Fairly easily.

  The others are waiting while I play with the watch, though Alexis and Allie have been following my thought process for the past few minutes. Only Roxy is in the dark.

  “What are you looking for, Sam?” she asks.

  “Making sure the date also displays the year, and it does,” I say. “And before anyone jumps on me, I know there are two problems with the plan. I’m sure you’re itching to tell me them, Allie.”

  She immediately raises a finger. “Just one. I’ll leave the other for Alexis.”

  “Why thank you,” says the mermaid.

  I shake my head.

  “First,” says my witchy friend, “how do we know the watch will display his current date and time. What might that other concern be, Alexis?”

  “And how do we, you know, see the date on his watch?”

  “You two done?” I ask.

  “We’re done,” they say together and wink at each other.

  Glad they’re having a good time at my expense.

  “Not at your expense,” says Alexis. “I, for one, appreciate the ideas. Keep them coming.”

  “To address the first concern, hang on.”

  With that, I summon the single flame, see my target in it, and teleport into my bedroom. I hear the kids in the living room chatting idly to themselves. With Tammy’s telepathy gone for good, no one should know I’m here, not that it’s a secret. Truth is, I like hearing my kids chatting nicely. Don’t want to disturb the good vibes. As silently as I can, I open my sliding closest door and reach up for my combination lock box. I spin through the numbers until my code is displayed and click the thing open. Inside are various important documents and a small stash of cash. Also inside is a ring with a single fat emerald. I slide it on, always surprised at just how perfectly it fits, despite never having been sized for me.

  The world is full of magic.

  With that, I return the box and summon the single flame, seeing Roy’s kitchen within. Luckily, within the flame, I can see my landing spot. Most importantly, I see my target is clear of other people. I make the jump.

  Roxy squeaks when I suddenly appear back in the chair. Pretty sure that Alexis gasped, too.

  She says, winking, “I don’t know too many people who pop in and out of existence.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” says Allie, looking down at her nails.

  I chuckle and show the ring to Roxy and Alexis. “Let’s put the watch to the test.”

  At present, Roxy was holding it in both hands. Not necessarily because it’s that big, but likely because it reminds her of her brother.

  “May I?” I ask.

  “Of course,” she says, handing me the lightweight watch.

  I strap it on, pulling it all the way to the last slot. It’s still a little loose. Who knew I had such small wrists?

  “Focus, Sam,” says Allie.

  “Right,” I say, and think about what I want to do next. “Give me a sec, ladies. This takes a bit of focus.”

  They all comply, watching me from around the table.

  Jumping back and forth through time can cause grandfather loop effects that I want to avoid. As in, if someone went back in time and murdered their grandfather (I know, terrible), would that someone ever be born? Other, less extreme and terrible scenarios are if I went back three days in time and somehow distracted Roxy from even showing up at my house looking for help, would I even be sitting here now?

  Since I don’t want to mess with what-if scenarios, I do something that shouldn’t affect anyone, anywhere, at any time. I recall a particular ice ledge deep in the Alaskan backcountry that I had once jumped to. Good enough. I next look at the watch on my wrist. It’s 4:32 in the afternoon. I nod to myself, take some air, and consider the date and time I want to jump. Next, I summon the flame and see within it that forgotten snowy ledge in the back of beyond. Before jumping, I also picture the date and time under the image.

  With that done, I make the leap.

  ***

  The rock ledge is narrow and dusted with snow.

  Icy wind whips my hair around me. I probably should have pulled it back into a ponytail. Too late now. I take a moment to breathe and relax; it’s not every day that one finds themselves on the edge of the world, high up in unforgiving mountains, far away from any human and most animals. Plants and trees, too. I take in air I don’t need, hold it in my lungs for a minute or two, then release it in a misty cloud that gets ripped away instantly. I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I should be freezing, but all I feel is mild cold. The scene before me is one of unending mountain peaks, each more jagged than the next. I might as well be on the surface of some distant planet. With my teleporting skills, I can make that happen. Mars is a lovely place if you love red rock and sand.

  I pull my knees up and fight the urge to sit here longer than I should. Everything, but everything, is forgotten up here. Heck, I can barely remember my kids’ names up here. But there is a swimmer missing, and, from all indications, he’s moving further and further away from this timeline. Got to find him. I like Roxy. I want to help her. She’s my people, so to speak. That is woo-woo, through and through.

  Time to test, well, time.

  I look down at my wrist, wiping some snow off the watch face.

  4:05 p.m.

  Which means I’ve been sitting here for five minutes reveling in the solitude; after all, I had focused on arriving here at 4:00.

  The watch kept time with time travel.

  And that means everything.

  I had been worried about cell signals and such, but it looks like magic is overriding those technical concerns. Whew! I cross my fingers that the creature that functions as a time machine in its own right also possesses similar magic.

  I summon the single flame and focus on the date and time once again. This time, I focus on 4:31, a minute before I made the jump to here. I also focus on Roy’s bedroom, which I had previously walked through and know the layout. As viewed through the flickering flame, I can see it’s empty—and I make the jump there...

  I can hear myself talking in the kitchen, letting the ladies know that I need to focus to get the time travel right. They quiet down and... all three suddenly chatter again. Luckily, they are saying nice things about me, hope I’m okay, and wonder when I will return.

  That’s when I step out of the bedroom and head down the hall.

  “Hello, ladies,” I say, grinning and waving.

  “Sam!” says Roxy. “You just left. What happened?”

  “Time travel happened,” I say, and take a seat among them again.

  “Well?” asks Allison. If she took a peek in my head, she would know what I know. Luckily, she doesn’t always feel the need.

  Alexis, on the other hand, is already in there. She grins. “It worked.”

  “Worked, how?” asks Allison. “And why is there snow in your hair, Sammy?”

  “Never mind that,” I say, and remove the watch and hand it back to Roxy. I note the watch now says 4:32. Time travel is tricky. I might have lost or gained a few seconds here but, for the most part, I’m able to continue the timeline I had been on.

  “The watch kept pace with my time travel; it should keep pace with Roy, too.”

  “Should?” says Roxy.

  “Should is the best I can give you. Pretty sure no one on this planet has ever done what we are trying to do.”

  “And what are we trying to do, Sam?” asks Alexis.

  “Fetch a man lost in time, of course,” I say, grinning.

  “But how?” asks Roxy.

  “That, I don’t know. Not yet. But I’m confident the four of us will come up with something. We have to. There is no other option.”

  “You sure are an optimistic person,” says Roxy.

  “I know,” says Allie. “It’s kind of annoying.”

  I stick out my tongue at her.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Roy

  I’m irritating its throat, that much is certain.

  No surprise there, I’m presently climbing it like a man along the face of El Capitan, minus safety ropes. Truth be told, falling twenty feet or so onto a fleshy pile of corrugated muscle isn’t cause for alarm—unless it should open. Then I would have to start this climb all over again.

  Really, really don’t want to do that.

  Meanwhile, with each hook of the bony protrusions, the flesh of its throat vibrates in agony, so much so that it’s all I can do to hang on. Mercifully, this stretch of anatomy is fairly straight and at an incline. I keep thinking I might trigger its gag reflex. If so, all that gunk I left behind would come right up behind me. Maybe not a terrible idea, actually. Then, it would launch me up and out, too. I would be free.

  Until that moment, I continue climbing. Hand over hand, claws hooking into flesh, toes digging for purchase below.

  Not terribly long ago—no more than a few hours ago—I had stopped at a Starbucks for an iced breve latte. The line had been long. I had been mildly perturbed.

  Now, I’m in something’s throat, praying to be vomited up.

  Just saying.

  My sister pops into my mind. I know without a doubt she senses something very, very wrong. I sense things about her, too, but she is way more woo-woo than I am. Mostly, I’ll sense when she’s about to call, or show up randomly. She doesn’t live far, though preferring to live inland. Claims the windy beaches mess with her psychic stuff. I get it, but I’m not in tune with that stuff enough to care. I love the beach and the ocean. Anyway, her new true-crime novel hit a few weeks ago. Did pretty well. Horrific stuff; she knows I won’t read it, though I support her. Get this, when she started the book, the murder spree had gone unsolved. By the time she was done with the case, she had located the murderer. At present, he’s awaiting trial.

  All because of my sis. I’m proud of her. I think she’s proud of me, too.

  It’s been only a few hours (as far as I know), and I miss her already. God, I love her.

  I reach up again, hooking the claw into the soft flesh, and I’m not ashamed to say a tear or two fell free.