The Transfixed

chapter eight

A crackling sound and a massive clap of explosion erupted over Bridget's head as she dove out of the door of the helicopter, tumbling away from a horrific crash. Her eyes wide with shock, she glanced around the small confinements of the White House elevator, and nodded toward a somewhat unconcerned President. 

His expression changed a heartbeat later, and his eyes set more firmly on hers. "What was I saying?"

"Oh." She muttered, trying to shrug, "You were talking about your family vacation."

James gazed down at his wallet that was splayed open, and the photograph of his family on the yacht seemed to seer the memories back into his mind. "Yes... that was a very- very terrible day."

Bridget stiffened; waiting. Had she not gone far enough out? Did the bomb not detonate properly?

"One of my pilots lost control of the helicopter only a short distance away from the ship. To this day we couldn't figure exactly what had made the thing burst into flames..." He shook his head and flipped the wallet closed. "Elaine got hit by some debris and had to be emergency lifted to the closest hospital."

Swallowing her remorse and anger, Bridget looked sincerely over at James. "Was she hurt badly?"

"Lost all hearing in her left ear. She's had trouble with bullies ever since. Luckily we were able to get a custom hearing aid made for her, but Elaine's pretty stubborn and refuses to wear it from time to time." James leaned back against the wall of the elevator, and a few of the security men looked genuinely devastated by the information.

For Bridget, the change of history made a dent in her heart. She felt like the most inhumane person on earth at that moment. The memory of James just minutes before telling her about the best vacation of his life was vivid in her mind. Now, the past was an ugly one- the vacation the worst in his life. Bridget felt personally responsible for ruining a little girl's life.

"I-I'm sorry." She murmured heavily, stepping away from him. 

James looked at her with a reassuring smile, "It's not your fault, but thank you."

Bridget wanted to scream. Half of her felt one-hundred percent responsible for what had happened to Elaine. Anger took over her guilt when she realized that this was Sam's fault, Sam's father, and whoever else they were working with. The heartless souls plotting ways to end the world one city at a time were the ones to blame for the tragedy that hung deeply in Bridget's heart.

Before she could dwell on the situation further, a loud clunk rang out above them, and then the sound of moving cogs. Moments later, the elevator rattled, lifted a few feet higher, and then halted sharply. When the doors opened, James gestured for Bridget to go ahead of him, but she shook her head and smiled.

"You know that thing that I was supposed to bring to the Oval Office?" She said, feigning a slightly pained expression.

James moved forward with a certain charm only a politician could possess. "Yeah. Let me show you where the famous room is."

"That's the thing. I sort of totally spaced out and forgot the documents downstairs in a different office. Could I just take the elevator back down and meet you up here?"

His expression changed to worry. "Is everything alright? You seem on edge all of a sudden."

Two of the Secret Service men appeared to take a single step toward Bridget as suspicion began to grow on James' face.

"Y-Yeah. Everything's great. I just- I should go." She said, trying to think of the best way to get as far away from Sam as possible once she left the building. "Go get the papers." Stepping back into the elevator, she nodded for him to head back to his business.

He raised one eyebrow. "So, what exactly were those documents that you were planning to take into the Oval Office?"

Her breath caught as she looked him in the eye. She had never been all that good at lying to people, even when it worked, the guilt after a lie was intensified for her. "Not sure. Just doing what I'm told." 

"If you were doing what you were told," The President stated, his voice leveling down an octave, "you would know that you were told to not enter the Oval Office. If you were doing what you were told, you wouldn't even be on this floor. So what's really going on here? Are you even an intern?"

Bridget considered how much of a mistake it was to actually believe that The President of the United States of America couldn't smell a terrorist when one was standing a foot away. Her eyes glanced back and forth at the guards that seemed to surround her now. It was ironic that this was the "thanks" she was getting for saving not only James' life, but an entire nation's governmental sanity. 

Taking a deep breath, she took in all of her options. With an internal flash of disappointment, Bridget realized her options had dwindled from being able to go back the way she came to doing something absolutely crazy; not that she wasn't well-versed in the insanity of reality, or the alternate one, for that matter. She knew that sometimes you had to risk your life to save your life.

The brief moment of hesitation was long gone before she even began to sprint forward. The chaotic shouting, and then three gun shots blasting off were drowned out by the deafening volume of shattering glass. Bridget felt the wind in her hair and her heart in the sky as she plummeted out of a window of The White Houses' top story. Although the rest of her body was tumbling in the air to an inevitable, powerless death, Bridget's eyes were penetrating the giant oak tree standing tall about twenty meters ahead. 

                                            -                         -                          -

"This tree isn't going to kill itself, Alex." A tall man with thick arms was muttering to the worker on his left. They were both dressed in leaf-stained overalls, gloves with wide holes, and dented safety glasses. The first man was carrying a chainsaw, while the second, Alex, nodded with a smile.

"I still can't believe it took the City Council twenty years to finally get enough votes to cut this damn tree down. It's always eating away at the sidewalk. Do you know how much money this city has to pay each year just to fix all the problems this tree causes?" Alex ranted on, readjusting his safety glasses.

The thick-armed man gazed up with a nostalgic grimace. "Yeah, I know. But it's been here for ages. I remember climbing this tree as a kid. My dad and his dad, too. Do you think it's fair that all of a sudden it becomes two guys' job to chop this thing from existence?"

"Fair? Dude, it's a tree. You sound like a sentimental grandma." Alex snorted, taking the chainsaw from his coworker. "I'm tired of putting my tax dollars into cleaning up this tree's mess." He positioned the roaring blade to the side of the massive trunk.

It was from the top of the very highest branch that Bridget was overhearing the entire scene play out. Her heart pounded in her chest. By the looks of the cars and buildings visible from the local park she'd been transported to, she was in Washington D.C., present day. Pulling out her cellphone, she took note on the fact that it was only about forty minutes before reality's time. Her mind drifted away from the seconds ticking by to glance down at the landscaper's bickering. If she didn't hurry, not only would the century-old oak tree die, but so would she- in both versions of reality.

Snapping off a piece of the branch she was cradled in, Bridget dropped it from the frightening height she sat in. The screams of the chainsaw cut off abruptly after the branch hit Alex in the head and he stumbled back. The other man glanced up to see what had happened, and Bridget stared straight into his eyes. He snapped his attention back to Alex who was dazed but awake. The chainsaw was a distant memory as 911 was called, and Alex and the other man were taken far away from the beautiful oak tree that had done them no deliberate harm.

"Two birds with one stone." Bridget mused, climbing carefully down the branches and landing firmly on a patch of grass. She let herself take in the enormous mystery and long history that the tree had hidden deep in its roots. Patting its bark with unspoken affection, Bridget added to herself, "Now on to number three."