An Echo Through Time: Endless Breath Saga, #1

First published by Step Into The Road Publishing 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Nicholas Licalsi.

First edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

From this point on take everything with a grain of salt. I made most of it up!

To my mother who always has the time and patience to help me when I need it.

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1

Ilooked at the clock hanging in my homeroom class. It was 11:43 and I hadn’t been called into the counselor’s office last period, so I knew what would happen next. The bell would ring at a quarter till 12, I would go to lunch, meet up with Gretchen, and then at some point during the meal, she would die. I picked at my teeth out of boredom while I waited. The bell rang as expected two minutes later.

Okay, we will finish the rest of this after lunch, Mr. Taylor said to the half of the pre-cal class that wasn’t already out the door.

I walked down the stairs and found Gretchen waiting faithfully at the bottom. She was leaned against a locker and talking to Jenna, one of her friends from gymnastics. The blue and white fluorescent lights shone on her like she was in a spotlight. To me she was a dazzling star. Her friend Jenna noticed me before she did, and took it as a cue to move on.

I hated it when they did that. It made me feel like I was taking Gretchen away from her friends. They would be living the rest of their lives without her, while I would simply see her in the next universe I visited. I assumed all of her friends, probably the whole team, hated me for monopolizing Gretchen’s limited time. I didn’t care. Gretchen was my addiction, and I kept traveling to different universes to get my fix.

How’s it going? I asked out of habit as we walked towards the cafeteria.

Jenna was going on about practice and how I should have done things differently. She thinks since a college gave her a scholarship for next year, she can boss us around.

I smiled and nodded in agreement. All these problems would seem like nothing in a few minutes.

We found a table at the edge of the cafeteria, and I gauged the distance from us to the nurse’s office. I did this knowing that it never made a difference. There were a few times I pushed for us to sit next to the nurse’s door, but it didn’t help.

Gretchen always brought her lunch on account of her peanut allergy. She unpacked the meal in front of me and I looked them over. She had a sandwich, a bottle of water, a flavor packet for the water, some Jell-O, and a prepackaged brownie. I wondered, which one would do her in this time?

History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes. That’s how these March 21 days feel to me. I know if she survives gym class, then she will end up dying at lunch. Occasionally, she dies before gymnastics, but those are rare and harder to see coming. She had a brain aneurysm a few times before school, and I didn’t even get to see her those days. She rarely survives past lunch on March 21. Her situation bewildered me, and it is half the reason I became infatuated with her.

Gretchen opened the sandwich, and I felt my blood pumping through my veins. My body and mind were on edge. What kind of sandwich today? I asked, working hard to make my voice sound calmer than it felt.

Turkey with Muenster cheese and deli mustard on whole wheat bread. This one has seeds in it. It’s good. I just have to make sure the seeds don’t get stuck in my teeth, she said with a giggle.

I picked at my plain-Jane bologna sandwich, but knew it wouldn’t do me much good. My body felt hungry, but I knew the sensation would pass after a few minutes. And the less I had in me when it happened, the better off I’d be.

Are you okay, Todd? she asked as she finished the last bite of the sandwich without choking or going into anaphylactic shock. You seem distant.

Yeah, I’m fine. I was just wondering what Otto Rohwedder would think if he saw how we ate lunch now.

She gave me a confused look but smiled. Who’s this? she asked as she took a drink of her colored water and started unpacking her brownie.

I considered stopping her, saying something rude to get her not to eat it, but I knew it would be futile. Worst of all, it would just cause a headache for both of us. Instead I continued rambling on about the past.

He invented sliced bread. Not the kind with seeds on it, but he got it started.

She smiled, encouraging me to tell her more, but asked, You want a piece of this?

No thanks. It’s yours.

I’m not going to be able to finish it all, she said, not knowing how right she was.

I waved the brownie away and started to wonder where her purse was. I spotted it on the side of her chair opposite me.

So how did you get to know the guy who invented sliced bread? He must be ancient. She took a bite of the brownie, chewed, swallowed, then gave me a look of shock as if she had eaten a live octopus. That was when she started grasping at her throat.

I reached across the table to grab her purse. I dug through the small bag, looking for her EpiPen. She started wheezing. I was sure her throat was tight. She started sucking in air slowly as my fingers grasped the small plastic needle. A crowd began to circle around her like a school of fish.

I pointed my finger at a wide-eyed freshman. You. He was a scrappy, freckled nerd with red hair. Go get the nurse, now! This wasn’t the first time I had given him this command. He always retrieved the nurse faithfully, but it was never soon enough.

I removed the lid from the EpiPen, remembering the time Gretchen had taught me how to use it months ago, lifetimes ago, when we started dating. She died this way so often that the memory constantly came back to me. I suppressed it to focus on the task at hand. I looked for a spot on her thigh to inject her, making sure not to hit the seam of her jeans. I pressed the plastic cylinder hard against her skin. There was a click, and the mechanism started to flood her system with epinephrine. I held it in place, slowly counting to ten while the solution seeped into her bloodstream. I was hoping it would take effect, but I knew deep down she had ingested too much allergen. This was just a charade to try to prolong her inevitable death.

I found myself staring at the needle in her leg. The leg was shaking quickly, as if it was the only part that could show