Prisoner in Time (Time travel) Read online

  PRISONER IN TIME

  Christopher David Petersen

  Copyright 2013 Christopher David Petersen

  Published Christopher David Petersen

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Back to Top

  Two autos raced upon their destiny. The irony of life’s tragedy had come full circle.

  Chapter 1

  The Desperate Surgery – Part I:

  Year: 2033

  Darkness masked the unseen film that coated Main Street, as the rains poured down from the sky. Heavy torrents drifted across the blacktop in sheets, completely blocking one’s vision through the frantic wipers. Rotating across the windshield at their highest speed, the flimsy blades were no match for the sheer volume of water.

  Heading east along Main Street, a young man gripped the wheel and squinted as he stared intently through the windshield. With each pass of the wiper blades, he momentarily lost view of the road. In seconds, the field cleared briefly and he nervously scanned the path ahead of him. With the lines in the road mostly obscured, he could only guess he was situated correctly in his lane.

  Heading west along Main Street, another young man rested his hand at the top of the steering wheel and reached for the buttons on his radio. Dividing his attention between road and radio, his concern for safety was replaced by his desire for music. Fumbling with the buttons, he depressed one and listened, then turned up the sound to drown out the loud deafening pelt of rain that echoed down from the roof from inside the truck.

  As he returned his stare through the windshield, his eyes narrowly missed the pot-hole in the road. He felt his left rear tire roll through the depression and the sudden impact of the hole sent a shock wave up through the bed of the truck, shifting it slightly from its course. Instinctively, he turned the wheels in the direction of the skid, only to overcorrect. Instantly the rear of the truck skidded in the opposite direction. With each turn to correct, the oscillations grew in intensity and he now fought to control the ever growing crisis.

  Suddenly, a burst from the sky sent a wall of water that covered the road and reduced visibility to mere feet. Seconds later, the rain briefly subsided and for a moment, both drivers could see each other.

  Traveling east, the young man gasped at the sight of the truck as its bed crossed the centerline and obstructed his lane. Quickly, he steered to the right to avoid the collision.

  Traveling west, the other young man gasped as he felt his truck skid out of control. His heart rate spiked and he burst out in beads of sweat as he frantically struggled to gain control of his truck. Through his side window, he caught the headlights of oncoming traffic. A sickening feeling rushed through his body as he realized the helplessness of his situation.

  The eastbound traveler hit his brakes in reflex. Fear raged within him as he tried to steer away from the oncoming mass of steel. With an inch of water standing across the road, his tires barely made contact and began to hydroplane. Hurling straight ahead, the truck loomed larger in his windshield as the two vehicles closed the distance upon each other.

  Perception of time seemed to slow momentarily. Mere feet from each other, the light pole that shined from above, illuminated their vehicles. The eastbound driver stared intently through his windshield and spotted the look of shock upon the other driver’s face. With his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth contorted in an unnatural state, it was obvious the driver had let out a fearful scream, only to be heard within his own truck. The westbound driver stared through his side window, his eyes glued to the face of the other driver. He could see the look of fright that registered across the other man’s face. As the surreal became reality, he let out a guttural scream in defeat.

  The impact was thunderous and destructive. The westbound driver’s truck skidded into the front left corner of the eastbound car. Instantly, the car spun toward the truck and continued its impact, broadside. Metal collapsed, glass shattered and bones broke as the vehicles crushed around their inhabitants. Blunt force trauma created internal injuries as the mangled wrecks bounced off each other, sending them careening away in opposite directions.

  The eastbound car rolled onto its side and skidded, coming to rest in the middle of the road. The westbound truck rocketed off into a ditch, flipped over several times, then landed on its roof in a nearby parking lot, narrowly missing parked vehicles.

  For a moment, all was quiet… all except for the sound of rain on twisted metal.

  Thirty minutes later:

  Donned in heavy rain gear, emergency personnel and police alike lined Main Street as they rushed to evacuate the two victims in the driving rain. Having used the jaws-of-life to extricate the man from the car, they carefully placed him on a gurney and loaded him into the back of the waiting ambulance. Immediately, the paramedics got to work.

  Paramedic Stan Pierce grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and began to cut away the man’s pants. While he worked, Paramedic Allen Singleton cut away the patients shirt. In seconds, both made quick assessments of the young man and immediately identified several areas of concern.

  “Shit, this guy’s in bad shape. I’ve got a left broken arm, probably both bones: the radius and the ulna. His left leg looks broken too in two places: the lower femur and both the tibia and fibula,” PM(Paramedic) Pierce said.

  “Yeah, and look at the contusions in the left side of his chest,” PM(Paramedic) Singleton added.

  “I know, not consistent with seat belts. Probably some internal hemorrhaging,” PM Pierce concurred.

  “Man, the car really crushed him, didn’t it,” PM Singleton said.

  PM Pierce didn’t answer. Looking toward the patients head, he immediately noticed a swollen region about the left ear.

  “Temporal hematoma,” PM Pierce said, now pointing.

  PM Singleton nodded. Leaning over, he flashed a small pen light into each eye.

  “Right pupil is sluggish. Left pupil is nonreactive,” PM Singleton announced in grave tone.

  “Ok, you get the cuff and I’ll do the pulse ox, pulse and temp,” PM Pierce said.

  “I’m on it,” PM Singleton said, already reaching for the blood pressure cuff.

  PM Singleton slipped the cuff over the young man’s right arm and began to pump air into it. PM Pierce placed the pulse oximeter on the patient’s finger and depressed a button to begin its reading. Placing his fingers to the patient’s neck, he began to feel for a pulse.

  “BP’s weak… ninety-five over sixty-five,” PM Singleton said.

  “Pulse ox is weak too: eighty-five, and his pulse is low: about fifty-three beats per minutes,” PM Pierce said. “Temp is ninety-eight point two.”

  “He’s going into shock,” PM Singleton replied, in ominous tone. “I’ll start him on oxygen.”

  “Right, I’ll call Erlanger,” PM Pierce responded, reaching for the mic.

  He depressed the button to the microphone and made his call to the hospital.

  “Rescue 3 to Erlanger,” PM Pierce began.

  He waited momentarily, then heard the hospital’s quick reply, “Go ahead, Rescue 3.”

  “Erlanger, we’re currently en route to your location, ETA: fifteen minutes. We have a c
ode one, level orange: auto accident, young man in his early twenties. Patient’s condition is unstable. He has a large temporal hematoma. Right pupil is sluggish. Left pupil is nonreactive. He has fractures to his left femur, tibia and fibula, fractures to his left radius and ulna, as well as contusions to his left side thorax. His vitals are: BP ninety-five over sixty-five, pulse fifty-three and his pulse ox is eighty-five. We’ve started oxygen and are waiting further instruction.”

  “Copy that, Rescue 3,” Erlanger dispatch responded. “Stand by.”

  Moments later, the speaker roared to life once more.

  “Rescue 3, start an I.V. drip and report any further decline. The trauma team will be waiting in the ER,” dispatch sounded loudly.

  “Copy I.V. Drip,” PM Pierce acknowledged.

  As PM Singleton began the set up for the intravenous line, PM Pierce examined their patient once more. Looking up for a moment, both paramedics’ eyes met as they stopped to read the other’s face. Worry and sadness stared back at one another as they both knew there was little more that they could do.

  “Hang in there Buddy,” PM Singleton said sympathetically to his patient. “You’ll make it.”

  Looking over, PM Pierce nodded grimly, knowing all too well the reality of that statement.

  Thirty minutes later:

  The Boathouse Rotisserie Restaurant, Chattanooga TN

  “Damn rain, every time we come here, we have to sit inside. Just once, I’d like to sit out on that deck and enjoy the view,” the doctor said.

  “Oh honey, it’s not EVERY time we come here. We’ve eaten on the deck a few times. Remember last summer… how beautiful that night was? The stars were shining and the lights from the distant shore shined across the river. It was almost magical,” his wife countered.

  “You almost sound like a Hallmark card,” he joked.

  “Ha Ha, very funny,” she responded. “Besides, this is your favorite restaurant. It doesn’t matter where we sit, just as long as you get your artery-clogging Ribeye steak?”

  “I ordered mine with extra fat,” he chided.

  “That’s real funny, coming from a doctor. You should know better. Why don’t you start eating fish and chicken? They’re so much better for you. Always with the red meat,” she said.

  “That’s categorically untrue. I also eat a lot of desserts too,” he joked further.

  She smiled and shook her head in feigned disgust, then said, “I don’t get it. You eat all the wrong foods and yet you somehow manage to stay so thin. You must have a tape worm hidden somewhere.”

  “It’s not just a tapeworm. I do get a little help from exercise,” he replied.

  “Speaking of which, how many miles did you jog this morning?”

  “Eh, I don’t know… a few I guess. I kind of lose track after a while,” he replied cryptically.

  “Another one of those weeks, huh?” she asked.

  “This week has got to be a record. I had two surgeries for metastatic tumors, one surgery for a Medial Sphenoid Wing Meningioma, and one surgery for a Parapharnyngeal space tumor, not to mention seeing patients at my practice during the week,” he said, his voice now showing the strain of his stress.

  “You do look tired. Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked sincerely.

  “Not unless you know how to crack open a skull and operate on a brain,” he joked.

  They both smiled lovingly at each other for a moment. As he reached across the table to hold her hand, they both became distracted by the approaching waiter.

  “Ah, finally, I’m starving,” he said quietly, out of earshot of the waiter.

  With an aluminum three foot tray held above his shoulder, the waiter stood at the edge of their table, then set it down on a small stand.

  “I believe you ordered the side of beef, Sir?” the waiter joked, setting the plate down in front of the doctor.

  “Half a side. I’m watching my weight,” the doctor shot back in good humor, as he eyed his dinner hungrily.

  “And for you ma’am, the rotisserie chicken,” he said, resting the plate in front of her.

  The waiter stayed for a moment to ensure their needs were met, then headed off to the kitchen.

  “Finally, a decent meal,” the doctor said, speaking while he ate. “I’m so tired of hospital food. Damn, this is good.”

  “Would you care for some chicken? It is delicious,” she asked.

  “What? And taint my palate with that foul squab? NEVER,” he joked.

  “It won’t kill you to try it,” she replied.

  “We’ve been down this road before. It dead ends, remember?”

  “I remember,” she smiled, delicately slicing through her chicken.

  Suddenly, an electronic vibration sounded out from the doctor’s pants pocket. Even with the sound turned to ‘silent’, the noise the cell phone made on vibration mode was loud enough for both to hear.

  “Oh no!” his wife cried out. “Not now. We just started eating.”

  Quickly, he dug the phone from his pocket and stared at the number disapprovingly.

  “Great... just great,” he said, still chewing his food.

  “Maybe you could ignore it… pretend the batteries died.”

  “They call page me unless it’s an emergency, especially this time of the evening,” he said, now resigning himself to his fate.

  He dialed the phone and waited for the line to connect. Glancing up to his wife, he smiled cordially. She stared back in frustration.

  After a few words, he pushed the button to end the call and quickly stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Standing at the edge of the table, he searched for his keys.

  “I’m really sorry about this. I really wanted us to have a nice evening together,” he said, sadness evident in his tone.

  “I know, me too,” she responded simply, her disappointment limiting her words.

  He bent over and kissed her goodbye, then hurried for the exit.

  Fifteen minutes later:

  The doctor burst through the double doors of the operating room. Having changed into his OR scrubs, he quickly prepared himself for surgery.

  “Ok, so what do we have?”

  “Car accident, doctor. Young male, early twenties, TBI (traumatic brain injury). We have the films from his CT scan. It looks like a large subdural hematoma,” assisting Dr. Bill Acosta explained. “His vitals are weak but stable for the moment.”

  Pointing to a region on the film showing the left side of the brain, the doctor said, “There’s significant hemorrhaging of the left temporal lobe extending into the external capsule and across into the frontal lobe. I’m seeing significant mass effect, with a midline shift. It looks like there’s also mixed density in the parenchyma of the temporal lobe.”

  Looking back at the OR team, he said bluntly, “This is bad. Let’s get in there before the pressures grow too high and cause any further damage.”

  Immediately, the team moved to action.

  Surgical Nurse Jenna Taylor carefully cleaned the left temporal region of the patients head with Betadine soap. Ten minutes later, she shaved and sterilized the affected area with a Betadine solution.

  “Ok, let’s secure his head in the Mayfield holder and push anesthesia,” Dr. X ordered respectfully.

  “We’ve got a central line started. Pushing anesthesia and meds now,” anesthesiologist Dr. Matt Haskins called back.

  Dr. X glanced over to the monitors, then the I.V. lines as the anesthesiologist began his work. Looking back to surgical Nurse Taylor, he called to her, “I need a fifty-fifty mixture of point-five percent Marcaine and two percent Lidocaine.”

  Having anticipated his request, Nurse Taylor instantly handed him a syringe. With a nod of approval, Dr. X accepted the anesthetic mixture.

  “I wouldn’t trade you for a hundred nurses,” Dr. X complimented, now smiling through his surgical mask.

  Turning his attention back to the patient, assisting Dr. Acosta had already adjusted the patient’s head, turning i
t toward the right to expose the left side. Grabbing the Mayfield holder, he positioned the three contact pins around the skull and waited for doctor X to administer the anesthetic.

  “I’m ready,” Dr. X announced simply.

  Quickly, Dr. X injected the anesthetic solution into the skin of the patient’s skull just under the three contact pins of the Mayfield holder. Moments later, as Dr. Acosta held the holder steady, Dr. X screwed the pins through the skin and into the skull. With the head now fixed within the appliance, he fastened the holder to the table, securing it firmly for surgery.

  “Ok, let’s place the neck and shoulder supports. Are all tools and instrumentation in place?”