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BILL CELENT WAS STUNNED. He felt his face flush, sweat beaded above his lips and down his back. His stomach churned. His legs threatened to give.
The procession before him continued on. The man, Christ, carrying the large wooden beam faltered, tumbled forward, regained his balance, and then fell again. The gathered crowd chanted in mockery of him. They surrounded him before the centurions pushed at them with shields and muscled arms, forcing them away. Christ tried to rise to his feet, but his legs were too weak and he fell to the side. The wood beam slipped from his shoulder, landing at the feet of a Roman guard. Christ slowly pulled himself up, first to his knees, then to his feet. He was panting, bleeding, nearly drained of life, but he found the strength to take another strained step. The Roman guard picked the wooden beam up and placed it gently upon Christ’s shoulder. Christ looked into the eyes of the man then turned back to the street and the path before him. The Roman guard backed away and was lost to the crowd.
A scream of agony caught Bill’s attention and he turned from the procession, looking to the top of the hill. Three stakes had been positioned in close proximity to one another at the pinnacle. Two had already been assembled with the six-foot wooden beam secured in place, and upon them each, a man was bound. One of the men screamed out again, words Bill could not make out, but the man’s anger and vehemence was evident.
Bill was drawn to the crowd, to the spectacle, and to the man he believed was Jesus Christ. He took a step, moving down the small embankment toward the hill, the crowd, and the crucifixion. Then he caught himself and stopped. His mind raced with thoughts about the time space continuum, the time ripple effect, and the effect his being at the crucifixion of Christ would have upon time and history. He contemplated his next move. His head grew light, and he sat down as his breathing quickened.
Bill closed his eyes, relaxed, and breathed in and out slowly, until he felt in control once again. Now, he had to make some choices. It was clear that the experiment in the desert of New Mexico had not gone as planned.
Once the generators had been powered up, the electrical charge would cycle, magnetize the metal-sheathed building, and like the Eldridge a time warp would open. That was what was hoped for anyway. Apparently, that did not happen, and Bill stood quickly, turning on his feet, staring out at the horizon and to the place he had...well, landed. He couldn’t think of a better word. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to follow the ridges, ravines and rock outcroppings, searching the shadows and the hills.
It wasn’t there.
The experimental building, the capsule, was nowhere in sight. Perhaps, he thought, that it did not travel with him and had remained in New Mexico. Only he, Lynda, and Commander Kupovits were propelled through time. It didn’t make sense, he thought, for him to be here. The capsule and the others must be here as well. Of course, the metal building had been camouflaged with splashes of dark brown, sandy brown, and light green paint to keep it hidden in the New Mexico desert from overhead low flying aircraft and the occasional rancher that might stumble by in pursuit of a lost calf or sheep. Now, that camouflage of paint and color made it impossible to locate the building in the desert of ancient Israel.
If it was here at all.
“Ancient Israel,” Bill whispered, and he felt almost giddy. He was caught between extreme fear, overwhelming joy, and absolute confusion. Would time now be changed forever because he was where he should not be? Or is time only justified by the memory of humans? Would the donkeys that were ridden upon or the sheep that followed, being led to a slaughter as sacrifice know any different end now that Bill had stumbled into time? He could not shake the thought that his being here, at the crucifixion of Christ, would only change time if people in his time knew that he had traveled back in time. Bill thought of the saying of the falling tree in the woods making a sound or no sound if no one was there to hear it, and reformatted the question to suit himself. If a man travels in time and no one knows of it, did he really move back or forward in time? Could he change time that does not yet exist? What if time only exists in our minds, and thus, can only be changed by our own thoughts and perceptions?
The chant of the distant crowd echoed throughout the desert ravines and caught Bill’s attention, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked back to the crowd and saw that many had now made their way to the hill and had begun climbing the steep path to the top. Christ languished behind, prodded on by Roman soldiers, priests, and peasants.
Bill put aside all thoughts of space, time, the whereabouts of Commander Kupovits, and Lynda. He could not now begin to contemplate what had happened to them, or to the building, or to how he was to return. His only thought now was that he must bear witness to one of the greatest events in recorded history. He would be the only living witness to this event and he would be the only man alive who could tell the world that Christ was a man, just a man, put to death with two others who were also, just men. Not gods, not prophets, not divine...only men. Once he returned to his place in time, he would be able to spread the truth and dispel the stories, myths, and fantasies of the many men who would later write of this event, and of their relationship with Christ. Men who wrote to satisfy their own desire for eternity. Once he returned, the world would know the truth.
Then the thought struck him.
If he returned.