“Please work…goddamn you!” I slammed the wrench into the cylindrical author of my doom–a particle accelerator that had catapulted me through time.
Whether it had thrown my molecules forwards or backwards, I couldn’t figure nor did it matter. My quest to uncover who had murdered Doc Allenstein, the brainiac who’d uncovered a possible cure for the common cold, had led to a sleek campus science lab. I should have turned around instead of entering. In retrospect, I should have realized that its state of the art toys would spell my doom.
I shifted the backpack I always wore. Paranoia had its uses and right now it was saving me from death. Snow fell, blanketing the flat, featureless terrain in white. I stamped my feet to get the blood circulating.
Feeling warmer after indulging in a spate of pacing–or rather limping–I turned over my options. They lay like playing cards dealt by fate and bad luck but if I was lucky, I might still pull a victory from this snowy defeat.
The fact that a device twin to the one that had sent me here sat perched on its three-legged base kept me calm. It had a limited amount of buttons. Thus one of them would send me either home or somewhere with nicer weather.
The sulfurous scent of onion slapped me as a stinging wind gusted past. When it died down and I stopped being blinded by blowing snow, I saw a wheezing sherpa with a red walkie-talkie.
“What are you doing here?” asked the newcomer right before I decked him.
That fur-trimmed man was the one who’d sent me here to get the me off the scent. Whenever that guy woke up, he’d send me back and then we’d have a wide ranging discussion about murdering good doctors. I always get my man.
More Detective Pagasmo stories: The Boxes Are Doors, Descending into Trouble, Epistemology, Novitiate, Lulled by Rhymes, News, Clues and Howitzers, Mixed Media, No Truth in Quotes, Haiku Hunt, Random Risks, Freeze Frame, The Mark of Destiny, Detective Pagasmo in Playing Dead, Detective Pagasmo.