The Permutation

Breakthrough (Part 7) Christopher

Friday, November 4th, 7:45 a.m.

Christopher's eyes shot open. He knew something was wrong.

The alarm that he set for 3:30 a.m., half an hour before his scheduled wake up time to reset his sleep cycle was not blaring. The red, digital glow of 3:30 a.m. was not displayed on his ceiling. It read 7:45.

This has to be some sort of mistake.

Heart racing, Christopher sprang to his feet and shucked off the worn T-shirt and basketball shorts he slept in. Shorts still around one ankle, Christopher opened his closet and unzipped his Friday outfit from its wrapping. His eyes widened in horror at what they found. A blue spot, no bigger than the point of a tack, dotted the breast pocket of his white dress shirt. He couldn't conceive a situation where the spot could've slipped through the defenses offered by his pocket protector. Christopher made a mental note to throw this particular shirt out, and retrieved his backup Friday outfit that he had bought for this type of eventuality.

Christopher completed the ensemble at a manic pace hoping beyond hope that his alarm clock had malfunctioned and his body clock had awakened him at the appropriate time. He prepared to leave his bedroom to complete the rest of his morning rituals and noticed his tie was askew. Rectifying the mistake, he dashed down the hallway trying to pay no heed to the bedroom doorway's torment.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Christopher's fears were confirmed. Sunlight streamed into his living room around the edges of the blankets he'd tacked over the windows.

I'm going to be late for work.

Christopher felt a meltdown encroaching on him on the edges of his vision, but he fought it off. He couldn't allow that to happen on a Friday. His students required his tutelage, and he refused to let anymore people down.

Armed with his morning Mint Chocolate Chip Pop-Tart and Clif Bar in hand, Christopher lurched down the steps three at a time. He stuck the unopened Pop-Tart in his mouth and fumbled with his keys trying to unlock the door before he arrived. The second he turned the key, Christopher eyed the digital display.

7:54

It took him seven minutes to get to work adhering to Idaho's traffic laws. He needed to break the law if he was going to get to work on time. Christopher pulled out of his parking complex and hit the gas. He watched the needle climb to the thirty five miles per hour mark and let it sit there for a few moments before depressing his foot on the gas pedal. Once it stopped at the forty seven miles per hour mark, Christopher steadied out and let the needle hold there. According to quick mental calculations, that speed would get him to work on time.

A large benefit of a town the size of Lancet Falls was the complete lack of traffic at any given time of day. Christopher weaved through the streets and couldn't help but feel a certain degree of satisfaction. Before his first day, Christopher looked up Lancet Falls on Google Earth and mapped out the exact combination of streets that would maximize his efficiency using the ratio of full stops to dips in traffic.

Today of all days, he forgot a pivotal landmark of his route, Officer Wylie Simmon's speed trap. Every morning, the officer hunkered down in the parking lot of Cole's Quality Foods with his morning coffee and newspaper. Simmons was known for storing his radar gun between his legs, so that he could whip it out at the slightest hint of speeding. His prowess with the radar gun had become somewhat of a legend to the people of Lancet Falls, and Christopher had just sped past him going twelve miles over the speed limit

Christopher cast a glance at the rearview mirror, and the patrolman was pulling out of the parking lot in Christopher's direction. Indecision gnawed at Christopher. He didn't know whether to slow down and take the ticket or to hold steady and make it to work on time. Christopher held steady. He really didn't have a choice in the matter; work started at eight o'clock and the his clock read 7:57. If Christopher wanted the judge to know he was a reliable member of society, he couldn't show up to work late.