Gone To Gaia

When one door opens, another closes

Part 1

Professor Harold Upjohn’s attention was distracted by a lightning flash which briefly brightened the classroom. His gaze turned to the north facing window. He smiled as he studied the black cloud forming over the mountain beyond the city. His thoughts turned to the adventure he knew awaited him in Gaia. Rainfall in the eastern portion of Washington State was rare, and thus, his opportunities to explore the parallel universe of Gaia were few and far between. With the approaching thunderstorm, he expected the formation of the quantum portal in the gorge under the Gateway Bridge. A lightning strike would provide the energy required to open the portal.

“Dr. Upjohn, what do you mean by that?’

Harold’s eyes snapped back to the faces of his students. Eighteen pairs of eyes were focused on him, and he had no recollection of what he had said.

“Stan,” Harold addressed the student who had spoken, “what part confuses you?” Answer a question with a question when you don’t have a clue.

“By definition, the Universe encompasses everything, but you said…” Stan glanced at his notebook, and read, “The Universe, as we know it, is not big enough.” The student’s focus returned to Harold. “What do you mean?”

Harold drew a breath. “By definition, the Universe is everything within our purview. The mathematics of quantum mechanics tells us there are other, completely separate universes parallel to this one.” He slapped his hand down on the desk. “This is the Multiverse which encompasses our Universe and the others. Each universe in the Multiverse began with the same initial conditions, but the equations of quantum mechanics say the universes will differentiate over time. This is the mathematical proof of the existence of free will in a deterministic universe.”

Sally raised her hand, and Harold gestured for her to speak. “How, exactly, does a parallel universe work?” Sally was an attractive blonde who single-handedly disproved the dumb blonde myth. If Harold imagined having an affair with one of his students, Sally would be the one he’d choose. Hands down, no doubt about it. However, of course, he would never act upon the impulse.

“In our Universe, we can perceive three dimensions — left and right,” he held his arms out, “back and forth,” he stepped back and then forward, “and, up and down.” He rose up on his tiptoes, and then settled back down. “But, imagine there are other dimensions we can’t perceive. Perhaps an infinite number of dimensions. To illustrate this, let’s consider a two-dimensional universe.”

Harold tore a sheet of paper from his notebook and held it parallel with the floor. “Imagine if you will, this paper is infinite in the left-right and back-forth dimensions. The surface of the paper is then a two-dimensional universe. Add to this imaginary universe a colony of ants living on the paper. They go about their boring lives walking on the paper, unaware of anything not on the paper’s surface.” Harold raised the paper and peered at its underside. “Add to this, a second colony of ants living on the underside of the paper. As the paper is infinite, the two ant colonies never have any unawareness of each other. However, as you see, they live very close together, separated by a tiny fraction of an inch, in a third dimension — that is the up-down dimension — which the ants cannot perceive.” Harold let the paper fall to the desk. “Thus, consider there are more dimensions we cannot perceive. Only an infinitesimally small distance in these dimensions separates us from the parallel universes.”

Another student blurted out, “You mean, Dr. Upjohn, there is no possible interaction with these parallel universes? If this is the case, what is the point of discussing them?”

Harold was the youngest physics professor at the university; however, he held a secret. Unknown to anyone, he was the world’s authority on parallel universes. He had learned how to cross from the Earth’s Universe to that of Gaia. He had not yet fully solved the mathematical equations, but when he did, he would be able to control the passage to any universe.

Professor Upjohn cleared his throat. “Just as black holes slowly leak their mass, quantum mechanics teaches us that some movement along these hidden dimensions is possible. With the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, the uncertainty in the position of some sub-atomic particles is greater than the size of the particles. These particles could exist in both our Universe and another simultaneously.”

Harold picked up the paper representing the two-dimensional universe of the ants. “Consider if a hole appeared in the paper. The ants living in the two universes could cross back and forth. Large, dense atomic nuclei, such as that of the uranium atom, could warp space. As our Universe is closer to a parallel universe than the size of an atom, two such uranium nuclei could be closer together along the fourth dimension than they are in a normal metal lattice. Professor Loran Grant is studying the possibility that the warped space between these two nuclei could allow particles to pass between them — between the two parallel universes.” He cleared his throat. “This could be the explanation of spontaneous fission of uranium-238 atoms.”

♦♦♦

The door to Dr. Loran Grant’s office was open. Harold knocked on the door frame. She looked up from the papers on her desk. At first her expression was blank, but after a moment her gray eyes brightened and a small smile graced her lips.

“Harold,” she said, “please come in.”

The two physics professors did not know each other well. Loran was several years older and an associate professor. Harold, with only two years of teaching behind him, was at the bottom of the academic totem pole. Technically, he was a lecturer, not a professor.

Loran was divorced while Harold had never married. At the department Christmas party, they had been the only two single people. As neither had arrived with a date, they tended to gravitate toward each other. They had danced more than once. He recalled telling her about his childhood in Montana. After he had mastered the cultural requisites of hunting, fishing, and horseback riding, he had gone to college in Boston. After eight years, he had earned his PhD and returned to the West. However, since the Christmas party, they had rarely spoken.

“Won’t you sit down?” Loran invited. “What can I do for you?”

“Thank you, uh, Loran.” Harold sat on the edge of the chair. “If you’re not busy, I would like to discuss something with you.”

“I’m not that busy. Just grading papers.” She waved a hand over her desk. Harold observed the neatly arranged piles of paper. Following his gaze, she straightened the already perfectly aligned piles. “What’s up?” She put her red pen down, precisely parallel with the edges of the papers.

“Well, it’s not my area of expertise,” Harold began. His primary research was in feedback effects used in computer models for long term climate predictions. However, Loran had published papers addressing parallel universes. “But, you know how it is when a problem gets stuck in your head.”

“Yes.” Loran chuckled. “The bane of a physicist; ya just gotta solve those problems.” She mimicked a southern drawl.

“Right. Anyway, I’ve been preoccupied with quantum mechanical effects on the interface between parallel universes, and that is your area of expertise. Hence, I was hoping we could discuss my idea.”

He handed her a folder. She studied the sheets of paper, and the equations they contained, for several minutes.

“Hmm, yes, this is very interesting. I’ve not seen this approach before.” She swiveled her chair around and selected a book from the shelf behind her desk. Thumbing through it, she muttered, “Ah, I thought so.” Using the red pen she had been using to correct her students’ work, she made several notations on Harold’s equations.

He suddenly felt small, as though he was once again a student being corrected by a teacher, but then he remembered it was Loran’s expertise which had drawn him to her office.

“Your use of this electro-magnetic transition is quite interesting,” she continued. “And, I can see how it led to your conclusion, but there is no experimental support for such a quantum magnetic ripple along the fourth dimension.”

“Actually, there is.”

“What?” she asked, looking up from the papers and staring into his eyes.

Harold wet his lips, swallowed, and worked his jaw back and forth. He was trying to find the words to express what he had experienced without appearing to be a complete buffoon.

“What did you say?” she prodded.

“In my equations,” Harold pointed toward his papers, now resting on her desk haphazardly atop the neat piles, “you see how I’ve developed the magnetic helix.”

“I see it. Rather similar to what occurs on the surface of the Sun, which causes solar flares.”

“Exactly. However, the magnetic loops on the Sun are just fragments of one arch, whereas I’ve developed an entire helix.”

“Yes, the solution to these equations does indicate such a magnetic field. Two fixed but opposing magnetic fields connected with a strong current could produce what you are suggesting, but to affect the quantum transfer of material along the fourth dimension, from one universe to another, well…” She shook her head.

“I’m not speaking of anything so enormous as a solar flare. Yes, the energy required is large, but if the area of space-time affected is, say, two meters across, then it is realistic.” He reached across the desk and flipped one sheet over. He tapped a finger on an equation in the middle of the paper.

She studied it. She made a few more red marks, and then leaned back in her chair. She formed a steeple with her fingers.

“I’m not saying I agree with your result just yet.” She drew in a breath. “But this does deserve additional study.”

“It’s real,” Harold blurted out. “I’ve seen such a porthole. I’ve traveled in the fourth dimension to a parallel universe.”

Loran stood. She walked to the door and closed it.

“What did you say?”

“It’s true.” Harold briefly stammered as he said, “Give me a few minutes of your attention, and I’ll explain how it happened.”

Loran swallowed. Skepticism filled her face, but she said, “Go on.”

“Well, I discovered this magical gateway to Gaia quite by accident.”

“Gaia?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s just the name I gave the parallel universe. It’s Greek for Mother Earth goddess. Anyway, I’m an amateur geologist — ”

“What does that have to do with it?”

Harold held up his hands in the stop gesture. “Please, I’m going back to the beginning. I had been studying the strata of the gorge north of town for more than a year. In a manner similar to the Grand Canyon, the gorge was cut by the rapidly melting ice at the end of the last ice age. The exposed rock faces of the small canyon are impressive features. By happenstance, I observed my compass didn’t accurately indicate north while in the bottom of the gorge. I looked into this phenomenon and learned that the exposed bedrock at the bottom of the gorge had been formed during a period in Earth’s history when the north and south magnetic poles were reversed from what they are today. You are familiar with the pole reversal anomalies?”

“Yes,” Loran answered, “as I recall, these magnetic pole reversals have frequently occurred throughout Earth’s four billion year history.”

“That’s correct. The bedrock of the gorge contains a significant amount of iron, and this iron was magnetized with the opposite polarity from our current north-south magnetic orientation. Thus, the compass responds to this magnetic field at the bottom of the gorge.”

“And, this means what to this conversation?”

Harold waved his hand in an attempt to silence Loran’s interruptions. “This seemingly insignificant fact had been of no importance to the builders of the new Gateway suspension bridge which spans the gorge. The iron support pillars were anchored into the bedrock in the normal fashion.

“Now remember, ten thousand years ago, a mighty river swept down the gorge, but only a minor stream remains today. The mountains to the east were formed by huge uplifts of portions of the Earth’s crust. This brought many minerals to the surface, including gold. This gold is washed downstream, and some of it is in the creek in the gorge. Panning for gold is a side hobby of mine, somewhat related to my interest in geology.”

“Gold, you are trying to strike it rich?’

“No-no, it’s just something fun to do. Gold dust is fairly common, but it is hard to collect in significant quantities. I’ve got a few nuggets too.” Harold realized he was rambling far afield from his topic. “Anyway, this is what I was doing in the gorge that one most significant afternoon. I was panning for gold when a thunderstorm came up. I didn’t think the storm would last long, and I had a small tent with me, so I set up the tent on a large flat boulder near the bridge. I was watching Nature’s fireworks display while sipping some spiced bourbon from a flask. And, I was watching the water level in the stream. A flash flood would ruin my day.”

Harold chuckled, and then continued, “So, I was looking up at the bridge, the Gateway Bridge. It looked spectacular in the flashing thunderbolts. Rain trickled off the cable strands supporting the roadway between the two iron pillars. With each flash of lightning, the numerous, taut cables appeared to be something Spiderman might have produced.

“And, then it happened.”

“What happened?” she asked, as though Harold might consider withholding the explanation.

Harold continued as though she had said nothing. “A bolt of lightning struck one of the iron pillars. Of course, the bridge was designed to withstand lightning strikes. The immense electrical energy was harmlessly funneled down into the ground. Looking up at the top, I saw, St. Elmo’s Fire around the top of the pillar, but this did not behave in a rational manner.

“Forming something similar to the helix shape of a DNA molecule, the plasma from the St. Elmo’s Fire flowed down the pillar toward the ground near the base of the rock, upon which, I was sitting. In a split second, I understood what was happening.”

“I should hope so,” Loran interrupted. “You’re a physicist. Anyone can see that the top of the iron pillar was influenced by the Earth’s magnetic field while the bottom was embedded in the bedrock with the opposite magnetic orientation. Added to this, the electrons from the lightning strike flowing along the pillar created a third magnetic field. The combination of these effects created the helix; this is more or less what happens on the surface of the Sun.”

“Exactly. When the plasma hit the ground, it formed what appeared to be ball lightning. I’d never seen ball lightning before. Actually, I’ve doubted its existence. But, there it was not more than twenty feet from where I sat. It formed a glowing sphere hovering a few inches above the ground, under the bridge. I watched it for a second or two. Apparently, it was being held in place by the contradicting magnetic fields.

“This is when I stood up to get a better view. Suddenly, I slipped on the wet rock. I stumbled and fell off the boulder. I rolled down the slope the few feet to the glowing ball. I passed right through it.”

Harold paused to draw a breath. His heart was racing, just as it had been on that fateful day.

“It was quite a shock.”

Loran laughed. “Was that pun intentional?”

“No.” Harold chuckled. “It was like what I suspect being shot with a Taser must feel like. My body convulsed, and it knocked the wind out of me. I rolled on the ground and stretched out my arms and legs thinking I was lucky to have survived the ball lightning strike. Then, I opened my eyes.”

Harold swallowed. She remained quiet.

“The rain was gone; the sky was a bright blue. Sitting up, I saw my tent was gone as well. It could have been blown down by the wind, but it was nowhere in sight. This was the moment I realized the Gateway Bridge was also gone.”

He paused. Again, Loran did not interrupt.

“I stood and scanned the gorge. All the rock formations appeared as I remembered them, but no bridge, no pathway, and no tent. I remember asking out loud, ‘Where am I?’, but, of course, no one answered.”

“Sounds like Dorothy in the Land of Oz,” Loran said. “But, you were teleported to a parallel universe.”

“Indeed. At the time, I was thinking it was wormhole which had sent me to another planet. I had not yet tumbled to the notion of a parallel universe. Anyway, I examined the spot on the ground where the ball lightning, the portal, had been in our Universe. I could see the air still shimmering. It was a six-foot diameter ball of shimmering air. It looked like the air rising above hot asphalt.

“I had lost track of the time. I had no idea how long I had been there, but I estimated it was less than a minute. It was impossible to imagine ball lightning remaining stable for more than a few seconds. In an instant, I decided there was only one way to get back home. I stepped into the shimmering sphere. Again, I felt the gut twisting shock, but when I opened my eyes I was back under the bridge. It was once again raining. But, the ball lightning sphere was gone.

“I went back inside the tent and finished the bourbon.”

“Wow, a parallel universe where the Gateway Bridge doesn’t exist,” Loran muttered.

“This is not my field of study, but I do know quantum mechanics, and I have read about parallel universes starting with the 1957 paper by Hugh Everett. This paper showed that the consistency of quantum mechanics requires the existence of an infinite number of parallel universes. I did some work with the equations, and realized the contrasting magnetic fields between the Earth and the bedrock existed in both universes. The iron pillars of the bridge in our Universe created a disturbance when struck by lightning. This opened a portal, allowing passage along the fourth dimension. Thus, I was able to travel from our Universe to Gaia, although I moved no further than the diameter of an atom along the fourth dimension.”

Harold reached out and tapped the papers still in Loran’s hands. “I reasoned all this out later, of course, but only a few minutes after the lightning struck, it did it again. The whole thing happened all over again. This time, I intentionally stepped into the ball lightning portal. Everything in Gaia was the same, including the three rocks I used to mark the location of the portal. Did I mention that?”

“No.”

“Before I returned from Gaia the first time, I use three rocks to make a triangle where the sphere of shimmering air, the portal, was located. These rocks were still there when I passed through the second time. Thus, I figured it was the same place. Mind you I was not thinking about it as a parallel universe at this time.”

“So what happened on the second trip?’

“Nothing, I was still afraid to spend more than a few seconds in Gaia. All I did the second time was look around enough to ensure I remembered everything correctly. Then I came back.”

She studied the equation on Harold’s papers again.

“I have pictures,” Harold said.

“What?”

“During the second trip through the portal, I remembered the camera phone in my pocket. I snapped a few pictures of Gaia before stepping back through to our Universe.”

He retrieved his phone and tapped its screen a few times. He handed the phone to Loran.

“Here are side-by-side pictures of our Universe and Gaia. On the left you see the bridge and the overcast sky. On the right, no bridge and clear blue sky, but the rock formations of the gorge are identical.”

“This isn’t really proof,” she said. “This could be faked.”

“Of course. I’m not saying I have any proof. I’m just presenting some physical evidence to support what you know to be mathematically possible.” He pointed to the papers filled with his equations.

“Do you have more pictures?”

“Yes.”

She walked around the desk holding the phone. He stood behind her with his left arm around her body, steadying her left arm. With his right hand, he flicked the phone’s screen to scroll through the pictures. As their hands touched, she leaned back into his arms. They were close; their bodies touching. Harold swallowed the lump which formed in his throat as her warmth flowed into him.

Harold said, “This is a picture looking up the gorge wall to where the Visitors’ Center should be. Notice, there is no trail leading out of the gorge in Gaia.” He flicked the screen again. “This one is the far side of the gorge. You can see a portion of the bridge only in the picture of our Universe, but notice the rock formations are exactly the same in both universes.”

“How do you know you traveled to the same parallel universe both times you entered the portal? The distance between parallel universes along the fourth dimension is on the order of the diameter of an atom. You could easily have moved slightly different amounts and gone to different universes.”

“The gorge looked the same, without the bridge, and the three rocks I used to mark the portal were there the second and third time I crossed.”

“Three times! You crossed three times?”

“Yes, remember the thunderstorm night before last? I did it again.”

“My God! Tell me about this third crossing.”

Harold smiled. He realized she believed him.

“Between the first thunderstorm and the second, I worked on these equations.” Harold indicated a section on one of the sheets of paper. “I reasoned the magnetic helix has a natural impedance which slowed the discharge of the lightning energy. As a consequence, the portal would naturally be open for several seconds. However, when I crossed over, I created a mass imbalance between the two universes. As minuscule as this imbalance was, this held the portal open.”

“I see,” Loran said, studying the equation. “However, quantum effects would cause the atoms around the portal to move in the opposite direction. Eventually, the mass imbalance would correct itself, and the portal would close — perhaps with you on the other side.”

“Indeed, this was my concern. I had no idea of the values to assign these coefficients,” he again indicated the equation, “but I reasoned it would take several minutes. Thus, on the third trip I attempted to climb the canyon wall, to see what the city looked like, but it wasn’t there.”

Loran’s phone alarm chimed. She silenced it.

“I have a class now,” she said. “We need to talk more about this.” She handed him a card. “Come to my house at five, and we’ll continue. Can I keep these?” Without waiting for his answer, she scooped his pages back into their folder and tucked it under her arm. As she exited the office, she said over her shoulder, “I’ll cook dinner.”

♦♦♦

After his last student appointment at 4:15 p.m., Harold drove to his apartment and changed into casual clothes. He was unsure how to approach the experience of being alone with Loran in her house. He rarely dated; he had little experience with women. However, he reasoned this was not a date. They would be two colleagues discussing detailed scientific principles.

Nonetheless, on his way to Loran’s house, he stopped at a nearby winery and purchased a bottle.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking the wine bottle from his hand as he entered the house.

She was dressed in black exercise pants, which adhered to every curve of her body, and a loose-fitting, yellow t-shirt. She was barefoot. He followed her to the kitchen where a previously frozen lasagna sat in its black plastic tray on a hot pad.

“When I said I would cook dinner, I may have implied too much,” she said, spooning helpings onto two plates. “But, the salad is fresh.” She handed him a cork screw. “Why don’t you un-cork the wine.”

“Sure,” he replied. “I’m not much of a cook myself.”

He was glad he had not selected a cheaper wine with a screw top. As he twisted out the cork, she produced two wineglasses. He filled the glasses, and they began to eat.

“Tell me more about your third visit to Gaia,” she said. “You said, the city wasn’t there.”

“Well, I may have implied too much. As you recall, the thunderstorm was at night. I had a flashlight, and I had intended to climb out of the gorge to see the city. But, the path wasn’t there, and the climb was difficult. I didn’t get very far before I decided to turn around. I was concerned about the length of time the portal would stay open. However, there was no glow like you see from the city lights in our Universe. Thus, I concluded, the city wasn’t there.”

“You know,” she said, “despite the similarities you observed on the three visits, there is no assurance you visited the exact same universe each time. What I mean is, there are other copies of you in other universes which are more similar to our own than is Gaia. For example, on your first visit, you marked the location of the portal with three stones in universe — let’s call it X-11. Simultaneously, another Harold Upjohn was marking universe X-12 in exactly the same way. Then, on your second or third trip, you went to universe X-12 instead of X-11, and you found the three stones left by the other Harold. Do you follow?”

“Yes, I do understand. It would be a hoot, if two Harolds went to the same universe at the same time.” He chuckled. Meeting himself would be unsettling, but if the two bodies happened to occupy the same space at the same time, it would be disastrous.

“Hmm, it would be more than a hoot.” She laughed. “Nonetheless, it is quite interesting that the universe or universes you visited are so dissimilar to our own. They must have begun to diverge a long time ago. In those universes, you and I may not exist at all.”

With the meal finished, Loran cleaned up the leftovers while Harold loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Although it was only a third full, she started the machine. Taking the remaining wine and the folder containing Harold’s papers, she led him to the living room. He followed with the wineglasses.

Sitting on the couch, she arranged the papers on the coffee table. She retrieved a spiral bound notebook and began scribbling her own equations.

“Let’s start with the representation of the dimensions of the magnetic helix. Your work indicates it is from this which determines the resonance frequency, which in turn determines how far into the fourth dimension the quantum portal extends. Putting our heads together, we should be able to nail down the coefficients for this translation.”

They worked an hour and finished the wine. She opened a second bottle from her cupboard, and they worked an hour more. As time passed, more than their minds came together. In the beginning, they had been sitting a foot apart on the couch. By the end of the period, their hips and shoulders were touching.

When the solution materialized, Loran exclaimed, “Eureka,” and turned to hug Harold.

He felt the firm nipple of her breast press into his arm. He realized she was not wearing a bra.

She bussed his lips, and then said, “It is so sexy when science reveals a secret of the Universe to us. Or, in this case, a secret of the multiverse.”

She snuggled closer and stared into his eyes. Her fingers traced along his jawbone, then she pressed her lips to his again, with greater urgency. She snaked her tongue into his mouth. Leaning against his body, she pushed him down onto the couch. Holding the kiss, she followed his body, lying atop him.

Breaking the kiss, she drew a breath and sat up. In a single motion, she whipped off her t-shirt to reveal her breasts. Taking his hands, she cupped them. Using his fingers, she pinched the already peaked nipples. While he continued to caress her breasts, she unbuttoned his shirt and tweaked his tiny nipples.

Slipping from the couch, she knelt beside him. She opened his belt and fly; she pulled his trousers and jockey shorts down to his knees.

She seemed to be in a hurry.

As she pulled a condom from inside the waistband of her skin-tight pants, Harold realized none of this performance was as spontaneous as it appeared. She had planned the sexual encounter from the beginning. Harold was not a virgin, but he was uncomfortable pursuing women. He was grateful she had taken the initiative. He was glad she was prepared with the necessary protection.

Tugging her pants down, Loran kicked them off. She was not wearing panties either. She jumped back atop him, straddling him.

Collapsing over his torso, she whispered, “I want you so badly. It’s been a year since I had a man.” She kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

Harold didn’t care if she was telling the truth, and he wasn’t going to tell her how long he had been celibate. Reaching around her body, he closed his fingers around the cheeks of her bottom. He held her tightly as she rode him.

Later, as they lie entwined, panting on the couch, Loran whispered, “Next thunderstorm I’m going with you to Gaia. We’ll do the calculations to make sure, but I bet the portal will stay open an hour or more. We’ll safely spend thirty minutes exploring.”

As her breathing returned to normal, Loran rested her face on his chest.

“We’ll be famous,” she said. “At first we’ll have to use the portal Mother Nature has given us, but soon enough we’ll work out how to control the quantum void between parallel universes. We’ll build a machine and direct our travel along the fourth dimension at will.”

She drew a breath.

“We’ll be famous. Our names and our contribution to science will never be forgotten.”

It had not been Harold’s intention to enlist a partner in the exploration of Gaia, but her proposal made sense. He couldn’t solve the equations by himself. He would make preparations, and when the next thunderstorm appeared, they would go to the Gateway Bridge together.

♦♦♦

For two weeks, Harold and Loran virtually lived together. They spent the days working at the University, and their evenings in Loran’s house developing the equations for the quantum portal. After they made love each night, Harold usually returned to his apartment; however, sometimes he slept over.

“I think we should make a practice run,” Loran said, one evening after their lovemaking. She was still astride him in the cowboy position.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Darling, there have been no thunderstorms for two weeks. One could appear any day now, and we should make a practice run to the bridge. We don’t want to be caught unprepared when a storm comes.”

“Yes, that’s a great idea. How about Sunday evening? We can spend the day preparing, and then go late in the afternoon. The tourists will dissipate as darkness falls, and we will have the place to ourselves.”

Harold prepared two small backpacks with various things they might need: water, snacks, flashlights, change of clothes, and rain ponchos. Hers was a light green color while his was blue. He stored them in the backseat of his car.

Sunday, Loran came to his apartment. No matter how much time he spent straightening up, she always wrinkled her nose at the sight of his place. Taking his car, they first collected cheeseburgers and fries from a drive-through burger joint, and then parked in the visitors’ lot beside the bridge. Harold stuffed their food in his backpack, as Loran scooped her backpack out of the backseat.

“This way.” Harold led the way to the trailhead. He noticed she was wearing jogging shoes, and he made a mental note to get her some hiking boots. The rubber-soled shoes were fine for the smooth pathway, but there were no paths in Gaia. There were a few people in the gorge. A woman was sunbathing while her male companion fished. Several others where hiking along the stream. “This is it.” Harold pointed to a spot under the bridge. “See these three rocks? I put them there to mark the location of the quantum portal.”

Loran studied the ground, and then hesitantly stepped into the triangle. She laughed at her nervousness when nothing happened.

Harold stepped onto a large flat boulder a few feet from the spot. “This is where I had my tent, and I think we should sit here and have our picnic.”

They sipped from the water bottles and ate their meal. As twilight encroached, everyone else left. They laid back and watched the stars come out. They kissed. The moon rose and bathed them in its cold glow. Before long, Harold had Loran’s jeans down, and his fingers teased her clit. She stood and bunched her jeans and panties around her knees. She bent over the rock. Harold gently pressed down on her back, laying her flat.

He rather liked this sex position, taking her from behind. Most of the times they had made love, she wanted to be on top.

She pushed her bottom higher. In the dim light, he admired her body. He eased his hips forward.

“Oh,” she groaned, as he entered her.

She squirmed, but did not resist as he held her down. She moved in concert with him.

“Oh, yes. Do that again,” Loran moaned.

When they returned their clothes to their proper places, they sat on the flat rock and watched the stream flow by. The only sound was the light whisper of the wind and the gurgling water. The sounds of the city didn’t penetrate the gorge.

“Loran, since there is no bridge and no city in Gaia, do you think it might be a place where Western civilization never made to America? I mean, might Washington State in Gaia still be inhabited by primitive Indians, buffalo, and the like?” Harold asked.

“It could be. Perhaps Gaia is a universe where humans never evolved into existence.”

“Ugh, that’s depressing.” Harold considered their plan for a moment, then added, “Do you think I should buy a gun?”

Loran chuckled. “I was considering that too, but there’s no need to buy one. I already have one.”

“Really, why?”

She shrugged, but did not answer.

Later, they returned to the car and then to Harold’s apartment. After kissing goodnight, Loran drove to her house.

They would wait for a thunderstorm.

Part Two

Detective Sergeant Godfrey Chambers, George to anyone who knew him, placed the telephone handset in the cradle. Standing, he tapped his junior partner, Jack Hayes, on the shoulder.

“Chief wants to see us,” George said.

“We have a case?” Jack asked.

George ignored the rhetorical question and continued walking to the office in the corner of the detective squad room. The two men entered the room. Lieutenant Sam Digger remained seated. He did not offer the two chairs facing his desk to the men.

“You wanted to see us, L-T,” Jack asked, a little too eager. He had only been a detective for two months.

“Here.” He passed a folder to George. “Missing person. Loran Grant, she’s a professor at the University — a physics professor. Her sister, Mrs. Jenny Robertson, reported her missing three days ago.”

It was Monday, and George counted back three days to Friday. Most likely, he reasoned, the woman was on a weekend fling.

Lt. Digger continued, “The sister said Dr. Grant was at work on Wednesday, but didn’t answer her phone that night, or any time since. The physics department secretary said Dr. Grant had not requested sick time or vacation time; however, there was no sign of trouble in Dr. Grant’s house.”

George asked, “The sister was in Dr. Grant’s house?”

“Yes. It seems she has a key.”

Jack asked, “Why are we getting a missing person case, one with no indication of foul play?”

George silently waited for the second shoe to drop. He knew there would be one. Theirs was a sleepy, law-abiding college town. The University was the principle employer, and the students were the largest segment of the population. However, the University was a high-brow technical college, and the students were mostly nerds. Other than a few instances of underage drinking, they caused no trouble. If a missing person case interested Lt. Digger, there had to be more to it.

Lt. Digger passed a second folder to Hayes. “A car was vandalized in the parking lot adjacent to the Gateway Bridge Visitors’ Center last night. Forensics did a look-see and found fingerprints inside the car on the passenger side. Fingerprints belonging to Dr. Loran Grant.”

“Blood or anything else?” George asked.

“Not yet. They have the car in the shed downstairs, and forensics techs are going over it now. The car is registered to Harold Upjohn. He is also a physics professor at the University.” Lt. Digger sat back down. Studying a paper on his desk, he added, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

As the two detectives walked back to their desks, George said, “You go see what they have on the car. I’ll call the sister.”

Jack nodded and changed his direction to the elevator in the hallway.

Once seated, George picked up the phone and dialed Mrs. Robertson’s number recorded on the missing person’s form. She answered on the second ring, and he identified himself.

“Have you found her?” Mrs. Robertson asked. Her voice had a hollow ring to it and George realized she was talking through a Bluetooth connected car phone.

“No, ma’am, but we are pursuing some leads. I’m sorry to put you through this again, I know you gave all the information to the desk sergeant when you filed the report, but I do need to ask the questions again. You said, your sister Loran Grant has been missing since Wednesday; how do you know that was the day?”

“We are rather close and talk every day. Loran had called me during her lunch break on Wednesday, but I missed the call. I returned the call after four, when I knew she would not be teaching, but the call went straight to voicemail as though the phone was switched off. This was not like Loran, but it didn’t worry me straight away. Thursday, I called again, and again the call went to voicemail. Thursday night, she was supposed to meet us for dinner, but she didn’t show. I called several times. Then, Friday morning I called her work number, and the secretary said Loran wasn’t there. She had left work on Wednesday, and had not returned or called in sick. I went by her house. Her car was missing, but everything else looked normal. That’s when I filed the report.”

Scanning the missing person’s report, George noticed the ‘divorced’ box was checked. He asked, “Have you contacted her ex-husband? Do they have a relationship?”

“No, and no. They’ve been divorced for two years, and, as best I know, they never see each other.”

“What is his name, and do you have an address for him?”

“He’s Danial Grant. I believe he is still living in the city, but I have no idea where he lives.”

“I see, thank you. Is Dr. Grant seeing anyone now? A boyfriend, perhaps?”

“Ah, yes, she has mentioned someone new. She’s been seeing him only for the past month or so. I don’t know his name. She’s been rather secretive about him, but that is not really unusual for Loran.”

“Does the name Harold Upjohn mean anything to you? Do you recognize it?”

“Is that him, her new boyfriend?”

“I can’t discuss the details of the investigation, ma’am. His name has come up. Do you know him?”

“No, I’ve never heard of him. Who is he?”

“Now, Mrs. Robertson, you said Dr. Grant’s car is missing; how do you know?”

“Ah, well, it’s not parked in her garage, and the secretary at the University said it’s not in her parking spot.”

“I see, thank you. I don’t suppose you know the make, model, and tag number?”

“It’s a gold Lexus. I don’t know the other details.”

“That’s fine, I’ll have no trouble looking it up. If you knew, it would just save me some time. Now, Mrs. Robertson, you said the inside of Dr. Grant’s house was not disturbed. Can you tell me what you might have touched while inside the house?”

Jenny Robertson provided a detailed account of her exploration of the house. She ended saying, “Best I could determine, nothing was missing.”

“I see, thank you. Now, as you have a key, would you mind letting us inside for a look-see?”

“Why, no, I suppose that is the next logical step. When do you want to meet?”

“Is twenty minutes okay?”

“That’s fine. I live in Spokane, but I’m on the highway now. I’ll be there in a half-hour.”

Saying goodbye, George cradled the handset to disconnect the call. He then used his mobile phone to call Jack.

“Yeah,” George said, by way of a greeting, “we’re meeting the sister at the house in half an hour. What have you found on the car?”

Jack replied, “Not much. There is nothing but trash wrappers from fast food in the car. If there was anything else, the vandals took it. However, they didn’t bother with the trunk. There is a small tent and other camping gear in the trunk.”

“What about blood, and such?”

“Nothing, only a few strands of light brown hair. The techs say they can’t be used for a DNA test, but if we had hairs from Grant, they could check for a match.”

“Okay, snag a couple of techs and head over to Dr. Grant’s house.” George read off the address from the missing person’s report. “I’ll meet you there.”

George arrived and briefly examined the outside of the house. He saw nothing suspicious, and Jenny Robertson arrived a few minutes later. After greeting her, he accepted the key.

“It’s best you leave this with us, Mrs. Robertson,” George said. “We’ll be treating the house as a crime scene.”

Dr. Grant’s sister clutched her chest. “Oh, so you do know something,” she gasped.

“Oh, no, ma’am, this is standard procedure. Trust me, when we have definitive information, you will be the first to know.” The crime scene van parked in front of the house. “Now, Mrs. Robertson, if you could please allow one of these techs to get your fingerprints. This is routine. Since you have been in the house, we will want to eliminate your prints from any others we might find.”

One of the techs took Mrs. Robertson by the arm and gently led her toward the van. The other tech gave George and Jack booties and gloves.

As he pulled the booties on, Jack said, “By the way, I called the secretary of the physics department at the University and got Dr. Upjohn’s next of kin information and his mobile phone number. She said, she had called it several times, but it always went straight to voice mail as though it was turned off. Dr. Upjohn never returned her calls.”

“Thanks, Jack, good work.” George wondered why the pair had turned off their phones. Were they afraid of being tracked?

Once Jack and George donned the gear designed to protect the scene from their presence, they entered the house.

“My God, did you ever see such a place?” Jack asked. “It looks like a magazine picture.”

To say Dr. Loran Grant kept a tidy house would have been a gross understatement. Everything was in its place. The glasses in the cupboard were neatly organized. The food in the refrigerator was lined up like toy soldiers: smaller items in the front with large items in the back. In the bedroom, the bed was neatly made. Examining her drawers, they found her underwear rolled into cylinders and lined up according to the colors of the rainbow. The tech went into the bathroom in the hopes of finding some hair strands in a brush and potential DNA samples from the toothbrush.

George and Jack returned to the living room.

“This,” George said, pointing to the coffee table, “is extraordinary in that it is the only disorder in the place.”

On the table were four sheets of paper arranged on the table beside an open three-ring binder. George examined the papers and realized his old high school teacher had been correct. The day had finally come when he wished he had paid attention in algebra class. The four sheets of paper were covered with hieroglyphic equations with odd notes squeezed in here and there. Some portions of the equations were highlighted with boxes drawn around them. While the words were in English, they made no sense.

“These mean anything to you?” George handed the papers to Jack.

“No, what is St. Elmo’s fire?” Jack asked.

“Don’t know. I’ve heard of Greek Fire, but I don’t know what that is either.”

The pages were numbered. George noted which sheets had been removed from the binder in his notebook, and then replaced the sheets in their correct order. He tucked the binder under his arm.

“It’s getting late,” he said to Jack. “If we are going to get anything out of the people at the Gateway Bridge, we need to get a move on.”

Leaving the key with the forensics techs, the two detectives took George’s car to the Visitors’ Center at the Gateway Bridge.

A park ranger met them. George was immediately taken with how well the woman’s uniform fit, or rather how it was not nearly as sexless as the uniform’s designer had intended. The guardian of the Visitors’ Center was in her late twenties with nicely rounded features. The curves of her behind filled the backside of her uniform trousers, and her ample bosom placed tension on the buttons of her blouse. Her name tag read: Morison.

“Detective Chambers, you’re here about the vandalized car,” she said, after they identified themselves.

“Yes, Mrs. Morison,” George said. “What can you tell us about it?”

“Well, for starters, it’s Miss Morison, but you can call me Carrie.” She smiled. “I can’t say much. I first noticed it Wednesday afternoon, and it was here all weekend. That’s not unusual; hikers frequently leave their cars here when they go backpacking into the desert. Trails go all the way to Moses Mountain. The car only became an issue when we noticed the windows had been smashed.”

“Have you seen the car before?” Jack asked.

“Hmm, can’t say that I have, but I don’t really pay attention to the parking lot.”

George pointed to the camera mounted on the side of the light pole. “What about surveillance video?”

“Ah, yes, I knew you’d want to see that. I have it all ready for you. If you’ll follow me.”

Carrie Morison led them into the back office where a computer terminal displaced the view of the parking lot. She tapped some keys. “Here at three-seventeen p.m., we have the car arriving.”

George and Jack watched as the light-green, two-door Honda parked. A man they assumed was Dr. Upjohn got out of the driver’s seat, and the woman, Dr. Loran Grant, got out of the passenger’s seat. They each withdrew a small backpack from the rear seat. The pair of physicists could be seen in brief conversation, and then they turned toward the trail leading down into the gorge. For a moment, the image flashed.

“What was that?” Jack asked.

“Just lightning. Wednesday was the day of the thunderstorm. Such storms don’t happen all that often, but this new bridge is a magnet for lightning.” Seeing a worried expression on Jack’s face, she added, “Nothing to worry about. The bridge is built to take it.”

“So,” Jack said, “the two people from the car headed down into the gorge knowing the thunderstorm was about to burst over their heads?”

“I guess so,” Carrie answered. “They didn’t take much with them. It would seem they expected to get back to the car before the rain started.” She swallowed. “Say, you don’t suppose something happened to them. Ah, that’s your interest. You think they’re — they’re…” She swallowed again, and then coughed. In a low tone, almost a whisper, she continued, “No one has reported seeing any bodies, and there have been lots of people up and down those trails since Wednesday.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, “There might have been a flash flood. It’s happened before.”

“How long does it take to walk to the bottom?” George asked.

“Not long, less than half an hour.”

“How much longer are you going to be here?”

“Actually, my shift ended fifteen minutes ago, but I’ll stay as long as you need.”

“No bother, we’re gonna go down and have a quick look around. You don’t need to wait.”

“Well then, Detective Chambers, you’ll want this.” She handed him a DVD. “It’s the video of the parking lot for the past seven days.” Her fingers briefly touched his as she handed over the disk.

“Thank you, Carrie, and please call me George.” George turned to Jack. “Why don’t you go to the car and get some flashlights and the camera.” When Jack passed through the doorway, George again spoke to Carrie. “Say, I know this could be out of line, but I just gotta ask. Are you busy tonight?” George had long ago learned to take each moment life gave him; he was in the habit of striking while the iron was hot. “I was thinking of dinner at the new place on Third Street, the one with the funny name.”

“You mean The Unicorn Stable.”

“Yes, that’s the one. What do you think?”

“Dinner would be nice.” Carrie smiled.

“Great, what do you say we meet there about seven?”

“Seven it is.” She nodded.

George reached his hand towards hers. He lightly held Carrie’s small hand in his larger one, and gave it a soft squeeze.

“See you then.” He smiled, and followed Jack.

As she led them back to the parking lot, George watched Carrie’s hips dance. He wondered if she might be a little kinky in the bedroom — maybe she would enjoy a playful spanking? As her hips swayed, he imagined sitting on his couch with her prone form across his lap. He would alternate caressing and spanking her round bottom. She would shriek, giggle, and wiggle with her belly pressing against his boner. He would have to be careful not to come before the real sexual adventure began.

She stopped beside a relief map of the gorge and the surrounding area.

“As you saw in the video, the pair from the car was last seen here, at the trailhead. From here, the main trail winds down to the stream at the bottom of the gorge.” Carrie’s fingers traced the line delineating the pathway. “However, they could have taken the overlook trail which follows the canyon rim to the east.” She traced another trail. “If they did walk to the bottom of the gorge, they could have walked west to the base of the Gateway Bridge, or they could have headed east. While most any adult could wade across the stream at any point, there is a shallow area about half a mile east where it is little more than ankle deep. The trail crosses here, and continues up the opposite side of the gorge and into the expanse of the desert, ultimately ending at Moses Mountain. This is where most overnight backpackers go.”

“But, our pair didn’t take any camping gear with them,” Jack said. “Only those small backpacks.”

Carrie nodded. “So, they probably stayed close to the bridge, or on the overlook trail.”

“Is it possible they could have slipped in the rain and fallen into the gorge from the overlook trail?” George asked.

Carrie frowned. “To my knowledge, no one has ever fallen before, but I suppose anything is possible.”

The bottom of the gorge yielded no clues. On the climb back up, George received a call on his mobile phone. After a brief discussion he disconnected, and said to Jack, “That was the tech at Dr. Grant’s house. He found Dr. Upjohn’s fingerprints all over the place, and a used condom in the master bathroom trash. We’ll need to get into his apartment and find something with his DNA to make a match, but I’m betting Harold Upjohn and Loran Grant were doing the dance-with-no -pants between the sheets.”

“Yeah, and as we’ve seen no evidence of foul play, and they brought no camping gear with them, I’m betting they came here to act out some kinky fantasy. They wanted to do the deed in the wide open spaces, but still didn’t want to be observed. They came here, to the bottom of the gorge to play native during a time no one else would be around. Something went awry, a flash flood or something, and it all ended badly.”

“Could be, but we won’t know until we find the bodies.” George wondered what Jack knew about being kinky; probably not much. He wondered if Carrie would one day be interested in going to the BDSM club in Spokane.

They ended the day in the squad room. Jack documented their activities and what they had discovered into the police computer records database. George sent an email to the state police. He requested a helicopter survey of the gorge from a mile east of the bridge to the junction of the stream with the Columbia River. Once the bodies made it to the river, they would be very hard to find.

♦♦♦

George arrived at The Unicorn Stable at 7:05 p.m. While he was a bit late, Carrie was even later — as he had expected. Also as expected, the restaurant was not busy on the mid-week evening. He had not bothered to make a reservation.

Moments after requesting a table from the hostess, Carrie appeared.

“Hello,” he said. They nervously hugged.

She was wearing a light-blue dress. His eyes took it all in, starting with the low neckline. From there down, the dress molded to the curves of her upper torso to a high waistline. Below this, the skirt flared with oversized pleats. The effect was to create the illusion of a smaller waist than she really had. She did not need to be self-conscious of her body with George; he already knew exactly how her body was shaped. In fact, he was slightly disappointed in how the flared skirt hid the curves of her bottom. Consoling him was the fact that the skirt highlighted her legs.

He admired them too. He would have preferred her to be bare-legged, but she was wearing suntan-shaded nylons. He wondered if they were stockings. If he were to slide his hand up one of those thighs, would he find the tops of old fashioned stockings? Would he feel her bare skin extending to her panties and garter belt? Or, was she wearing the more popular pantyhose? In the latter case, would she be au naturel with no panties between the thin fabric and her skin?

He wondered if she was into bondage. Would she enjoy role-playing with his handcuffs? His cock twitched, thinking how his brass headboard was ideal for such adventures. Was she kinky enough to allow him to tie her feet to the footboard with her own stockings?

George did not expect to learn the answers to any of these questions on this night. This was their first date. While scoring a home run on the first date was not impossible, he did not expect it. He hoped, but wasn’t sure, there would even be a second date.

Following his quick survey, his eyes returned to focus on hers. He took her hand in his and guided her closer.

“My, my, but you look grand,” he said.

“Thank you.” Her lips parsed as tough she was going to compliment him, but she didn’t. He was wearing the same dark green suit and white shirt she had seen earlier in the day.

“I got busy at work and had no time to change,” he said.

She smiled. “No matter.”

After being seated and ordering, their conversation turned to the investigation.

“Did you find anything at the bottom of the gorge?” she asked.

No,” he said, reluctant to discuss an on-going case, but he did want the conversation to continue. He changed the subject, slightly. “What did you mean, when you said the bridge is a magnet for lightning?”

“Oh, yes, anytime a thunder cloud is anywhere about, it finds its way over here. The bridge has been struck by lightning a dozen or more times.”

“This didn’t happen with the old bridge?” George asked.

“No, not at all. This bridge was finished two years ago, but the lightning didn’t start until a year ago when the old bridge was finally torn down.”

“Really?” George said, and Carrie nodded her conviction. “Do you know what St. Elmo’s Fire is?”

“I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’ve seen it. It’s a pretty blue glow around the tops of the bridge pillars. Some people claim to have seen it flow down the pillars in very artistic formations.”

“Hmm, did lightning strike the bridge during that storm Wednesday, when the two physics professors disappeared?”

“You think they were killed by lightning? I suppose it’s possible, and then then their bodies could have been washed away by a flash flood. But really, lightning hits the top portions of the bridge; I’ve never heard of strikes down inside the gorge.”

“So, is that a yes? Lightning did hit the bridge Wednesday?”

“Yes, twice about ten minutes apart. The second one was a very strong strike. We lost power for several seconds.”

The waiter appeared with their meal and George turned his attention to his dinner.

♦♦♦

With a brisk step, George entered the detective squad room. He set a Styrofoam cup of coffee on Jack’s desk and tapped his shoulder. This cup was from the bistro across the street, not the swill in the breakroom. When Jack turned, George held out an open paper bag.

Jack peered into the bag, chuckled, and withdrew a glaze-covered donut.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Jack asked.

George said nothing while he shook a second donut onto Jack’s desk. Then he sat at his own desk and tore the bag open to create a plate for the remaining two donuts.

After taking a bite, George said, “First thing, call the University and get us an appointment with the dean of the physics department. Then, we’ll go over to Harold Upjohn’s apartment. If the manager will let us in, we’ll get a DNA sample.

George was too optimistic. Upon their arrival at Harold’s apartment complex, they had to admit they had no warrant. The apartment manager was reluctant to let the two detectives into Dr. Upjohn’s apartment without one.

“He’s been missing from work for several days.” George said. “He could be inside injured, or perhaps dead.” He waited a moment, and added, “We could come back when the apartment is next scheduled for a bug treatment, but there might be a significant stench by then.”

Muttering, the manager led them to the apartment, saying, “You can look in the windows.”

However, as they approached the entrance, Jack pointed to a car parked nearby. “That’s Loran Grant’s car.”

George turned to the manager. “Seems we have reason to believe there may be a crime in progress. Dr. Grant is also missing, and he could be holding her captive in there. If you don’t let us in, we’ll break the door down.”

It was a bullshit excuse, but it worked. The pair of detectives entered the apartment, guns drawn for added effect. They left the manager outside.

George had grown up in Spokane and received a bachelor’s degree in psychology. Discovering this was not the yellow-brick-road to the American Dream, he considered joining the Army to pay down his college debt. Instead, he joined the police force. The charade with the apartment manager was one of the times he actually used his education.

George and Jack went directly to the master bedroom and collected Upjohn’s toothbrush, razor, and hairbrush. Glancing in the smaller, second bedroom they found something interesting. There was a small desk with a computer. The desk was flanked by two free-standing cork boards. On the left cork board, a blueprint of the Gateway Bridge was attached with pushpins. In addition to the dimensions annotated by the draftsman, Upjohn had added several more notations.

Jack whistled, and asked, “What is this guy — a terrorist? Is he plotting to blow up the Gateway Bridge?”

George examined the papers pinned to the right cork board. These were similar to the pages he had seen in Loran Grant’s three-ring binder. Upjohn’s papers had familiar words — St. Elmo’s Fire, parallel universe, quantum portal.

While he didn’t understand it, he shook his head. “I don’t think so. This doesn’t look like plans to build a fertilizer bomb.” George examined three photos of the gorge under the blueprint of the Gateway Bridge. “Do you see anything significant about these pictures?” he asked of Jack.

Jack squinted at the 4 by 6 inch photos. “They look like pictures of the gorge before the bridge was built.”

George held up his phone. He zoomed the camera in, and snapped photos of the pictures. He sighed. “But, we’d better go see the Dean, and see what this pair was up to.”

Dr. Morton Green, Dean of Physics, offered no illumination on the disappearance of two of his professors.

“Their research would not have brought them together,” Dr. Green said. “I have no idea about their social lives.”

“Does this mean anything to you?” George passed the Dean a folder with the four sheets of paper Loran Grant had left scattered on her coffee table.

Dr. Green studied the papers, and asked, “The two of them, they were working on this together?”

“What does it mean?” George asked, ignoring the question.

“Clearly some off the books research.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, all the professors conduct research, but they must submit proposals. A committee, headed by myself, decides which projects are to be funded. This,” he shook the paper, “was never submitted, or funded.” He pushed his chair back and reached for a pipe. “They must be planning on publishing without acknowledging the University. I suppose they have new jobs lined up. After this snub, they’ll need them.” He sucked on the unlit pipe.

“You would fire them over this?”

“If they don’t include the University in their publications, yes.”

“What is it they are working on? Can you tell what this means?” George pointed to the papers.

“Hmm…” Dr. Green pushed the bridge of his glasses higher on his nose and studied the algebraic gobbledygook. “Well, some of it is straight forward quantum mechanical analysis of the interaction between parallel universes, but this magnetic helix is new.” He tapped a finger on one sheet.

He lapsed into silence, and Jack asked, “What is St. Elmo’s Fire?”

“Oh, a weather phenomenon, associated with thunderstorms. It has nothing to do with parallel universes. Ionizing the nitrogen in the air creates a form of plasma. These molecules produce a faint blue glow which can be seen during storms at night. But, while I see Dr. Grant has made the notation, I don’t see what St. Elmo’s Fire has to do with the equations.” He put the pages back into the folder. “Can I keep these? Is there more of this work?”

George rose from his chair. “I’m sorry; we’ll have to return them to Dr. Grant when we find her.” He reached for the folder, but Dr. Green held it slightly out of reach and frowned. George waited with his arm extended, and Dr. Green slowly passed the folder to him.

“You will keep us informed of your investigation,” Dr. Green said.

”Of course,” George answered.

When the detectives were in the hallway walking away, Jack said, “That stuff meant something important to him.”

“Yeah.” George sighed and wished people would tell them the truth, the whole truth. It would make their job so much easier.

Upon their return to the police station, George found an email from the forensics department. He read the note to Jack, “The DNA recovered from Harold Upjohn’s toothbrush matches that found in the condom collected from Loran Grant’s bathroom.”

“No surprise,” Jack answered. Then he tapped his computer monitor. “Look at this. Loran Grant is the registered owner of a .38 Special revolver. This wasn’t included in the stuff forensics recovered from the house. A gun is not something they would leave behind.”

“Hmm,” George mused, leaning over Jack’s shoulder to read his screen.

“Do you suppose we’ve been looking at this all wrong? I mean, did she knock him off?” Jack asked.

“Not impossible, but not likely.” George shrugged. “If we find his body with a bullet hole in it, we’ll know where it came from. Until then, it doesn’t mean anything.” He returned to his seat. “Be sure and send that note back to records with the gun marked as lost or stolen.” If the revolver was ever used in any crime, the note would point the police back to this missing person’s case.

Harold withdrew his phone from his pocket and brought up the photos Dr. Upjohn had of the gorge before the bridge had been built. He smiled.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he said to Jack, and left. He was glad he had an excuse to see Carrie again.

Arriving at the Gateway Bridge Visitors’ Center, George located Carrie and guided her into a quiet corner.

“Hi,” he said.

She smiled and placed a hand on his arm.

He smiled, and said, “Actually, this is business.” He pulled his phone out and brought up the pictures from Harold Upjohn’s cork board. “Is there anything significant about these pictures?” He wrapped his arms around her and flicked his finger across the screen to show her all three photos.

Carrie examined them. Holding her hand around his, she zoomed in on one. “Well,” she chuckled, “They are obvious fakes. Although, I can’t imagine why one would go through the trouble to make them.”

“Fakes?”

“Yeah, you know, Photoshop.”

“How do you know?”

“In the first place, they are in color. While the new bridge has only been around for a short while, there have been bridges spanning the gorge for a lot of years. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of the gorge taken before the first bridge was built, and they are all black and white. Color photography was invented after the first bridge was constructed.”

“I see,” George sighed.

“And then, see this boulder?” She pointed to a large rock on the canyon floor. “We call that Beetle Rock because it is the size and shape of a VW Beetle car. It fell from here,” she pointed, “three years ago. Clearly, whoever faked this picture used a graphics editor to paint out the bridge, but didn’t know about Beetle Rock.”

She leaned into his chest and looked up at him.

“And,” she continued, “this picture is of the area under the location of the Visitors’ Center. The building has been erased, but so has the walkway down the canyon wall. The walkway has been there since the days of the pioneers on the Oregon Trail. The original settlers in this area widened a path created by the Indians so they could get water from the stream. Archeologists say there has been a switchback path in that location for ten thousand years.”

“I see,” George said, and put the phone back in his pocket.

“By the way,” she continued, “there was a meeting of the oversight committee this morning. I mentioned the disappearance of the two professors, and the possibility they were killed by lightning while watching the St. Elmo’s Fire. The powers that be decided this was not something they wanted to continue. So, the engineers are designing a new lightning suppression system. It should be installed in a month or so, and then there will be no more lightning strikes and St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“Bummer,” George grunted. “I was looking forward to seeing it someday.” However, his disappointment was short lived. A memory jumped into his brain. He recalled holding Carrie’s bare feet. He thought about the soft, ticklish skin on the bottoms of her feet and the lime-green polish on her toenails. Without glancing to see who might be watching them, he bent down and lightly kissed her. After securing a second date with Carrie, he returned to police station.

♦♦♦

After lunch, the two detectives approached Lt. Sam Digger to report their findings.

George began. “The two physics professors are definitely missing. No one has seen them since Wednesday afternoon. They were work colleagues and lovers. We have them on video in the parking lot of the Gateway Bridge Visitors’ Center. They walked into the desert or the gorge for a picnic — ”

“Or, a sexual rendezvous,” Jack interrupted.

George continued, “This could be some complicated plot to fake their deaths and run away. There is a slim possibility one murdered the other and disappeared. However, there was a thunderstorm that afternoon, and they most likely met with some sort of natural misadventure. No evidence of foul play or a crime. Nothing for us to do until the bodies turn up.”

“All right,” Lt. Digger grunted. “Cross the eyes, and dot the tees, and close the books on this one. Here,” he handed another folder to George. “A man named Edward Mars was stabbed on Seventh Street last night. He’s in the hospital. Go talk with him.” Lt. Digger turned his attention to other papers on his desk.

George gave Jack the task of calling Upjohn’s parents while he called Grant’s sister. He told Mrs. Robertson what they had found. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Robertson, but there is nothing more for the police to do. I can help you get in contact with the park rangers for a more comprehensive search of the gorge and the government-owned land beyond.” It took several more minutes until he could disconnect the call from the emotionally distraught, crying woman. She had understood his unsaid meaning — Loran was most likely dead.

He hated leaving the case with so many unresolved questions. What had the pair of scientists been up to? How did the Gateway Bridge and the fake photos of the gorge fit into their scheme? However, George didn’t see how the police had a stake in solving these questions.

George then gathered the evidence they had collected. He placed the plastic evidence bags in a cardboard box. The photos and electronic records of their investigation would remain on the police department computer server. Finally, George tossed Loran’s three-ring binder into the box and sealed it. He placed the box on the ‘out going’ shelf where a clerk would take it to the evidence storage in the basement. One day, if the bodies were recovered, some detective would open the box. Otherwise, it would eventually be tossed in the dumpster to make room for more recent cases.

Part Three

Loran walked up behind Harold. “How’s it going?” she asked.

Harold looked up from his work to admire her nude body. She had been bathing in the stream, and the water droplets on her hair and skin sparkled like jewels. She seemed to enjoy how lean her body had become in the month they had been in Gaia. She had adopted a nudist lifestyle, but Harold had no complaints.

“I’m just about finished.” He was skinning a deer which Loran had shot earlier that morning.

The pair had been able to stretch the meager supply of food in their backpacks to last for only two days. They had been partway up the canyon wall when Loran turned back to look at the portal. “What’s that?” she asked. Instead of the usual shimmering sphere of air, the portal was glowing blue. “It looks like St. Elmo’s Fire,” Harold had answered. It had been as though they were looking through the fourth dimension portal into their own Universe. “There must have been a second lightning strike.” They had never calculated what would happen if lightning struck while the portal was open. “We should go back,” Harold had said. However, moments later, the portal had closed.

For a month, Harold and Loran had camped beside the portal in the hopes it would reopen. They had subsisted on fish Harold had caught in the stream, but that morning Loran had used one of the six bullets in her revolver to kill a small deer.

Harold cut the tendons out of the meat. He would use these to stretch the hide as he tanned it. He had performed this task several times growing up, but he never thought the skill would become more important than his MIT education.

Loran skewered bite-sized chunks of meat on sharp sticks and started roasting them over the campfire.

“How long are we going to wait?” Loran asked. As the sun dipped in the west, the canyon filled with shadows. She donned her shirt, but nothing else. “The portal may not open again for a month or more. And then, only for a few seconds. It’s unlikely we could catch it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harold answered. He sighed; they had shared this conversation before. “What other choice do we have?”

Loran contemplated the meat roasting on the end of her stick. “Won’t we soon get scurvy?”

“Nah, fresh meat has ample vitamin C. The meat preservation technique used by the old time sailors washed out the vitamins. That’s why they got scurvy. But, we would fare better if we could find some root vegetables and fruits.”

Loran chewed her lip, and said, “It’s long term versus short term. Sooner or later we’ll have to deal with winter, and we probably can’t build a shelter here.”

“Yeah.” Harold held up their only tool, his pocket knife. “In a few months there will be a couple of feet of snow in this gorge. We’ll have to move towards the Pacific coast to survive the winter. It won’t matter; there are no thunderstorms during the winter. The portal won’t open until spring.”

“Maybe we’ll find some people,” she added.

“Perhaps, but I’m beginning to think Gaia is a universe where humans never evolved. Or, at least they never developed sufficiently to migrate out of Africa.”

Loran chuckled. “In that case, you should call me by my middle name — Evelyn. Or, just Eve. Is your middle name Adam?” She laughed.

Harold grinned and placed a hand on her bare thigh. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

The pair laughed, and she said, “I told you, future generations will remember our names.”

THE END

***

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