The Relapse Door

"Okay, big man," Tom said out loud. "Darcie wouldn't hurt you, now would she? Get back to work." And as he set off back to his walk, he vowed he would submit his resignation that evening. Enough was enough. There were jobs to be had in Mascawad that would let him pay the bills and sleep at night, and not go crazy out in the woods.

The sounds behind him came again. Just one at first, a moment after he had resumed his walk, then a few more here and there on either side behind him. Too distant to be threatening, he reminded himself, if they're there at all. And he didn't look behind him again. He didn't need to look behind him to see Darcie, for now she danced gracefully in his memory as he made his way through the woods. Vivacious in her dark red swimsuit that matched her hair so well, he could see her to this day sauntering to the pool, cheering the kids on through their lesson, dismissing class with a wave and a grin before she vanished into the women's locker room. Tom really had witnessed all that. He had not witnessed what came next, but after all those years of fantasies he could picture it even more vividly: Darcie pulling off her wet swimsuit to reveal her perfect breasts and dignified ladygarden at the apex of her long legs, and enjoying a hot steamy shower during which she shamelessly played with herself until she came again and again.

That image had certainly had Tom coming again and again. By now it was so real to him that he could occasionally forget that he had never really witnessed it.

With that image to keep him amused, Tom told himself he didn't want to know what might be behind him. He didn't look at all until a somewhat louder noise emanated from his left -- a bit ahead rather than behind this time.

This time he did pause and investigate a bit further. Could be a wild animal this time, he told himself, and he would need to be aware of that. Through the trees he could see a drop-off to a hill, leading down to a creek that he suspected was mostly frozen this time of year. Whatever he'd heard, it was probably safely across the creek. Might as well go have a look anyway, he decided.

Already used to walking without a path by then, Tom had little trouble picking his way through the trees as he approached the top of the hill. Drawing closer, he saw that it was quite steep and, as he had guessed, the water below was icy. Must have been an ice floe breaking away or running into another, he concluded. Feeling relieved, Tom let go of the tree he'd been holding onto for balance on the bumpy, slippery ground, and turned to head back to his trek.

He let go a moment too soon, for as he turned, his left foot slipped off a rock and pitched out from under him and down the hill. Tom instinctively bore down on his grip with his right foot, but his balance was gone. He grabbed at the outer branches of the tree he'd let go of, but they were small and brittle in the cold and when Tom had regained his bearings, he was flat on his back sliding head-first down the hill. Recalling the deadly icy water below, he thrashed around and felt for a hand-hold anywhere beneath the snow -- a rock, a depression in the ground, a root -- but found none. Unable to see the frozen creek from his angle, he was aware only of the ground disappearing under him when he reached the end of the hill. Giving up on stopping the fall, he grabbed at his head and hoped his arms would break the fall as best they could.

In the long moment between feeling the ground fall away and hitting the water, Tom once again thought he saw Darcie looking down on him from the ridge. But there was little use in worrying about that in that moment, and there wasn't even time for him to formulate a cry for help.

Tom was resigned to a cold, hard splash into the water and just hoped he could avoid breaking any bones on the rocks and ice. To his relieved surprise, the water enveloped him harmlessly when he slipped in head first and he found himself borne back up towards the surface without a scratch. With that rush of relief out of the way, he braced himself for the seemingly-warm water to bite him with its severe chill. But as he swam up to the surface and got his bearings about him again, it dawned on him that the warm water hadn't been a trick of his imagination or a shock to the system -- it really was warm.

There was little time for Tom to be confused, though, as he hadn't had a chance to take a deep breath before hitting the water and he could feel his lungs begging for air. Bursting to the surface, he gulped in the air gratefully, surprised that the breeze that met him felt balmy, nothing like the icy air he had expected. Equally surprising was the smell of the sea that mingled in the air his lungs so welcomed in. Back in control at last, he looked around himself and realized it wasn't a trick of his senses; he was indeed floating in the ocean rather than the creek he'd seen before his fall. The salt water, the waves, the seagulls -- all the signs were there.

Confused and astounded, but most of all concerned about getting out of the water in his heavily wet clothes, Tom began treading water and looked around for the shore to swim back to. It wasn't far, he saw, though it was far enough to make swimming in his winter clothes a chore.

But it wasn't the shore of the creek in the woods that he had tumbled into. From where he had surfaced, it looked more like a tropical beach. As he swam closer -- expending tremendous energy with every stroke, for his winter coat was sopping and heavy but he didn't dare remove it, not knowing what awaited on the shore -- he realized that there were people on the shore, pointing and calling for him. Men and women alike, and so far as Tom could tell, each and every one of them was unabashedly naked. Maybe he had bumped his head on the floor of the creek after all, Tom thought. But there was nothing to do but swim for the shore he could see, real or not.

Slowly but surely Tom made his way into safer waters. When at last he was in shouting distance of the nudists on the shore, he saw her again: Darcie, naked as the rest of them, her body just as dazzlingly beautiful as he had always imagined it. This time she was definitely there, and she swam effortlessly past Tom. With a serene smile, she shot past him through the water, close by but unmistakably on a different course, so he could see she was not there to try to save him.

Nevertheless he called out to her. "Hey! Darcie!" He could hear the panic and exhaustion in his own voice as he did. She made eye-contact with him for a split second, and gave him a knowing smile, but continued on her way.

Confused and growing disoriented, Tom whirled around in the water to look after the strange memory and see where she was going. He could see the barest outline of an island on the horizon, much too far for him to have any hope of reaching in his condition. Guided by the calls on the beach, he turned and headed back for the shore. When he got close enough to sense that the water might be shallow enough to stand in, Tom reached down with his foot. The last thing he would remember was making contact with solid ground and knowing he wouldn't drown after all.

When he awoke, Tom had no idea how long he may have been asleep -- hours? days? -- or even if he had truly been asleep. His doubt about all that only increased as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the lone window in the bedroom where he found himself. It was a rustic-looking bedroom, like something he might have expected in a mountain cabin. Clean but spare, with homemade-looking blankets hanging on the walls and boxy but comfortable furniture. There was no sign of electricity or anything else too modern, except for what appeared to be a wooden bathtub at the other end of the room. At his end, he found himself in a large old-fashioned bed with worn but comfortable sheets, an oil lamp on the bedside table behind him, and his clothes looking wrinkly as they hung drying on a chair. Looking closer, he saw a fireplace behind the chair, but no fire. Indeed, he then realized, there was little need for a fire. In the dying hours of sunlight, the air was quite warm, something like what he'd have expected of a summer day.

But not a day like the one I woke up in this morning, he mused.

Whatever fate he had fallen into, Tom realized, at least it was a comfortable one. Despite his ordeal he was uninjured as far as he could tell, and the surroundings were lovely. But what could have explained falling into a creek in winter and waking up in the ocean in summer? Had he perhaps drowned in the creek and gone to heaven? And if it is heaven, Tom wondered hopefully, shouldn't there be at least one beautiful woman around here somewhere?

He had a few more minutes to ponder that matter before it was answered with a knock at the door. "Anybody awake in there?" came a female voice.

"Yes," Tom answered, realizing for the first time that his voice had been affected by his fall. Though he felt fine, he sounded croaky like he so often did after a bad cold.

The door opened, and Tom looked up to see a fair, slightly chubby woman in a long white dress of the type he remembered from Thanksgiving plays at school. She wore no makeup, much like the hippie women back in town whom Tom was so fond of, and her dark hair hung in wavy curls all the way to her waist. She looked delighted to see him awake. "Well, welcome back, Tom!" she said cheerfully.

Tom started to sit up, but changed his mind when he realized he was naked under the sheets. Observing her dress, he said, "Wow, I guess I did hit my head on a rock. Hard enough to send me back a century or two!"

The woman laughed. "I'm delighted to see you haven't lost your sense of humor after what you've been through. Of course, I don't know what you were like before, Tom. So how are you feeling?"

"Confused," Tom admitted. "Where am I and how do you know my name?"

The stranger gathered up her skirt and sat on the edge of his bed. "Mascawad, Maine; and your name was on your identification card. I've never seen a card like that before; it looks positively ancient. I didn't know they still made those anywhere!"

"You read my..." Tom looked at his clothes on the chair by the fireplace, and then saw his wallet and keys lying alongside them, and his face turned pink. "And you also must have taken my..." He pulled the sheets up to his neck defensively.

The woman laughed. "Oh, Tom, I am sorry I read your private documentation. But I am a doctor, and when an unconscious patient is brought out of the sea, it is important that we know all we can about who it is." More tenderly she added, "And I assure you that I did not ravage you in your sleep." She touched his hand through the covers. "Mind you, the flesh was willing, for me and, judging from your body's state when I undressed it, for you too. But I do have my moral standards, and that includes asking first. Also, I had no way of knowing if you were up to date on your sperm pills."

"My sperm pills?"

"Why, yes," the doctor said. "I don't know where you came from, but surely a man your age is on the pill?"

"The pill. Isn't that for women? I mean, a male pill is a great idea, but...and another thing, you said this was Mascawad. This is nothing like Mascawad! I know, I woke up there this morning. It's miles from the ocean, and it's the middle of winter. It was frigid and snowy just this morning! Is this a joke? And since when do doctors dress like the Pilgrims?"

The doctor looked concerned, then delighted, then a mixture of both. She stood up a bit defensively. "Oh, dear God," she said.

"You're telling me!" Tom said. "I feel like I'm in some fantasy movie where the guy hits his head and wakes up in the past."

"You're not in the past, Tom, that's for certain," the woman said. "I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Sarah and I'm one of the Mascawad town doctors."

"Well if I'm not in the past, Doctor Sarah, where am I? Not Mascawad!" Despite Sarah's gentle demeanor, Tom now felt terrified. He tried to cover it up with the appearance of anger, but found he was no good at playing tough-guy while naked in bed in the presence of a beautiful woman who had evidently considered raping him in his sleep.

"Tom," Sarah asked calmly. "When you had your accident this morning, did you see anyone else?"

"Yeah," Tom admitted cautiously. "I thought I saw her a couple of times, and then I know for sure I saw her a couple more times. A beautiful woman with long hair like yours, but a redhead. Someone I knew when I was a kid, but I hadn't seen her since then. Last time it was when I was swimming to shore, and she swam right past me the other way. Naked, too! Strangest thing I've ever seen."

Sarah's face melted into a joyful smile. "Good heavens, you really are, then!"

"I really am what?" Tom dropped the defensive act, now he wanted to know just what was going on, and he could see she knew the answer."

"This woman you saw," Sarah probed, ignoring his question for the moment. "You said she was beautiful."

"The most beautiful woman I've ever seen!" Tom confirmed. "I, well, you're a doctor, I can tell you this safely: I fantasized about her for years if you know what I mean. Probably the sexiest woman alive if you asked me to name one. But I was too scared at the time to appreciate that."

"You've seen Margarethe, then, and lived to tell about it," Sarah mused, twirling happily around the space beside his bed. "This is a miracle!"

"Margarehte? Lived to tell?"

"That's the red-haired woman you saw today, Tom. Did you see her before your accident as well as after?"

Tom sat up, no longer caring what Sarah saw. "I thought I did, yeah."

"Oh, you really saw her. Tom, you're in the future."

"What?!" Tom laughed now. "You're dressed like it's 1700 or something, there's no electricity in here, and you're telling me it's the future?"

"I'm guessing you're from no later than the year 2050 or so, is that right?" Sarah looked deadly serious now, though still pleased.

"2012." Tom couldn't believe he was taking the question seriously.

"Marvelous," Sarah said. "You must be the one we've been waiting for! You're quite the gentleman for your time, too, from what I've heard of those days. You must forgive me, Tom, there are a million questions I'd love to ask you but I have no idea where to begin. Margarethe has caught her fair share of men from your era -- never women thus far, only men -- but she has let none survive before now. That means you've obviously got a good heart..."

"Let none survive?!" Tom pulled the sheets back up again and crouched defensively against the headboard.

"Oh, Tom, I'm sorry! That must sound horrible to you. No, I assure you, your life is safe in our hands. If Margarethe found you pure of heart, then no harm will come to you here. To say the least. Tom, you may well be our savior."

Tom was not yet convinced. "Me, a savior? I'm an underachiever from the slums! Where is 'here' anyway? You keep saying it's Mascawad, but it looks nothing like Mascawad!"

Sarah went to a table under the window. While there, she shut the window, for the air outside was finally cooling off in the sunset. "Oh, it is, Tom." She picked up what Tom soon recognized as a newspaper, and brought it to the bed. The Mascawad Times, he saw, though the masthead looked quite different from the one he'd glanced through that morning while waiting for Jim to get dressed. "Look at the date," she told Tom, handing him the paper.

Tom took the paper in his hands and did as he was told. April 23, 2945.

"That's right, Tom," Sarah said from beside the fireplace, where she was striking a match to light the waiting logs. "Congratulations, you've come nine hundred years into the future."

"This is a joke, right?" Tom was frustrated.

"I can't blame you for believing so," Sarah told him gently, sitting again on the bed. "But when you get up tomorrow, you'll be more than welcome to have a look around the town and you'll see it isn't." She smiled at Tom, who at last responded in kind. "Now, like I said, I have a million questions for you about the twenty-first century. But first I guess I'd better answer a few things for you. First of all, Margarethe. She's what we call a sensor. She has a unique gift, found in very few women and extremely few men in our time, to guard the doors to the past."

"Doors to the past?"

"There are a few scattered throughout the world, Tom, including one just off the coast of Mascawad on what used to be dry land in your time. Today it lands in the ocean, and that's how you ended up there. They were apparently created somehow during the Hot Era, when most of our ancestors had fled to the far north and a very few stubborn people insisted on staying behind. Those who did not perish in the miserable polluted heat, gained a sort of supernatural connection with the land, at least that is our best guess. Most of us can't sense or use the doors to the past. I can't. No one in Mascawad can except Margarethe, actually. Her family was among the few ancient Maine families who stayed here in the Hot Era -- oh, I guess I should tell you about the Hot Era, actually."

"Please."

"It started most likely during your lifetime, Tom. Global warming was what you called it then, I believe?"

"That's right," Tom said. "Everyone knows about global warming."

"Well, yes," Sarah continued with a touch of sadness now. "Everybody knew about it, but as you probably know, nobody did anything about it until it was too late. And by sometime toward the end of your century, Tom, a catastrophe of some sorts came about. A heat-wave like no one today can imagine, they say. The earth just couldn't take all humanity's abuse anymore. Even when things were approaching the point of no return, they say, too many people just refused to see what was before their eyes until the oceans rose up. And they rose, Tom. Several miles of coastline from your time, have been underwater ever since. That's why you fell through a door on dry land and ended up in the ocean."

"Good heavens." Tom felt newly ashamed of his job. But no one here and now needed to know about that.

"Extremely few of us know just what happened next or how many millions perished as a result. Today that information is known only to the highest of scholars, and they are sworn to secrecy, for it would be of no use for us to know just how horrid it all was now that we have succeeded in putting those nightmares in the past. For generations now we have worked very hard to stay in harmony with the land, and there is too much risk of people glorifying the evils of the past that nearly wiped us out. Even as it is, there is talk of reviving so very many of the creature comforts that nearly destroyed the environment in ancient times. Some things are best lost to history."

Tom was near tears. If it was a joke, it certainly wasn't a very funny one, especially as he recalled his own rationalizations for his environment-killing job. Was this all a cosmic joke from his conscience?

"What we do know is that most of the survivors had to head for the far north. Canada, Siberia, Greenland, and a few other places. Very few were brave enough to stay in their homelands and adapt to the new climate and the new topography from the rising oceans. Many who did stay perished. It was centuries before many great cities from your time were fit for humanity again. In any event, Margarethe's ancestors are among the few who stayed, and somehow they have maintained a bond with your era that allows access to our door to the past. Somehow."

"Then Margarethe brought me here?"

"In a manner of speaking, Tom."

"Why? It's not like I was going to hurt any of you from the past or anything."

"Perhaps that's why she brought you here, Tom. Certainly it's why she didn't kill you."