

# DISPLACED I

### CONUNDRUM

By

Kevin Provance

LICENSE NOTES

Thank you for downloading this e-book. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite e-book retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012, Kevin Provance. All Rights Reserved.

Cover image: Copyright © A. Baumann

Third revision, May 2020.

OTHER TITLES IN THE DISPLACED SERIES:

Displaced II: The Exchange

Displaced III: Endgame

OTHER TITLES BY KEVIN PROVANCE:

Prisoner of the Game

Scarecrow

Without A Word
Phase one of Displaced is dedicated to the real-life Card Player's Circle: Bryan Waldt (RIP, brother), Andy Myer, Andy 'Drew' Taylor, Chief Christopher Manyette, Tony 'Bones' Foels, and Teresa 'Tessie' Manyette. Love and light.

****

When all the laughter dies in sorrow and the tears have risen to a flood  
When all the wars have found a cause in human wisdom and in blood  
Do you think they'll cry in sadness?  
Do you think the eye will blink?  
Do you think they'll curse the madness?  
Do you even think they'll think?  
When all the great galactic systems sigh to a frozen halt in space  
Do you think there will be some remnant of beauty of the human race?  
Do you think there will be a vestige or a sniffle or a cosmic tear?  
Do you think a greater thinking thing will give a damn that man was here?

\- Kendrew Lascelles

# Table of Contents

Chapter I – Anomaly

Chapter II – Solicitude

Chapter III – Peregrination

Chapter IV – Fortuity

Chapter V – Corpus Delicti

Chapter VI – Perturbation

Chapter VII – Elucidation

Chapter VIII – Exigence

Chapter IX – Asymmetry I

Chapter X – Malevolence

Chapter XI – Asymmetry II

Chapter XII – Continuum

Chapter XIII – Recovery

# Chapter I: Anomaly

" _An odd, peculiar, or strange condition, situation, quality, etc."_

****

Date: Friday, October 13, 2006

Location: Sarasota Square Mall, Sarasota, Florida

Age: 35 (Current)

****

I

I was ready to leave, but there was nowhere for me to go.

Rose Centeno sat across from me at one of the many food court tables in the Sarasota Square Mall food court. A steel table painted white and not very well maintained. A simple push or pull across the tile floor would produce a screech loud enough to cause unwarranted attention. There could be no better euphemism for the current situation.

The moment of truth was finally upon us.

Rose shifted in her seat with visible discomfort. As well she should. She woke me from a deep sleep with a phone call shortly after 7 AM to cancel our lunch date. She also took the liberty of ending our relationship in more words than probably necessary. Her reasons were cryptic and unsatisfying. Rose concluded the brief conversation by casually informing me there would be no reason for us to have further contact. I said some sarcastic thing to her and hung up. I needed that last word. I felt if she was bent on ending our intense, short-lived relationship with reasons I didn't believe were her own, then she would have no choice but to do it face to face. She may have considered our lunch date canceled. I did not.

I arrived at the Sarasota Square Mall food court as initially planned. I watched Rose from afar like the scorned lover I was. I expected her to meet someone else or retreat into the 'employee only' management offices per her earlier excuse. She'd said something about an emergency meeting and the need to bring lunch with her. Come and see for yourself, she said after I challenged the authenticity of her explanation. Did she genuinely believe I wouldn't call her bluff? Or did she know I would come expecting - or wanting - a showdown?

Rose confirmed her lies when she took a lone seat in the food court with her meal. That's when I made my move. I purchased one thin-crust slice of dried out, over 'heat lamped' goodness that passed for Sbarro's mushroom pizza and a small Dr. Pepper. I knew I wouldn't be eating this meal. It was all for show. With the completed order sitting upon a florescent orange serving tray, I took an expected seat at the rickety steel table across from Ms. All High 'n Mighty Rose Centeno.

I dressed in an outfit Rose once expressed as sexy. Blue jeans, a white-collar shirt, and a black sports jacket. Foolishly, I believed the amalgamation might somehow help the situation and cause Rose to look upon me with more favor.

How wrong I was.

After some indifferent small talk, we got it on.

"What do you want?" She finally asked. I could barely comprehend the tone in her voice. I'd never heard such condescension from her lips before. Those tender lips that formed one of the most beautiful smiles I'd ever seen.

"I want to know what the hell happened to you. Everything was fine with you – with us - until a few weeks ago. Then you pulled a complete one-eighty on me. Now you act like we're complete strangers. What happened, Rose? Do you even remember the world we create when we're together? Was that a lie too? Did I imagine the whole thing?"

"No, you didn't," she said begrudgingly. "Things change, Kevin. Dennis's mother called me and pushed me to give him another chance."

Pushed, indeed! I thought bitterly. Here it is. That cheating bastard's old bag of a mother emotionally blackmailed her.

Dennis was Rose's estranged husband. He thought himself a master manipulator. Shortly after they wed, Dennis cheated on her with his best man's wife. Assuming Rose told the truth, his betrayal occurred a little over six months ago and five months before Rose and I met, although I didn't know that at the time. Rose led me to believe their estrangement was much longer with a divorce soon to occur. Divorce eventually became an impending divorce, which ultimately became a separation. Funny how lies work that way.

I looked down at the change from my lunch purchase. One quarter, two dimes, and three pennies were scattered about the surface of the serving tray. I picked up the quarter and began fiddling with it. Rose noticed amid the uncomfortable silence. She shook her head. Some things never change, it said. A nod toward the nervous habit I entertain when stress is nigh. She'd witnessed it from me several times before, usually during her tales of Dennis's deception.

"He cheated on you," I said, pointing out the obvious. "What makes you think he won't do it again?"

"I don't know. I cheated on him too."

I felt my jaw drop and eyebrows rise simultaneously. "What? That was after the fact!" I slammed the quarter onto the tray. "He was already moved out and living with his new girlfriend, yeah?"

"I guess that makes him and me even." Rose didn't look up from the tray where the quarter now rested. She deliberately avoided eye contact with me. It's one of her weaknesses. Even worse, it's also one of mine.

Rose turned thirty-eight years of age a few weeks back. It didn't change the feeling as if I was conversing with a fickle high school teenager. One who didn't have the wherewithal to handle a relationship, much less the willpower to keep her legs closed past the first date.

"Do you know how absurd that sounds?" I asked. "You said you loved me! What the fuck was that about? Another lie?"

"I only said that to make you feel better," she said, her voice laced with disdain.

Another crack formed in my already broken heart. Pain bled out and began dripping deep within my chest. It felt worse than any pain I could remember. Anger began to set in. I knew this was all wrong. Anger typically isn't the first step in my grieving process. It's closer to the last. Whatever caused me to see angry red first in Rose's case, I do not know. Something was different this time. Whatever the reason, the looming anger suggested coming events may not play out favorably as anger and I don't play so well together.

I picked up the quarter again and began doing the trick of flipping it over and across my knuckles and then back again. A simple habit I'd picked up in high school when boredom ruled my world. Rose ignored the trick she once declared as, 'the fucking coolest thing I've ever seen.'

My, my, how far have we come inside a day, Rose? What's next? Seduce my ex-wife into your bed? She'd do it, you know. Key my Corvette and dump a pound of sugar into the gas tank? Who in the hell are you, Rose Centeno? Who are you, really?

"But I really loved you," I said in a hoarse whisper. I struggled to hold back tears; tears I didn't want Rose to see. My fists balled up in anger beneath the table. "And you lie to me? Did you tell me the truth about anything?"

Her eyes darted to meet mine for a moment. She flashed a weak smile. "I do think you're an awesome dad."

Awesome dad, I bitterly repeated in my head. The phrase had been one of her more frequent compliments in a series designed to placate my ego.

"You'll make someone very happy someday," she added. "It just won't be me." I felt my jaw drop again. Somewhere inside me, a dam burst. The tear streaming silently down my face was the overflow. Her cold and callous demeanor left me speechless.

Rose picked up her plate of pizza and walked off in the direction of the glass door that led into the mall's operations office where she worked, where I couldn't follow.

I watched her go. I watched her walk away.

Fond memories of her flooded my consciousness. Only now, they were painful splinters embedded in my mind that I couldn't pick out. Time might eventually push them out, but who could say how long that would take.

II

" _Don't we make a beautiful couple?" Rose asks. We look at ourselves in her foyer mirror. My face is next to hers as I hold her from behind. Her arms are atop mine. Her beautiful long brown hair brushes up against my short blonde locks. Her milk chocolate brown eyes twinkle. I smile. How I love her._

I blinked out the memory only to have it replaced by another.

We stand on an isolated section of Clearwater beach, holding hands as the salty Gulf air blows. The lazy, fire orange Florida sun is setting over the Gulf of Mexico. Rose reveals to me as I kiss her naturally tan skin that this spot on the beach is her favorite place to go. She claims to have shared it with only one other person, her ex-husband, and he 'never appreciated it.'

She said 'ex-husband,' didn't she? Only that wasn't exactly right. There hadn't yet been a divorce. One of the many lies I wouldn't discover until the end of the relationship grew closer.

Then there was the lovemaking. Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What spectacular acts were they?

Lovemaking? My mind asked bitterly. That word would be an incorrect definition of those particular acts as remembered, yeah? After all, lovemaking requires love, doesn't it? I'd have no choice but to remember those days and nights with Rose as straight forward 'fucking.' According to Rose, love was never part of the equation. Still, when we were together in that way, the feelings, the emotions, the circumstances, I could never find the words to do a single one of them justice. We created our own private world and became lost there as we stared deep into each other's eyes.

A long faded memory of the only other woman in my life who reached into me the way Rose had filled my mind. Becca Saccarelli, standing in her parent's backyard on a chilly September night, blows me a kiss and waves goodbye. I never saw her again after that night. That was fifteen years ago, in 1991. After Becca was gone, I never thought I'd love another the way I did her. We were together for one month before her tyrant parents split us apart. Becca and her soul capturing green eyes. How they told me she loved me in ways words never could. It was magic. She was magic.

I smiled ever so slightly, remembering the face of my one true soul mate. Rose's image quickly wiped that memory away. I frowned as anger began to rise once more. I'd looked into Rose's eyes, night after night. Why did I not see her deception? Did I know all along and not want to admit it? Was she that good?

I didn't know. I'd probably never know. Rose wouldn't explain herself in the few attempts I made to extract an answer from her before this day.

I do have a theory, and it is thus: Seduction.

I went underground after my divorce in 2003. I stayed away from members of the opposite sex. I felt if I were to go out into the world and date so soon after my marital demise, I'd be apt to use some poor unsuspecting woman as a rebound in some weak attempt to bring myself pleasure at the cost of her emotions. Assuming I'd be capable of such a dastardly deed. Maybe I never tried believing the guilt would eat me up.

Then in 2006, it was my bad luck that my first foray into a new relationship would involve a woman seducing me into her bed to make her self feel better. Now she's tossing me away like a worthless old paint can.

This is my reward for practicing and continued belief in chivalry.

III

I sat at the table in shock. Tears rolled down my face after Rose disappeared into the mall administrative offices. I dropped the quarter I'd been squeezing onto the table and buried my face behind my hands. I felt my teeth clench in anger. I acknowledged the cracking sound in my jaw as my teeth ground against one another. Pulsing blood rushed through the veins in my neck. The force brought flashes of dull white light from my peripheral vision.

I sat up straight and allowed my mortal remains to flop over and onto the food court table. Its uneven legs provided a loud screeeech as it moved out of position. The coins on the lunch tray bounced out of their places. The quarter on the table jumped once. It decided to undertake the additional measure of falling off the table and onto the dirty tiled floor.

"Fuck," I muttered. Out of all those coins, it had to be the quarter to fall. It was really the only coin worth keeping. I rocked back and forth while listening to the dull chunk of the table's uneven legs as they struck the floor.

I was so ready to leave. Still, there was nowhere to go.

'You know what needs to be done here,' a voice in my head proposed. A voice, not my own. It was that of my father, speaking to me from deep within my mind. 'If you go somewhere, that pig bitch should go too. Go to your car. You know what's out there in the trunk. You brought it with you for this very thing! She'll get that message loud and clear.'

The tone of that old bastard's voice made me shiver. Goosebumps crawled up the base of my spine. I'd not heard that voice in some fifteen years. Even now, as an adult, it horrified me.

'What exactly with that accomplish? Huh?' Another voice replied. I closed my eyes as I pressed my forehead on the cold steel table. I was now a living embodiment of a cartoon character in a moral dilemma. On my left shoulder, the proverbial red devil stood with his bent pitchfork. His goal is instant gratification at any cost. A more than an apt construct of the father I once knew. On the right, the white angel with her archetypal glowing halo warns me of the consequences, differentiating between right and wrong. She is the apparent paradigm of my mother. The arguing constructs were my parents, the set of people in a child's life from which they learn their sense of right and wrong.

I leaned over the side of the table to pick up the fallen quarter. As I sat up, I witnessed the most spectacular redheaded women hurriedly walking alongside the food court with another fellow. I thought I'd seen her lingering in the food court earlier while I stood in line at Sbarro's Pizza, contemplating what to say to Rose.

I chuckled as she and her companion disappeared from sight. Lucky bastard.

My father's voice called out of the depths of my psyche, 'You stupid fuck up. Pretty or not, she's still a selfish cunt. If you were lucky enough to get near her, she'd use you the same way Rose did. Like your ex-wife did, and all your other little whore girlfriends going back to that Christina Buchanan girl; the little girl who stole your cherry.'

I looked back toward the glass door in which Rose retreated. The foreboding big black letters spelling MANAGEMENT meant I couldn't follow. No matter what little fantasy played out in my head, Rose wouldn't reappear out that door and fall into my arms at the 11th hour claiming she was so sorry and that we would live happily ever after.

' _Here's an idea, you dumb ass child: Go to your car, do what you need to do there, and give Ms. All-High-and-Mighty a choice. Maybe this time she'll do as you want.'_

Even though she wasn't there, I could feel my mother's disapproving look.

' _Go ahead, Kevin; end up in jail if it suits you!'_

' _Jail?'_ The ugly voice of my father broke out in laughter. How I had hated his laugh. A phony bellow would roll out of his mouth at the most simple of things. It made me sick to hear it again. _'Fuck you, communist pig bitch. Where we'll take Ms. All-High-and-Mighty, there won't be any way to follow...or come back.'_

A small grin crept across my mouth. That curse-laden phrase was one of my father's favorite insults. How I amazed some of my childhood friends when repeating the same phrase at the tender age of six after hearing it come from the lips of my father the night before.

'For crying out loud, Kevin! You have a son who needs you! What of him?'

I started fiddling with the quarter again, thinking, contemplating, planning.

The white angel was correct. What would happen to my son? His mother had become a selfish, gold-digging, highly paid swinging whore over the last few years. Would she be his only role model if I were gone?

'He's only six,' my father suggested with crass carelessness. 'He'll forget all about you in a few years. What good are you to him, anyway? You'll fuck up his life too.'

White angel persisted. 'Your precious 'sweet pea' would be heartbroken without you. You're his rock. He comes to you when he can't stand his mother. You KNOW THIS! Son, please don't do this. It's not worth it. She's not worth it.'

I looked doubtfully down at the quarter in the palm of my hand and sighed.

"And you, 'O Well-Traveled Coin? What fine advice do you have for me this miserable Friday afternoon?"

The coin replied.

IV

I stared at the coin in sheer disbelief. What I was seeing was impossible.

It's a fake. It has to be!

I looked up from the table. Doing so sent the steel chair back with an aching screeching noise. I scoped the activity around me in quick paranoid gestures. People bustled about from kiosk to kiosk in an attempt to decide what bad mall food to eat for lunch. Kiosk merchants filled orders as fast as they could. Random mall patrons walked idly. Some blabbered endlessly into their cell phones caring little about the annoyances they imposed on others with their louder-than-necessary voices. Others stopped to look inside any given store as they coveted things they knew they couldn't afford.

I looked back down at the quarter. I wasn't sure why I suddenly felt so paranoid. Was this some sort of practical joke? Would I catch giggling participants mocking my surprise, thus leading to my eventual humiliation?

I stood up and looked around for the closest person. If someone else could verify what I was seeing, then I'd know I wasn't hallucinating from stress or heartbreak.

The closest kiosk, one specializing in cell phones and cell phone accessories, stood toward the middle of the food court. A young man sat behind the counter, carelessly flipping through an issue of Rolling Stone. He'd be the one to confirm my find.

I scooped up the rest of the loose change, shoved the coins into my back pocket, and walked carefully toward my destination.

"Do you see this?" I asked the scruffy-looking kid sitting behind the kiosk counter. He looked to be nineteen, give or take. Even with his barely shaven face and tousled hair, he attempted to portray himself as a professional salesperson. It was probably the geeky glasses that helped pull off the charade.

His eyes moved away from the magazine and to the coin lying in my palm. After a brief moment, his eyes darted up to meet mine. "It's a quarter?"

I narrowed my eyes at his sarcasm. "Thanks for stating the obvious, Sherlock. Look closer."

He adjusted his glasses to compensate for an apparent case of far-sightedness and gave the quarter a closer read. He looked back to me in doubt. His face asked, are you putting me on?

"It's a novelty coin?" He reached out to take the quarter for closer inspection. Instinctively, I pulled it away. I didn't want him to have it. I didn't want anyone to have it.

Beware of strangers who come as friends, as someone once told me.

He jerked his head back as if to say, Well excuse the piss out of me, friend. Summarily, he shrugged me off.

Why was I surprised? Of course, he thought the coin wasn't real. What were the odds of casually stumbling across a coin that shouldn't yet exist? To wit, a United States Maryland state quarter stamped with the mint year of 2025. Also, how odd was it the coin represented the state of Maryland, the same state in which I spent the first two decades of my life.

No, if this coin turned out to be real, it would be a find of epic proportions.

Maybe I didn't need to leave after all. There might be somewhere to go after all.

Forget Rose and storming into her office to settle the score. This thing here? This quarter insisting it comes from the year 2025? This is much more interesting!

"Hey man, is there anything else you need?" The kid shattered the assemblage of my thoughts. He held his arms out, suggesting if there was no further business to conduct, then I should move along.

"No. Forget it." I hurried off to a corner seat at the far end of the sparsely crowded food court. I would be alone at this remote table. I could gawk in privacy. Closer observation and examination of the coin revealed no cheap plastic facsimile. It felt real in its texture, its weight, and its edging. As impossible as the situation may be, my gut feeling was resolute. I was holding a real quarter from the year 2025.

I rammed my fingers into my back pocket to withdraw the remaining coins. I wanted to check for additional future-dated money. It came as no surprise they all fell within this year of 2006 or earlier. A check of the remaining bills in my wallet produced the same. This mysterious 'FutureQuarter' from 2025? It was the sole exception.

Every thought I had always seemed to come back to the same question. How did this coin find its way into 2006?

Could I attempt to track the coin back to the individual who last used it or lost it? That could mean meeting a bona fide time traveler. Oh, the questions I would have!

The loose change I carried originated from Sbarro's Pizza, courtesy of the pimply-faced kid working the cash register. I paid for lunch in cash and left the coin change on the serving tray. I stopped to realize the futility of the situation. In all likelihood, the coin probably changed hands tens, hundreds, or thousands of times before today. Money changes hands so often.

I frowned. Now what?

I stared out the skylight window embedded in the ceiling of the food court. A freak flash of lightning flashed among the puffy white cumulus clouds scattered across the blue Florida sky. I tightened my lips and squint my eyes in anticipation of the thunder that typically follows.

Nothing came.

As I returned to my default composure, I concluded that perhaps somewhere in the adjacent parking lot, a mercury vapor lamp lost control in its final throes of life.

I looked at the quarter again. I didn't want to believe it could be fake. After my miserable divorce and the heart stomping experience known as Rose Centeno, I really needed some new adventure to embark upon that wasn't part of the doldrums my life had become over the last few years. Perhaps FutureQuarter was to be the doctor ordered exploration. The prescription? Locate the coin's original owner. Find out what his story is.

The next obstacle in my quest would be credibility. Who would possibly believe my find or me? How could I prove the quarter was real? Doing so would bring me one step closer to answering the age-old question science fiction geeks have posed and theorized amongst one another since men could ask such questions. Is time travel possible?

The coin in my hand provided part of the answer, but sometimes answers invite more questions. Merely proving time travel exists would certainly pose other issues. For example, going back in time would most certainly create paradoxes. Everyone knows the primary paradox question: What happens if one goes back in time and kills his or her parents?

With no parents, the killer is never born. If the killer is never born, how did he go back in time to commit the act? If the killer doesn't go back in time and kill his parents, then the parents meet, fall in love, and have their future time-traveling murderer.

What would be the repercussions of that?

Any run of the mill science fiction author might explain it away by claiming that since the killer's actions never happened, the whole thing resets right back to where everything belongs. Parents meet, the child is born, and the cycle begins all over again. Writers know this as 'The Reset Button.' It's a cheap plot device bankrupting the end of many a great story.

I prefer newer or alternate timeline theories. For example, what happens to the current timeline if past events are changed? Does it cease to exist? Is the parricidal psychopath who went back in time to kill his parents ever able to come back to the world he left? Does it go on without him? In short, paradoxes such as these should make time travel all but impossible without the multi-universe theory. 'FutureQuarter,' however, suggests differently.

I looked over at the Sbarro's Pizza kiosk in the center-right of the food court. The hint of an early lunch rush began when I stepped in line behind three other people at Sbarro. I sighed as I attempted to remember them in detail. When waiting for service at a fast-food kiosk in a busy mall, how often does one pay detailed attention to other patrons? Not very often, I'd venture, unless one is admiring an attractive member of the opposite sex. It's a habit I've been guilty of in the past.

I closed my eyes and attempted to concentrate on the man directly in front of me. He'd been entirely nondescript. Nothing about him stuck out or made him memorable even in some obscure way. Before Mr. Ordinary, a rather large woman stood, an all too common variable in the average mall going experience. Outside of disgust, I paid her no attention. The man standing before Ms. Roomy at the Sbarro counter I remembered best. He was tall and skinny, with a notably dark complexion. I'd place him in his mid-thirties. It wasn't his physical attributes making him so impressive, but instead his unique tie. I've always fancied distinctive shirt ties, admiring unique combinations of color, patterns, or designs. The man's tie was off the chart cool. Either black or dark blue, the tie displayed off-white, grey, or light blue sequences of ones and zeros in sets of eight digits, also known as binary code. At the moment I first gazed upon the tie, I wondered what characters those sequences of binary numbers might translate to. Had I been able to see all of the chains, I could have attempted an on-the-fly translation. Since I couldn't see all the code progressions, I opted to later Google 'binary ties' and see what turned up.

You were never going to get that far, the far off voice of my father advised.

"Piss off," I whispered. More pressing matters were afoot.

I stood up and re-pocketed the loose change. I then decided to work my way back to the Sbarro's kiosk with no idea of what to look for. How much time had passed since my purchase? Twenty minutes? A half an hour?

At present, eight people stood impatiently for service at Sbarro's. The pimply-faced kid at the cash register processed them as fast as he could. I had my doubts about that kid knowing anything about my unique possession, much less the three people who stood in line before me earlier that morning.

So many people passed through Sbarro's. Any previous customer conducting business there this morning could be the coin's previous owner. What if the coin passed through Sbarro's last night or yesterday afternoon? I sighed at what should be a simple task. This new adventure quickly turned into a production of a grand percentage. It brought with it the disillusion of reality; I would find no answers at Sbarro's.

I glanced around the area one more time, hoping for naught I might spot one or more of the folks who had been in line before me. Common sense rapidly intruded. Had a stranger walked up to me and asked if I had previously had a future dated coin, chances are I would walk away and not look back. Well, that might not be entirely accurate. Any average person might react in such a manner, but not I. The kind of curiosity such a random question would invoke might warrant further investigation.

Knowing I was wasting time, I spent another half hour walking around the mall looking for Binary Tie Guy. I knew I could never find the other two people in line. However, the man wearing a tie that said, 'look at me, I'm a geek,' would stand out like a sore thumb.

The search proved fruitless. Binary Tie Guy was long gone.

The next step in my journey would involve the authentication of FutureQuarter. I knew exactly who could make that determination.

V

David DeMinte is the individual I consult when buying or trading in antique monies. The hobby is one of my guilty pleasures. He runs a small shop off McIntosh Road, a stone's throw from the mall, and conveniently on my way home. David deals mostly in coins, but keeps his eye open for paper money that occasionally comes his way. Specifically, dollar bills predating 1976 or silver certificates; bills printed with blue serial number ink versus the standard green.

A veteran of the Vietnam War, David is the typical grumpy old guy who tends to talk to himself. He often grumbles under his breath at how clueless his customers can sometimes be. He doesn't hold back. It's probably why I like him. Due to a war injury he's always too happy to talk about, David walks with a cane and often smashes it into the floor while emphasizing whatever point or argument he's making.

I asked David to verify the 2025 quarter as legitimate. He would know if it were phony or counterfeit. His demeanor of general irritation morphed into one of intrigue when I showed him the coin. I expected some kind of grunt followed by a dismissal of the coin as worthless. Instead, he seemed more interested in where I found it. The change in his attitude and line of questioning suggested there might be more to the quarter's existence than meets the eye. I recounted for him the tale of how the quarter came into my possession.

"It's a fake," David finally said after examining the coin with a loupe. He punched his can into the floor following his declaration.

"What makes you say that?"

"Ha! Are you serious, boy? Puttin' to one side that time travel is impossible, what you have here is a state quarter." He looked up at me over his bifocals without moving his head. The explanation meant nothing to me.

"So?"

"So, the U.S. Mint didn't start printin' state quarters until 1999. Before that, the obverse of the quarter showed George Washington all the way back to 1932 with the standard eagle design on its ass end." David paused. He looked out the steel bar protected plate glass window that was the front of his shop. "The 1975 and the 1976 quarters were the exceptions. The flip side on those coins had the bi-centennial design. You know, the colonial drummer and the victory torch surrounded by thirteen stars...for the original thirteen colonies."

I scoffed. "Yeah. Thanks, Dave. I knew that. I did manage to pass American history."

David scoffed in return. He stared me down as he turned the FutureQuarter over to show its reverse side. "See here? This is the Maryland state quarter, showin' the Liberty Dam." Sure enough, an engraved replica of the dam and its name proudly protruded from the reverse side of the coin. My heart sank. "Besides, the state quarter program'll end in 2009 after its ten-year run. They'll go back to the original design, I reckon'. That's how these coins become collectibles, boy. And how I make money." David grinned as he nodded in triumph. "Hold on, I wanna show you somethin'." David hobbled into his office.

I stared at the FutureQuarter and sighed. So close, I thought with crushing disappointment. I felt like crawling into bed and staying there for the foreseeable future. So close. Damn!

David returned with another coin. "This here is a real Maryland state quarter. Sure, they look identical, but they aren't."

My heart continued to sink into the quarry of molasses that was my chest. I picked up David's real quarter in my left hand and my FutureQuarter in the other, so I could hold them up side by side. As if a subconscious magician waved his wand, my despair poofed away in a cloud of smoke. I smiled, reflecting the renewed feeling of purpose. These two coins were nothing alike. The real quarter didn't have an etching of the Liberty dam. Instead, it was an engraving of the Maryland Statehouse surrounded by White Oak leaf clusters and the nickname, 'The Old Line State.'

"Look again, Dave," I suggested. I held out both coins with smug satisfaction. "The two designs are completely different."

David froze in place. He didn't bother to compare the two coins. His eyes remained affixed upon FutureQuarter. "You jus' made my point for me, boy. Whoever created that forgery there went to a great deal trouble to come up with that unique design." He didn't bother making eye contact with me. In fact, he looked worried...and covetous.

Does it? I thought. On the contrary, my old friend, I think what we have here is a bona fide coin from another time. Your body language speaks volumes.

David continued without eye contact. "It is a fine piece of work, I'll give it that. I don't suppose you'd want to sell it to me?"

Well, well, well. Your élan is showing, David.

"No fucking way, man! Imagine the kind of controversy I could stir up by scanning this and posting it on the Internet. The conspiracy nuts would have a field day with this."

"Maybe. Maybe not," David replied with indifference. He made no effort to return the coin to me. His inaction sparked an uncomfortable silence. David knew he should return the coin after my declination of his offer. My suspicion grew tenfold. David wanted this coin for himself. If he genuinely believed it to be a fake, there'd be no reason for his delay.

"Can I have it back now, David? Please?"

David finally made eye contact. He slid the coin across the glass casing comprising the counter. "Get rid of it, Kevin. If you get caught with somethin' like that, you could do time."

I picked up the coin and pocketed it. "I seriously doubt that."

"Counterfeitin' U.S. currency is a federal offense. Fines, jail time, the cost of a shyster to fight the government. From what I know of you, you couldn't handle time in the big house."

"I appreciate the concern, but I didn't counterfeit anything. It was given to me as change. All completely out of my control."

David stood. His actions made me nervous. He was an exceptionally tall fellow, maybe a foot taller than I was. If I clocked in at six foot two inches, then David was easily over seven feet tall. Should he want my coin, he could take it from me without much of a fight, especially with that cane as a weapon. I backed away and moved toward the door. I was prepared to run for my car, where I would have the advantage. The means to provide self-defense sat in a nook of my car's trunk. Additionally, the speed of my 2002 Corvette versus David's piece of shit circa 1977 Datsun would be no contest at all.

"True. You didn't. I get that. Possessin' it with intent to defraud, that is a crime."

"Defraud? Defraud whom? I don't intend to do anything with it now, except maybe putting it in my safe with all my other collectibles. And maybe do a little research on the Internet," I said, changing my story. I wasn't sure where David was going with this. "Maybe there is more 'future money' out there."

David cringed at the suggestion. I wondered why. He seemed enamored with my future find even if his words said otherwise. He obviously knew something I didn't and wasn't going to go out of his way to share.

David sighed, resigning himself to a life without FutureQuarter. "Do whatever you gotta, boy. If I were you, I'd keep that coin out of sight. I might even destroy it, were I in yer shoes."

Now I was the one cringing. What an odd thing to say. "Why destroy it?"

"It'd be the best thing to do. It'd be the right thing to do." David turned and limped into the back of his shop. I could no longer see him. I distinctly heard David pick up the phone on the way out to my car. I looked back into his shop. Whom could he suddenly be calling? Was over FutureQuarter?

I would get the answers to those questions sooner than I wanted.

Looking back, I regret my decision to involve David. He closed up shop and left town in the days following my visit with FutureQuarter. No one in the rare coin circle has seen or heard from him since.

VI

I drove back to my house in Lakewood Ranch, feeling relieved to be away from David. The showdown with Rose completely slipped my mind. That errand would have to wait for another day...maybe. Transporting FutureQuarter to the protection of my closet safe was the top priority. Access is only available with a key and a five-digit password.

With FutureQuarter secured, I spent an hour online searching the Internet with all kinds of terms. They included 'money from the future,' 'time travel' and everything in between. The searches bore no fruit.

In semi-defeat, I flopped down on the sofa in my home office, intending to take a power nap. I needed twenty or thirty minutes of uninterrupted sleep to recharge after Rose's phone call from hell at seven this morning. Such lovely things they are after a serious overworking of the brain. Sometimes during those naps, I would experience the most vivid and intense dreams. Some made sense. Some didn't. Sometimes they were recurring, detailing a kind of second life I lived within my unconscious.

There would be no dream this afternoon.

Whatever I experienced wasn't a natural phenomenon. For lack of a better description, a broadcast signal appeared inside my head. It was like watching a video quality TV signal with my eyes closed. The first images and sound I remember involved static, the kind one might see while turning an antenna knob to fine-tune a UHF channel.

The static faded into the image of an older man appearing against a white backdrop. He was clearly Irish with his facial features and graying red hair. A white polo shirt with the name 'MacKenzie' was emblazoned over the left breast pocket.

"Are we locked?" He asked someone off to his right. With a quick nod, he looked toward me but not quite at me. The eye contact was imperfect, similar to a news broadcaster speaking at a camera.

"Hi, Kevin. My name is Detective Connor MacKenzie. We don't have much time, so I need you to listen to me very carefully. This is going to be hard to accept, what I'm about to tell you. I need you to try your best to keep an open mind and do exactly as I tell you. You'll not understand all of it, what I am about to say. I only ask you to trust me. Rest assured that everything you don't understand will be explained to you at a later point in time so that all of what's about to happen makes sense. My team and I, we are the 'good guys,' and where there are good guys, there are 'bad guys.' Right now, those bad guys are coming for you.

"You've stumbled upon an anomaly, specifically a quarter that doesn't belong in your time of 2006. How it got there, we're not exactly sure right now. But we've been working around the clock, so to speak, to fix this problem. We'd hoped to recover it, the anomaly, without temporal contamination. That means we hoped its unique time stamp would remain unnoticed until we were able to recover it ourselves. As this wasn't possible, you've consequently become involved in a delicate process that puts your life, and other aspects of it, in danger. When you wake up from this transmission, which you are receiving as a dream, there will be two agents entering your house. They'll try to take you into custody. These agents, they're dangerous and not your friends. Nor are they there to help you contrary to whatever they might say. They are part of a much bigger organization that is..." He paused as if searching for the right words, "...not very friendly. They have no qualms about making you disappear in their effort to recover the anomaly first. I am sending one of my best men to assist you. However, we have been unable to determine your exact recovery location. This is why you must allow them to capture you, those bad guys I speak of. I need you to go ahead and cooperate with them short of surrendering the anomaly. Tell them you've hidden it, the coin, someplace off your property, and agree to take them to it. It doesn't matter where you lead them. What's important is they make contact with their superiors via the communications device they are using. This transmission will lead us to your location where my associate will make contact with you and contain the situation. His name is Ryan Capcoseve, FCA #17914011. He will address you by the code name we've assigned you, 'Conundrum.' At that time, he'll provide further instructions.

"I cannot stress the importance of what I've just told you and what I need you to do. Again, explanation regarding all the unknown variables is coming forthwith, after Ryan makes contact with you. Good luck, Conundrum. I'll wake you now. There may be some slight discomfort."

A buzzing sound originating in an echo chamber swallowed my entire consciousness. Slight discomfort? Electroshock therapy would be slight discomfort. Whatever MacKenzie did, it involved a searing pain in the lower back of my head as if someone took an ice pick and jammed it up in there. I shrieked back into consciousness and fell off the sofa.

VII

True to MacKenzie's message, an older man and a younger woman both dressed in black suits entered my office. They approximated a scene out of the 'Men In Black' movie, although these two weren't Will Smith and Linda Fiorentino. And I wasn't laughing.

"Mr. Provance, I'm Special Agent Jonas Buckley. This is Special Agent Samantha Waters." He motioned toward his partner. "We're with the United States Department of Homeland Security. I believe you have in your possession property that belongs to the United States government. A misprinted quarter, to be exact."

There was silence as Buckley waited for me to reply. "So, you just walk into my house without knocking?"

Buckley appeared taken aback. "I knocked several times, Mr. Provance. You didn't answer. We then heard you cry out. Fearing for your safety, we entered the residence."

Bullshit. Nice try, though.

"Could I see some ID, please?" I asked. As if on cue, both agents flashed wallet badges with impressive-looking credentials. Jonas Buckley and Samantha Waters, both registered agents with the DHS. In the process of obtaining their credentials, both of their jackets shifted open to reveal Glock 9mm handguns. I felt this was a deliberate move to send me a message. I glanced briefly at Buckley's Glock. "It's not here. I put it in my safe deposit box."

Buckley stepped back. He gestured toward the front of the house. "Would you please accompany us to that location, sir? It is a matter of national security."

I gave Buckley a dumbfounded look. "A misprinted quarter is a matter of national security?"

"Yes, sir," Buckley replied matter-of-factly. "Would you please accompany us to its location? Your country would very much appreciate your cooperation."

"Do I have a choice?"

Buckley planted his hand on his hip. His suit jacket pushed back, casually revealing the Glock. "You always have a choice, Mr. Provance. I'm confident you'll make the correct one."

"In the best interest of your country," Waters added.

"Apparently." I stood up carefully. Buckley stood to the side and gestured me to pass.

"We have a car waiting," Waters said.

Of course, you do. This is the George W. Bush administration; I'm sure the waterboarding supplies in the trunk are standard issue.

In reality, these two were far from legitimate DHS agents and probably didn't answer to the U.S. government. I couldn't imagine to whom they answered. Detective MacKenzie's 'bad guys' were perhaps more potent than our current government.

Buckley led me to a gorgeous black Lexus parked in my driveway. Without haste, he sternly stashed me into the backseat, slammed the door shut, and climbed into the driver's seat. "The location of the safe deposit box, please, Mr. Provance."

Detective MacKenzie's suggestion from my 'dream' involved finding a way to somehow stall these two until they made contact with their superiors. With this in mind, I decided the truth would be my best hope. I would take Buckley and Waters to a real safe deposit box in my name at a bank on the other side of town. I could think of no other way to buy time without looking like I was making a concerted effort to do so.

"Okay, at the intersection of University Parkway and Lockwood Ridge Road is a local bank called the Sarasota Credit Union. To get there --"

"I know where it is, thank you," Buckley said, interrupting what would have been a lengthy discourse involving out-of-the-way directions.

In a continued effort to distract Buckley, I attempted several times to engage either agent in conversation. Unfortunately, neither of them displayed much interest in casual banter. Silence was the answer to every question I posed. Their anti-social behavior left me feeling completely helpless and more than nervous.

Not only did Buckley know precisely where he was going, he deliberately took the most direct route. Time began to run out with each passing mile. If Ryan Capcoseve was going to show up, he needed to do so within the next few minutes, or my ass was going to have some serious explaining to do when Buckley and Waters found only computer disks in my safe deposit box.

After an eternity and with only a few miles left until my fate became an inevitability, a robotic chirp filled the air. It emanated from Waters' direction. She reached into her suit jacket, withdrew a small cell phone like device, and flipped it open. A voice resounded from the device as Waters held it up. "Buckley, Waters. Report."

Waters answered, "Anomaly located. En route to--"

Complete pandemonium interrupted her reply.

Without warning, another car T-boned into the left side of Buckley's Lexus. It flew off the bottom of the road and into a wide shallow ditch front end first. The front of the Lexus folded into the ground as the rear lifted into the air. I waited with my eyes and teeth clenched shut for the Lexus to flip over ass-end first.

Thankfully, it did not.

The rear of the car slammed into the Earth tires first. It put the Lexus on all four wheels. Before I could recover from the impact, two bright flashes of intense white light filled the car, followed by the oddest low pitch sound. One flash originated from the driver's seat, the other from the passenger side. Buckley and Waters fell unconscious where they sat. The left-back door opened as I watched my captors fall prey to whatever happened. Whoever opened the door reached inside the backseat and yanked me out onto my feet. A man I estimated close to me in age held me up by my arms. Unlike Detective MacKenzie, he wore an open-collar white dress shirt with no surname on either breast pocket.

"Conundrum?"

"I guess so," I said listlessly, still shaken from the crash.

"Yes or no, please!"

"Yes!" I snapped as I attempted to clear the cobwebs in my head. "Are you Ryan?"

"Capcoseve, Ryan. FCA #17914011. We need to get moving." Ryan pulled me up the ditch's incline as he briskly walked back toward the road.

I understood the reason for the severity of the accident when I reached the road. Ryan drove a tank sized black Hummer into Buckley's Lexus. At a glance, it seemed the SUV took little to no damage from the ram job. Ryan paused and looked down toward the smoking Lexus.

"Hold on." Ryan sprinted down to the wreck. He reached into the broken driver's side door window and pulled something out of Buckley's inner jacket pocket. Ryan pointed to the SUV. "Get in." Ignoring the pain of my tensed muscles, I climbed into the passenger side of the SUV as Ryan darted back to the driver's side. He tossed something into the back seat as he embarked. It wasn't the object he took off Buckley. It was a small handheld device that looked like a futuristic Luger pistol.

"What the hell is that?" I asked. Ryan made a deliberate U-Turn. He sped away from the Lexus and the accident he caused. Other folks along the road were beginning to take note of what had happened. I had to assume for the moment Ryan didn't know that Florida law enforcement frowns upon leaving the scene of an accident. Perhaps he did and simply didn't care.

Ryan ignored my question. "Where is the anomaly?"

"You mean the FutureQuarter?"

"Yes. Do you still have it?"

"It's back at my house, locked up in my safe."

"That's where we're going. I have to get it back to Detective MacKenzie as soon as possible."

"You mean the future," I said as I looked directly at him.

Ryan sighed. "Something like that."

"What do you mean 'something like that'?" I felt entitled to some answers after enduring the last few hours. I made no qualm about letting Ryan know that frustration and I had been constant companions for far too long. "Either it is, or it isn't? I thought someone, namely you, would be providing some of these answers."

"It is," Ryan said. "The quarter originated from the year 2025. We're not sure how or why it ended up in 2006. Incidents like this aren't supposed to happen. The consequences could be disastrous on many levels." Ryan reached into his pocket and withdrew the item he took off Buckley. It looked like a glass rod, about three inches long and as wide as one of those fat elementary school pencils. Diluted colors swirled hypnotically inside the glass. "This should tell us exactly where and when the unauthorized temporal incursion occurred and, more importantly, who's responsible."

"What is that? And what is that phaser looking thing in the back seat?" I asked again.

"This is a data storage device." Ryan held up the glass rod. "It looks like glass, but it isn't. It doesn't break. It's a HoloL...holographic technology."

My head swam. "Ryan, holographic storage hasn't been invented yet. The last thing I read on the Internet about it suggested it was decades away."

Ryan belted out in laughter. "The Internet," he said in wonder. "I haven't heard about that in the longest time."

"You're not from here, are you? And when I say here, I mean 2006."

"No, I'm not. I can't tell you when exactly right now expect to say this car, your Internet, the things I am seeing, they're all antiques that no longer exist where I'm from."

"So that phaser in the back seat?"

"Yes. It's a weapon. It's called an Impüls." The word came out as Im-poolse. "It's an electromagnetic weapon that renders the target unconscious. In extreme cases, it can kill. We no longer use guns and bullets in my time. They're archaic."

Archaic. Nice.

"So what about the dream message from earlier this afternoon? How was that done?"

"This afternoon," Ryan mused, repeating my words with the hint of a smile. "Detective MacKenzie sent that transmission over two months ago. I was there."

I knelt over and buried my face in my hands. I felt dizzy and overwhelmed. Open mind or not, the implications behind Ryan's words were enormous.

Ryan glanced over. "Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?"

"No, no. This is a lot to take in all at once."

"I understand," Ryan said with some sympathy. "The message you received was sent from our base, FCA-1. I don't fully understand the technology that makes it work if that's what you're asking about. It takes a broadcast signal and converts it into frequencies the brain can receive while in REM sleep. Do you know what that means?" I nodded. "The tricky part is directing that signal at the intended recipient. The Earth isn't a stationary object. Compensating for its speed and movement can be problematic."

I sat in awe of Ryan's explanation. He also wasn't asking for directions to my home. He appeared to know precisely where he was going. I wondered how much these FCA people knew about me. More importantly, how much did the 'bad guys' know?

After several minutes passed, I managed a new question. "You said FCA-1. What does FCA stand for? Where is this place?"

Ryan sighed again. "You have to understand something, Kevin. Some things I can tell you. Other things, I can't. It is all part of the Temporal Directives. You need to know only what you need to know."

"Do you do this often?" I asked. "Time travel?"

"Sometimes. Not as often as you might think. We don't call it 'time travel.' We call it temporal displacement. The division of the FCA I work for is the TDI Division or Temporal Displacement Investigations. We're like detectives that analyze and fix incidents like this one. Much of what I do is research. There needs to be a very carefully laid out mission plan with every variable accounted for before an authorized portal is opened."

"Where is this portal?" I asked. Ryan flashed me a witty half-grin but didn't answer. "You can't tell me, can you?"

"No. I can't."

Ryan pulled into my driveway as I was about to protest. We disembarked in silence instead. Ryan holstered his Impüls. I led him into my house and promptly retrieved FutureQuarter from the safe in my office. Ryan walked gingerly through the living room. He studied and admired the various objects around him.

"This is so weird," he said softly. "I feel like I've been here before."

I laughed and met him in the living room. "That would be all but impossible. Anyways, here it is." I held up the 2025 quarter. Ryan gently took it from me and examined it. When he took the coin from my fingers, I felt as if he were stretching an unseen rubber cord that began with the coin and ended with the fiber of my being.

"This is it," he said in approval. "I'll deliver this to Detective MacKenzie personally. I think we're done here."

"What about those clowns pretending to be DHS agents?"

Ryan held up the quarter. "They don't want you. They want this. They'll be coming after me now that I have it."

"And what about me?" I was suddenly alarmed Ryan was going to leave without answering any of the hundreds of questions I had. "What do I do now? Pretend like none of this ever happened? Do you just leave while I'm left to wonder why all of this happened?"

Ryan frowned. "I wish you hadn't said that."

"Why?"

"You're not going to be able to just walk away from this, are you?"

It was an honest question. I'd have to give an honest answer. "No. I don't think I can."

"Yeah. I figured as much. I'm sorry, Kevin. I wish I didn't have to do this." Ryan reached into a pouch on the side of his belt. It looked long enough to hold a mini flashlight. He produced a small pen-like object from it. It was too thin to be a flashlight and too long to be a laser pointer. For reasons I couldn't explain, it gave me the creeps.

Dread washed over me at the sight of it. "What the hell is that?" I whispered.

"This device is called a Löschen." (lo-shen) "It can erase short term memories. Between seven and twelve hours. Anything longer and the procedure becomes more complicated...and dangerous."

I barely heard Ryan's explanation. My focus was on the long, thin, stainless steel penlight he held. I knew in my heart of hearts I'd seen Ryan's device before.

"I promise. I won't tell a soul," I pleaded in panic. I never moved my eyes away from the device he held. A shiver went down my spine. The sight of that thing continued to send chills throughout my body.

In an act of sympathy, Ryan placed his free hand on my shoulder. "I believe you, Kevin. I really do. I'm not concerned about you letting something slip. I'm more concerned about what sitting on this information could do to you. You wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about what's happened here today. You'd be carrying around the events of this day with no place to turn your feelings but inward. That's the real potential for damage to you. With the state of mind you're in right now, I think it would do you more harm than good."

A crack in the dam holding my unconscious memories formed. It leaked out a few drops of an incident from my life I'd long forgotten. Flashes of someone holding a Löschen toward me danced around my subconscious, not ready to come fully forward. Those flashes revolved around a summer morning in 1989 when I lived in Maryland. I had gone hiking around the Liberty Reservoir. The area became foggy during my hike. Unnaturally foggy. There were also three people arguing in the distance. I'd called out to them. The next thing I remembered was some old German guy driving me to the hospital. He claimed to have found me passed on one of the jutted landmasses of the reservoir, the small islands that appeared during the summer drought, and the lower water levels. All of this happened seventeen years ago. I was never able to remember what happened to me that morning.

Until now.

(Do you want me, Kev?)

(I want you, Christina. I want to make love to you.)

The appearance of Ryan's Löschen began to chip away at the cement block that held back those lost memories. Flashes of things and places I have no conscious memory of came and went through my mind's eye.

"It doesn't work like that, what you're proposing," I whispered without taking my eyes off Ryan's device. I was struggling to concentrate on the here and now...and failing. "Short term memories become long term through repetitive thought. It isn't a bank or section that can be erased."

"Yes. That's true, to a degree," Ryan said cautiously. "I'm no scientist, but as it was explained to me, the process involves synapses development and how memories are stored. In the short term, those synapses are alterable, which makes memories committed to the long term through repetition seem like a dream. Like most dreams, the brain eventually dismisses them as such. This all happens long before the subject wakes up from the procedure."

I was appalled yet simultaneously bewildered in wonder. I nodded at the Löschen, and the Impüls weapon holstered on the other side of his belt. "Where do you get these things? Some future version of Radio Shack? Did we invent them in the future?" Ryan didn't answer straight away. "What?" I asked, with impatience.

"Let's just say they belong to another culture."

"They're alien?"

"No. Not in so many ways. They might appear alien to you as you aren't familiar with the when I'm from. So many things are different in my time. Using 'alien' to describe extraterrestrials? No...not completely."

"That's cryptic. You're saying 'yes and no.'"

Ryan paused to look off. "Yes. Correct."

I looked at Ryan with suspicion. He looked back and met my stare. "What time-period did you say you were from originally? You must have your own original timeline when you're not... working."

"I became involved with the FCA when I was twelve in 2083."

"So, how old are you now exactly?"

Ryan sighed. He glanced upward to calculate some figures in his head. "Linearly speaking, meaning if you counted the years from my birthday to the current time index in 2095, I should be almost twenty-four. In reality, due to the amount of time I spend in temporal displacement, I'm closer to thirty-two."

"That's fucked up," I said softly.

Ryan shrugged with indifference. Ryan held out the Löschen. "I don't want to have to do this. To be honest, part of me is inclined to believe I shouldn't. I dunno. That...and something about all this seems so damned familiar."

"What does that mean?"

Ryan shook his head. "Never mind. Look, I know you're suffering, and as I said before, your sitting on the events of this morning might not be the best thing for you."

How the hell does he know I'm suffering? I frowned. Something else was going on here. My deepest instincts told me I needed to go forward with Ryan. I needed to solidify my position so he'd have no choice in the matter.

I held my head down in faux defeat. "Could I ask something of you, before you...you know, have to make a decision about me? It might help me to come to terms with...all this," I said, waving my arm around the space between us.

"You can ask. I make no promises."

"Could I see the quarter again?"

Ryan appeared conflicted. One could say part of his mission included the security of the captured 'anomaly.' Releasing it to anyone but Detective MacKenzie until its safe return to the time of its origin would be a calculated risk. "Yeah. I guess so. For a minute. No more."

"Thank you...so...much," I said. With apparent caution, Ryan handed me the quarter. I held it, examined it, stroked it, and rubbed my fingers all over it. Ryan watched me closely as if I might attempt to run off with it.

Ryan held out his hand. "Okay. Time's up."

"Is it?" I asked. My eyes never left the quarter. "You travel through time. How can time ever truly be up?"

I slid the quarter in my mouth before Ryan could answer. The fingerprint oil I used to grease up the coin made the effort of swallowing it easier. Ryan's eyes widened in disbelief as his mouth opened just wide enough to inhale in surprise. "I don't understand, Kevin. Why would you do that? I don't get it," he asked calmly. Before I could come up with a snappy answer, Ryan leaped across the distance between us and slammed me against the wall. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

"Because it can't end here, like this," I said. "Now you have to take me with you. Wherever you go now, I go too. It's as simple as that."

I now had somewhere to go. I was ready to leave.

# Chapter II: Solicitude

" _The state of being solicitous; anxiety or concern."_

****

Date: Thursday, July 13, 1989

Location: Route 32, Westminster, Maryland

Age: 17

****

I

I stand on the shore of Ocean City, Maryland, four or five blocks to the left of the inlet pier. Clouds reflecting the sunset have set the sky ablaze in a mesmerizing fire orange. I am alone. The boardwalk and the beach are devoid of other people. The low tide waves of the Atlantic Ocean crash upon the shore. They blow salty air in their wake. The sound is different, somehow. It resembles the sound of water lapping against a boat.

" _You are going to be okay, son. Hang in there."_

I look to my right. My friend from high school, O'Bryan VonWald – whom I refer to as Wald - is standing next to me. He stares out across the sparkling ocean. He's dressed in his standard grey sweat pants and a white tee shirt.

" _What? What does that mean?" I ask._

" _The world is coming to an end," he replies with indifference as he drags on a Marlboro medium cigarette, his smoke of choice._

" _What else is new," I say as I look back toward the horizon. "Since you're so learned on future events, what day does the endgame begin?"_

" _I'd tell you, but you won't believe me." Uncaring. Monotone._

" _Try me."_

" _You're on a space ship," he said. I look back at Wald. He is not Wald anymore. He is another kid close to my age with dark black hair wearing a yellow jumpsuit. The hypnotic beach view is gone. The salty ocean air has become sterile and cold. I do not know who this kid is. He meets my stare. "I told you."_

" _Who are you? How do you know this?"_

" _I'm Victor. I'd shake your hand, but..." He gestures toward the transparent blue wall separating us. "What day is this?"_

" _Thursday."_

" _No. The whole date."_

" _I think it's the 13th of July 1989."_

Victor is gone now.

A voice from my left side speaks. "Good morning, Conundrum. Nice to see you again." I look to my left. A short black-haired man dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie grins at me. It is a shitty grin filled with smug satisfaction.

" _My name is Kevin, not Conundrum. Conundrum is my CB handle. And I'm one hundred percent certain we've never met before." The sky around me flashes green. It quickly returns to the dull blue of the room._

" _After today, you won't see me again until you're thirty-five," he advises me. "I've already met that future version of you."_

" _You're a time traveler?" I ask in a whisper._

The man throws his head back and laughs. "No, no, no! You have it all backwards. You are the time traveler! Well, you aren't yet, but somehow, someday, you will be."

" _What?" I ask, not understanding the basis of the conversation._

Wald stands to my right again. He answers. "Don't worry about it. You won't remember any of this anyway." I look back over. "Here." He hands me a large brass key on a chain. A single sentence is inscribed on the front. 'PJ's Pub Shrimp pizza.'

" _What's this for?" I ask._

" _Put it away. Keep it safe." Wald takes it away from me and places it around my neck. "There. It's safe now; close to your heart."_

Victor says, "My days are numbered." I do not see him when he says this.

" _I'll do whatever I can to help you," I say to Victor. The sky flashes green again._

" _Thank you," he replies._

I take a pill from Wald's hand and swallow it. Nothing happens.

The sound of a Jeep's engine fills the air.

II

I slowly opened my eyes. The harsh rays of the early afternoon sun pierced my retinas with a thousand white needles. A severe throbbing in my temples followed. Had it been possible, I would have sworn my eye sockets were on fire. Self-awareness crept into my consciousness. I became quickly aware someone buckled me into the passenger side of an old Jeep. I attempted to look at the driver with my hand raised to provide a shadow for my smoldering eyes. An older man sat behind the wheel of the Jeep. His hair and beard were white with age and wisdom. Under different circumstances, I might have inquired if he were a relative of Sigmund Freud's.

"Where am I? Who are you?" I finally managed to say through a parched throat. It caused my voice to sound cracked and broken.

"Rest easy, son," the elderly man replied. His accent was thick German. It reminded me of old World War II movies. "You experienced some form of accident on the reservoir. I found you unconscious on one of the small islands as I fished. I put you in my boat and paddled back to the inlet. We are on our way to the hospital."

Some of the morning's events began to return to me. Indeed, I was at the Liberty reservoir hiking across the shoreline while suffering the heartache of my girlfriend's departure to Ocean City. This week was the one she and her girlfriends would lay out in the sun, get tan, and play with strange boys. She took the liberty of breaking up with me the night before she left. She chose this course of action to be open and available to whoever sparked her fancy, all while tanning at the beach in her little tiny bikini.

Then there was the other reason, the big reason I wandered the south end of the reservoir. It was not something I was prepared to discuss with a stranger.

"I don't remember what happened." I rubbed my aching temples. "Just...flashes. Images of people I don't know."

"The name is Richards, Tom Richards." He looked over with care. "Unless you have an immediate objection, I am driving you to Carroll County General. It is the closest."

"Name's Kevin." I nodded in approval of Tom's plan. I recognized the route he was driving, Route 32, toward Westminster, Maryland. The drive from Eldersburg was readily twenty-five miles or more.

I glanced down at my clothes. They were bone dry. I wondered why they weren't wet or at least partially wet. The island masses Tom spoke of were nothing more than tips of land breaking through the unusually low water level of the reservoir. The spring and early summer of 1989 had been arid. The reservoir suffered from a lack of rainfall. The lower the water level fell, the more tips of land appeared throughout the reservoir. So why was I dry? Those small landmasses were not accessible on foot. One would need to swim out to them.

"Was it foggy?" I asked.

"I am sorry?"

"One of the last things I remember was the fog, thick fog. There was none when I got there but the farther into the reservoir I walked, the foggier it got. It was strange."

"There was fog earlier in the morning," Tom said. "It was gone when I found you. Had it not been, I might have completely missed you."

"Thank goodness for that," I said with a weak but sincere smile.

Tom grinned in return. "Do you remember anything else?"

I did remember one other thing. "Was there rain...or lightning?"

"I heard thunder. There must have been lightning at some point. Why do you ask?"

"I think there was a lightning strike. Was I struck?"

"I do not know, Kevin. I am not a doctor," Tom said. I noticed Tom didn't use contractions when he spoke. Who talks like that? Vulcans? Was Tom a Vulcan? Was he an alien? To say it struck me as peculiar would have been an understatement. Then again, it could have been pure delirium, and I was making something out of nothing. "You do not appear to have been struck by lightning. You were unresponsive when I found you. It was then I decided to take you to the hospital."

I began to feel uncontrollable shivers. "I'm cold,"

"You may be going into shock," Tom said calmly and collected. "Try to stay awake as long as possible."

"Okay," I mumbled, making my best effort to remain aware. The pain of the throbbing in my head and the fire in my eyes were giving the orders. They demanded unconsciousness. I closed my eyes to lessen the pain.

Then there was nothing.

III

I was in the emergency room when I awoke. My mother, Jayne, was sitting by my side as I lay in an emergency room cubicle walled off by sterile blue curtains.

"Kevie-bird? How're you feeling?" Mom asked. I sighed at the Kevie-bird reference. Mom gave me that nickname when I was a toddler. It originated from the P. D. Eastman children's book 'Are You My Mother?' which featured the two main characters of the Mommy-bird and the baby-bird. When Mom would read it, she changed the name of baby-bird to Kevie-bird. The nickname stuck into my high school years. At the age of seventeen, I informed her I felt it was time to wean off the moniker, however well-intentioned.

'Change does not come easily for parents either,' Mom would say when she let the designate slip.

Considering the current circumstances, I overlooked it.

"How did you get here? Did the old German man call you?"

"No. The emergency room called me. Is that the guy who drove you here?"

"Yeah. I think his name is Tom. Tom Richard, Richards? I barely remember."

"The nurse who called said he gave her the phone number and a brief description of what happened."

I pondered this. "Weird. I don't remember the phone number thing. What I have is a massive headache, and my eyes hurt like hell. It's like they're on fire."

Confusion and thought appeared as one on Mom's face.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said as she stared off. She looked as if she might be attempting to recall some long lost memory. "I remember feeling something similar the night lightning hit the pool when we lived on Arthur Avenue."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think so. A terrible headache with burning eye pain."

I rolled my eyes. "You used to get headaches all the time back then."

"Yes, that's true, son," she said sternly with a matter-of-fact grin. "No thanks in part to you and your sister fighting all the time. I never had burning eyes, though, except for that one night. I don't even remember going to bed. I woke up in the morning with those symptoms."

"I thought it was the light at first," I said. "But even in the dark, my eyes still burn. It's weird. I can't explain it. Did you have any weird dreams before those headaches? I think I had one, but it's fading now. Something about Wald and Ocean City."

"Oh, geez, Kevin. That was some ten years ago. I don't know." Mom paused. "I think I remember a dream about you beating up your father. I don't know. It was so long ago."

"The last thing I remember before Tom found me was lightning."

Mom paused. "That is weird."

"Have you talked to the doctor yet? Does he know what happened to me?"

Mom chuckled. "He doesn't seem to have the first clue. One of them thinks you fainted."

"Tom said the same thing," I said. "But something about that seems wrong to me. My clothes aren't wet. They never were. Is he still here?"

"No. The last time anyone saw him was during your admission."

Mom asked the intake people in the emergency room as to Tom's whereabouts. Only one of them remembered seeing him after he brought me in. He left immediately afterward.

Tom Richards disappeared into thin air.

After several hours of tests, impatient waiting, and a diagnosis of heat exhaustion coupled with fainting, the E.R. doctor released me into the care of my mother. All they gave me was a bottle of eye drops for my 'eye irritation' and explicit instructions to watch for a page full of various symptoms. I was to return immediately should any appear.

Mom wanted to take me back to our house in Woodbine so that I could rest. Being an immortal teenager, I was more interested in finding Tom and thanking him for his Good Samaritan effort. I also wanted to know more about how he found me. I had a nagging feeling that Tom didn't reveal to me everything he knew while we were en route to the hospital.

Mom finally relented to my constant demands. She agreed to drive back to the Route 26 inlet of Liberty Reservoir, where I left my car.

Tom and his Jeep were nowhere in sight. We questioned some of the boaters coming in off the reservoir about Tom or an elderly German man driving a Jeep. No one we spoke to knew him or remembered seeing him. Nor did anyone recall thick fog or a lightning strike earlier that morning.

After pushing the issue, Mom and I walked along some of the reservoir shore looking for any jutting landmass in the water that could pass for an island.

We found none.

I wanted to return to the side of the reservoir I'd been exploring when the fog set in. Now tired from the walking and my unremitting appeals to keep searching, Mom finally insisted we return home. Moreover, she didn't want to make the several mile trek to the other side of the reservoir. Neither would she permit me to drive my own car home.

I'd have to wait until the next day.

IV

I stand on the shore of Ocean City, Maryland. The Ferris wheel on the inlet pier looms ominously on the misty morning horizon. I see three people stand on the beach in between. I am only able to see the shape of their bodies through the fog.

" _You're not supposed to be here," Wald says from behind. I turn to face him._

" _Why?"_

" _Because it's a conundrum."_

" _What?"_

" _Here." Wald hands me a large brass key on a chain. Two sentences were inscribed on the front; 'I want you, Christina. I want to make love to you.'_

" _What's this for?" I ask._

" _Put it away. Keep it safe." Wald takes it away from me and puts it around my neck. "There. It's safe now; close to your heart."_

Another voice answers from far away. "Conundrum! Is that you?"

I turn to face the far off strangers. "No. My name is..."

" _This is a private matter," Wald says forcefully. I spin around to face him again._

He is gone.

The Ocean City beach has become the Liberty Reservoir shoreline. The three strangers are closer, although still unrecognizable through the fog.

" _Is everyone okay?" I ask. "Do I need to get some help?"_

" _You're right on time," one of the strangers says._

A female voice shouts, "Kevin! You need to leave now! Run!" She steps forward. She has red hair.

" _How do you know my name?" I ask._

" _It's a conundrum," someone says from my right. I turn to face the source of the voice. I am staring at myself._

" _Who the hell are you?" I ask._

" _Oh, my God. This is it," my double says in fear._

The sound of a screaming jet engine fills the air. I am going to die.

" _Help me," I beg._

Lightning strikes!

V

I woke up.

There were other people at the reservoir, I thought.

I rubbed my eyes and peered across the room toward the aqua-colored readout on the stereo. It was a little past four in the morning. The reality of how long I had been asleep dawned on me. We returned home in Woodbine a little past noon. Mom immediately ordered me upstairs to my room to rest. Although I didn't feel the need to rest or sleep, I entertained her request anyway.

It must have been one of those 'mother's intuition' things. I slept a jaw-dropping fourteen hours.

I could hear my father snoring in his bedroom across the hallway as I gingerly left my room and made my way across the hall to the bathroom. My bladder was swearing at me with jolts of pain as it struggled to hold amounts three times larger than usual. It took several minutes to relieve myself.

After flushing and washing up, I poked my head into the room in which my parents slept. Both were sound asleep.

Reassured neither one was awake to interrogate me over how I felt, I quickly made my way downstairs and into the kitchen for some much-needed nourishment. I returned to my room with two PB&J sandwiches, cool ranch Doritos, and a glass bottle of coca-cola. I turned on the radio and lay down on my bed.

B-104 out of Baltimore - the Top 40 station I listened to more often than not – was currently allowing Debbie Gibson her platform to advise the interested public to 'Shake Your Love' in her bubble gum pop manner.

Fortunately, there would be no on-air personality to talk over the music in the four o'clock hour. I was in no mood for some egotistical Deejay chattering on and on about absolutely nothing.

The dream I awoke to was fading fast like the last dying wisps of twilight when darkness triumphs. It chipped at a distant memory I couldn't consciously recall. There were other people within proximity of me yesterday morning at the reservoir. I couldn't remember them, but I know they were there. I was excited something from that missing chunk of time had come back to me but was also scared about what it meant. Did those three people kidnap me? Were they responsible for whatever happened to me?

What was I supposed to do with this new information?

I began to eat the first sandwich as I thought back to yesterday morning. Curiosity and boredom led me to the reservoir. My recently former girlfriend, Christina Buchanan, broke up with me the night before she left for Ocean City. She was going with her family and her best friend at the time. She left me mildly heartbroken in the process.

Sometimes when I'm down and want to be alone, I drive up to the Liberty Reservoir. It's a beautiful quiet place to hike, explore, and to think.

There was also the matter of the remains.

Two days prior, I'd made a trip to the reservoir for another one of my self-pity sessions. I'd been so lost in thought that the concept of time and direction escaped me. I ended up venturing far into the woods surrounding the north side of the reservoir. So far in fact that it took almost an hour to get there on foot. My discovery consisted of several enormous piles of old rusted junk. At first, I assumed they were nothing more than abandoned farm equipment or leftovers from the town of Oakland Mill that used to exist under the reservoir before Baltimore County dammed up the Patapsco River in 1951.

The history of Oakland Mill and the creation of the Liberty reservoir fascinated me in my childhood. Until I was five or six, I'd assumed the reservoir water had always been there. Then I came to find out Carroll and Baltimore County workers tore down Oakland Mill before they built the dam, save for one or two substantial buildings. I found the concept of all those people forced to relocate challenging to believe. And at that age, why not? The family home is one of the most significant constants in a young child's life. Suddenly taking it away would be devastating.

I've always wondered what else might be sitting on the reservoir floor, left behind. Those mysterious thoughts from years past led to the curiosity of my odd find. I couldn't tell you with any certainty what any of that stuff was. There hadn't been a single recognizable thing in any of those junk piles. My piqued curiosity demanded a second expedition. Unfortunately, the fog from hell and the alleged lightning strike interrupted said outing.

I took another bite from my sandwich. The comfort of peanut butter and jelly in one's bed has no equal.

I began to concentrate on what I could remember. There was the drive to the reservoir, parking on the north side of Old Liberty Road (both sections of the unused old road dead-ended respectively into the reservoir), and the following of the beaten path from the car to the pine tree grid.

The pine tree grid - as I refer to it - consists of multiple acres of statuesque pine trees. Whoever planted them did so in such a way as to create a grid of points. It didn't matter which direction one looked. The layout provided nothing but rows and rows of those thin lofty pines.

The gratifying smell of pine didn't change the truth. Walking through the grid gave me the creeps. The ghostly sound the wind made as it blew through the billions of pine needles, the feeling of impending doom, and a sickly feeling as if death himself held my hand while guiding me. I'd experienced those same feelings before. I was six or seven and living in the Arthur Avenue house a few miles from the reservoir.

VI

The 'Arthur Avenue house' is how I've always referred to my childhood home over the years since moving away in 1981. I'd lived most of my conscious childhood there, calling it home for five years. It's where I became self-aware and began fearing death. It's a small house on the outskirts of Eldersburg close to the Baltimore/Carroll County side of the Liberty reservoir.

We moved there from Lochearn, Maryland, a mid-sized town on the outskirts of Baltimore. I was four then, in the summer of 1976.

Land developers built the house itself in the mid-sixties at the dead-end of the almost mile-long Arthur Avenue. It was an unkempt road that at one time, the government might have kept appropriately paved. Decades of neglect left it grey, cracked, and crumbling.

The entire neighborhood exists in a valley beginning at the top of the road and grades downward before ending by acres of field and forest. Our two-story house appeared to be single-story when viewed from the road. However, the developer built the house into an incline leading up to the road. The basement was accessible from the back where the ground was level.

Fifty feet or so downhill from the basement door sat an above ground pool also built into the yard's incline. The pool was the shoddiest assemblage of parts known to man. Bubble gum and gamey duct tape held it together. How it never managed to wholly not fall apart at any given time, I'll never know. The pool's structure remained in a perpetual state of deterioration and substandard repair during the five years we lived there. The deck surrounding the pool was uneven and falling apart in small sections. The exterior siding was split and peeling off in random places. Worst of all, the weight of the water pulled and stretched the sky blue interior lining off the support structure. The pool pump and its subsequent equipment remained covered by the pool deck extending from the hillside and situated in an earthy nook underneath. It was a dark and dank place, a haven for insect wildlife including sizable spiders, snakes, and one year a rather nasty hornet's nest.

My father would, on occasion, ask me to flush the pool pump. It meant I'd be required to descend into the pump nook. I avoided that grim task like the plague as a child. Standing inside the pump alcove never felt right. An evil aura surrounding it made my blood run cold every time I had to go in there. I'm not talking about a childhood fear of dark enclosed places. No, this was something else.

Swimming in the pool was never a problem as long as it was full of water. Those feelings of unease and near panic would set in when it became empty or half-full, and I'd avoid the whole area.

The basement of the house was the same way. I didn't feel entirely comfortable down there unless someone else was with me, or there was a fire lit in the fireplace. For reasons I could never explain, a lit fire with the pleasant aroma of oak or pine brought comfort in what felt like a dark and evil place.

The basement consisted of five areas, each separated with cheap drywall and balsa wood doors. Clumsy Styrofoam drop ceiling panels covered the unfinished ceiling, the end result of one of my father's insignificant 'do-it-yourself' projects.

The stairway from the basement's 'great area' led to the kitchen and the house's side door to the outside.

The rear exit to the backyard and the pool led into a small room known as the mudroom (or 'mutt room,' depending on whom you asked. The dog we owned then lived in that little room). Over the years, the mudroom morphed into an ad-hock storage area for my father's muddy boots. Half a dozen pairs seemed to live and die there. They never seemed to go away. There was also quite a bit of junk piled in the back that seemed to serve no discernible purpose. There'd been a busted lawnmower that wouldn't start, various broken or close to breaking shovels, rakes, and the screen door that used to hang on the house's front doorway. The wind from one of the many violent thunderstorms of the time blew it off and wrecked it all to hell. The frame had become twisted and bent, and the screens ripped or missing. I never understood why my father didn't throw it away. A new one would most certainly have been a cheaper investment.

Under the bottommost stair and accessible from the laundry room was my childhood secret hiding place. No one knew of it, not even my parents. I recalled seeing it done in a movie once and tried it for myself. I could remove the backboard covering the space under the bottommost stair with ease. Since the tidy little space always blended in with the rest of the stairwell structure, no one ever suspected my use of it. In there, I kept items I didn't want my younger sister finding. I knew she went through my room when I wasn't home. She'd steal bubble gum and candy I attempted to hide from her.

After I discovered my new secret hiding place, I'd put those things inside a plastic bag and hide them in there. My sister's embezzled supply of sweets diminished shortly after that. She'd try to ask about my potential new hiding place, and I'd remain silent. She also discovered rather quickly that crying to Mom about it did no good. I was entitled to have my safe place, as was she. Soon after, she attempted to tease me by claiming her she'd had her special hiding place. She'd deliberately point out I didn't know where it was. It was a stupid game she wanted me to play to learn the location of my safe space. I declined the invitation and advised her that I didn't care about where she hid her crap. I surmised she might call for a treaty later on in which we'd simultaneously reveal our secret spots to each other. She backed off after some time and forgot all about it.

Opposite the laundry room and to the left of the stairwell was the room my father claimed it as his 'work' room. No work ever took place there, however, unless one counts masturbation as work. My father hid his pornography in there and tinkered around with things he didn't want anyone else to see. My sister and I received a specific admonishment from entering the room unless he was in there. When we inquired as to the repercussions of overlooking his stern notice, he said, 'let me catch you doing it and find out for yourself.' His warning was nothing more than a further temptation to go in there unaccompanied so that I could nose around unchecked. I did so many times without ramification. Not so much to see what my father was into as that was boring to me. Instead, in the left rear corner of the room sat an old broken-down refrigerator. It covered a large recess into the ground. That dark place invoked the same feelings and sensations I experienced in the nook underneath the pool deck.

All I can recollect from several attempts to peek around that refrigerator was something dark and scary. Mom attempted to explain the people who built the house installed the water pump into that alcove. That was true, but beyond that pump was something more. Everyone else thought it was nothing more than earthy hillside supporting the house. Me? I was convinced there was something more beyond that earth wall. Every time I attempted to squeeze past the side of that fridge to get back there, fear and panic would overcome my consciousness. The experience left me truly scared for my life. Beyond the pump, there seemed to be a force that would send a sick, almost electric fear into my body should I venture too close. Imagine an electric shock. Replace that pain with a body-gripping feeling of pure terror, death, and evil. My apprehension was that should I go in too far, I'd pass out from the sensation or even die from it.

I tried to tell Mom of these things. She would smile and tell me it was all in my head. I never agreed with her assessment. Those experiences have haunted my dreams for most of my life.

VII

I finished the second sandwich and began working on the Doritos.

I don't consider myself obsessive-compulsive, although the casual passerby might believe otherwise based on my eating habits. The sandwiches would come first, beginning with the crusts and finishing with the middle, and then the chips. There would be no mixing the two.

I glanced at the stereo clock. Four-thirty in the morning approached. Across the airwaves, the group Warrant assured me 'Heaven' isn't too far away.

The situation sucked. It was too damned early in the morning to be this wide-awake. I knew the morning hours would drag by with nothing entertaining to do. Even worse, I could foresee arguing with Mom later over letting me go back to the reservoir so soon after yesterday's unexplained incident.

My thoughts returned to those experiences centered on the old in the Arthur Avenue basement. Somewhere in my boxes of past papers and keepsakes from my childhood, I kept a diary as part of a fifth grade writing assignment. I'd barely acknowledged its existence since the fifth grade. I couldn't remember if I'd written about any of those basement experiences. After eight years in a nearly forgotten box, it was time to look for that diary.

It took digging through three boxes of memorabilia before the diary chose to reveal itself. It was somewhat worn and aged with various papers threatening to release themselves from the tang strip.

With care, I began to skim over the entries. Most of them were superficial. I'd written about things I did or items I wanted. The assignment itself slowly came back to me. We weren't expected to write daily entries. Instead, one Friday entry per week detailing the forays into our dull lives was all the teacher required of us. I spent the next few minutes perusing through old memories. The next to last entry caused my stomach to sink as if a falling brick somewhere inside me smashed into the ground. Broken shards splintered into my psyche.

I'd indeed written about the night when lightning struck the pool. The very same event mom claimed gave her the same symptoms from which I currently suffered.

Friday, November 13, 1981

I just turned ten nine days ago. I don't feel any different having two numbers in my age. I guess I won't start feeling different until I'm a teenager or maybe when I'm 16 and can drive a car. I really like cars. My mom drives a 1971 Camero she calls Bessie and the older kids on my road really like it. I think it's an OK car. My dad drives a Chevette and sometimes the van from work.

There was a thunderstorm last night that woke me up while I was sleeping. Nighttime storms are really scary. They aren't during the day but at night they are. Most of the time I sleep through them but last night I had to get up to go to the bathroom. Mom and Dad were still awake and were talking to someone in the basement. The clothes chute to the basement is in the closet next to the bathroom so I could hear them talk. I couldn't figure out who they were talking to. It sounded a little bit like Mr. Larry from dad's work or Mr. Don. I couldn't tell. Mom was upset because she was yelling at my Dad. She does that a lot. The storm got worse with wind and thunder and I couldn't hear what mom was saying. I went back to my room. I couldn't get back to sleep. Before I fell asleep I heard the slamming of the basement door which woke me back up. I wondered why because the driveway is on the other side of the house. I got out of bed and looked out my window to see if I could see anything. The guy that was downstairs with my parents was walking to the pool and where the pool pump is. I hate going down there to flush the pump. It's scary and it makes me feel like I might faint. I went back to my bed and sat. I was scared and thought maybe something bad was going on. I heard someone yell something from the backyard. Lightning struck the backyard. it made the whole house shake. I waited for my sister to start crying but she didn't. Mom came running into my room asking me if I was okay. I told her yes and asked her what happened. All she said was she was making sure I was ok and that everything would be ok. I told her the thunder and lightning scared me and she said the storm was over and going away. She tucked me back in bed. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was a loud low sound kind of the like what happens when I turn the bass knob all the way up on mom's record player.

The first thing I did when I woke up was look at the back yard hoping to find a big black patch where the lightning hit. I was bummed because there wasn't any. The pool was almost empty. I asked mom what happened to the pool and she said the lightning hit it and splashed all the water out. That sounded cool! I wish I could have seen it! Mom told me to get ready for school. When we were ready to go Mom was going to drive us to the top of Arthur Avenue to wait for the bus. I left the house to go sit in the front seat of Bessie before my sister did. I hate sitting in the back seat. I saw a car parked at the end of the road and it looked like it might be blocking the driveway. I walked to the end of the driveway to see better and saw that there was a police car parked there too. The empty car looked like Mrs. Pidges car only older with tan paint. Dad said it was a Dodge. It also looked pretty beat up. The driver's side door was open. What scared me the most was all the blood on the window on the other side of the car. I heard Mom and Meg come outside and Mom said the S word. She yelled at me to get back to her car now! I ran back and got stuck in the back seat because Meg took the front seat. She was smiling at me and meanly making fun of me. I do not like my sister. She always gets what she wants and I don't. I know Dad likes her the best. He said so once because Mom liked me the best. He even said she even liked me more than she liked him and that made him mad. I don't think my Dad likes me a lot. He always yells at me and makes me feel bad. I try to be nice to him so he will like me more but it never works. I think he knows I sneak into his workroom sometimes. Mom drove the car to take us to the bus stop. It only took about a minute to drive to the top of our road and I felt better.

Sometimes I think our basement in haunted and the ghost lives in Dad's workroom. I wish we could move to a new house.

As exciting as that entry was to read, the last entry in the diary rocked my consciousness.

Friday, November 20, 1981

Last Friday my mom took me and my sister to PJ's Pub at the mall. They make my favorite food which is shrimp pizza. After we ate I got to throw pennies in the mall fountain. My sister wanted to come with me but mom said NO! I got to go by myself and I was happy about that since I wouldn't have to share the pennies with her. A stranger came up to me. I know to not talk to strangers and to run away and ask a grown up for help. I wasn't scared of him. The man said he was an old friend of my moms and dads and wanted me to hide something for him. A special magic quarter from the future! I put it in my special hiding place that no one knows about. Then he said he would come back for it someday and visit with me and my mom and tell us where the magic quarter came from.

The teacher left a handwritten note in red ink.

Kevin, you have a very active imagination! However, this assignment is supposed to be about what you did throughout the week and not a pretend story.

I had no memory of writing that entry much less that day. Granted, I couldn't specifically remember writing any of them, but I could at least recall the events written. I tossed the diary assignment aside and stared off into space for what seemed like an eternity.

There was a period between middle school and high school when I would write short stories about the future. Some of them were still in the boxes I searched through only minutes ago. How could I have not written more about those creepy episodes in the Arthur Avenue basement?

The only plausible answer I could procure was one of forgetfulness, whether conscious or unconscious. Later that year, in 1981, we moved away to the small farm town of Woodbine.

The world moved on, and I with it.

VIII

In an act entirely out of character for me, I cleaned up the mess I made out of the boxes while searching for the old diary. I returned it to its appropriate box and stacked all three boxes neatly into the closet. Usually, I'd leave such things to sit and only put them away out of necessity or upon demand. Mom would be proud...or concerned.

My father's workroom in the basement, the pool pump nook, the pine tree grid; something was wrong with that whole area of Liberty reservoir. Perhaps the entire damned area was haunted. A place still where angry souls walked about, from shore to shore, refusing to leave the flooded ground where their homes once stood. I wondered if there might be a cemetery out there. If so, did the county move it before the damming of the Patapsco? Maybe there was one out there unknown to everyone.

I flopped back down onto the bed. My thoughts returned to my journey after exiting the pine tree grid and arriving on the shoreline of the reservoir. The water would usually lap up against the shore where it meets the forest. It didn't over this summer. The drought of 1989 left the reservoir's water level considerably and dangerously low. One could easily walk ten or twenty feet onto the reservoir floor before stepping in water.

I'd walked the length of the reservoir shoreline with all its twists and turns even though I could have easily crossed in dry spots. My journey led to pockets of water and forestry unseen from the Liberty Road Bridge over the reservoir and far enough away, so road noise was no longer audible.

The farther away from the road I walked, the heavier the air had become. The fog began to form out of thin air. Within minutes, it was impossible to see what little water there was from the shoreline. The fog enveloped everything in what seemed to be an Earthbound cumulus cloud. At the time, I assumed I'd walked into a foggy patch. Upon reflection, I now have the distinct impression the fog appeared around me and the entire area. I'd not been walking all that fast. My pace had been steady.

The fog was an oddity in and of itself. There'd been no chill in the air. Mist on the reservoir usually comes about in spring and fall when changes in the temperature fluctuate. That's when I saw them, the other people. The three of them were farther down the shoreline and in a heated discussion.

A car outside slowed down as it passed the house. The sound of it broke my spell. I turned to the window behind me and peeked out from behind the blinds. Whoever drove by turned onto the dirt road next door. Sawmill Road, I call it. Its final destination ended at a sawmill nestled in the woods an acre and a half behind the house.

This early morning activity hardly surprised me. The local farmers across the street who owned the sawmill property were typically awake at three in the morning to milk their cows. They often ventured down to the sawmill for one reason or another.

I returned to my previous spot on the bed and closed my eyes to attempt to remember more about what happened with those three people in the fog. I fell asleep instead. It wasn't a deep sleep. I was still conscious of the music playing in the background. Some new Bon Jovi ballad I'd heard only a few times played softly.

An unusually pronounced crackling from the stereo speakers snapped me back from the edge of sleep. I sat up. Was the audio interference a dream? I glanced over toward the receiver unit. The signal strength meter fluctuated. The early hour wouldn't be a convenient time for WBSB to lose their signal strength with less than an hour before the morning show would begin.

The signal died entirely. Dead air with minute crackling trailed off from the speakers.

"Damn it," I whispered. I stood up to adjust the tuning. It fixed nothing.

A wicked flash of white light burst outside from the direction of the backyard. I cringed and waited for the thunder to follow.

It never came.

I opened the blinds of the rear window and looked around the backyard. White light flickered from deep within the woods. I looked away. What was the most plausible explanation for that? The flashes were bright and intense enough to be a welding torch. Perhaps one of the farm boys drove back there to work on one of their many pieces of farm equipment stored there.

I closed the shades and returned to bed.

The signal meter on the stereo receiver jumped to full. Music replaced the dirty silence, a kind of music I'd never heard before.

Bon Jovi was long gone. In his place was something much different. I didn't recognize the artist. There were guitars, drums, bass, and piano. It was the style and production of those instruments that offended my musically trained ears. A dominant female voice belted out words I could barely comprehend. "Don't cry to me. If you loved me, you would be here with me."

Lyrics Christina should heed, I thought sourly.

The style of this song was so...violent? Dark in tone to be sure even with the well-played piano. If this was a new group, then I didn't care for them.

I switched the station to 107.3 – Q107. Whatever they were playing was equally as bad. Again, I couldn't identify the artist. Heavy sounding guitars played, but not in the style of heavy metal. The instruments were seriously overproduced to shape a fuller sound. Crunchy would be a better term. Whoever was singing sounded like a whining dog. He was going on about having a bad day and singing a sad song to turn it around.

I dialed up 98 Rock on the tuner, hoping to hear some Motley Crue, Poison, Gun 'n Roses, or something familiar...and tolerable.

Crushing disappointment, it seems, was to be my constant companion this morning. The noise coming from the speakers was worse than anything else I'd heard yet. I can only characterize what I heard as blatant noise. I could barely make out the words, "we'll carry on, we'll carry on," something, something "dead and gone."

I turned the radio off and picked up the phone receiver on my desk to call the B104 DJ. I wanted to know the name of that 'don't cry to me if you loved me' song and, more importantly, who sang it.

"B104," the DJ said as he picked up the phone.

"Hi, listen; I have a question for you."

"Shoot,"

"What was the name of the song you played after the Bon Jovi song?" I asked.

"You mean the one that's on now?"

"Yeah"

"When I See You Smile."

I paused. I knew that song by Bad English. What I'd heard was not Bad English.

"Are you sure? It had a female singer with a loud voice. She sang something like, 'don't cry to me if you loved me.'" I said, offering a bad approximation of what I had heard.

"I've never heard of that song," the DJ said. "Are you sure it was B104 you were listening to?"

"Yeah. I checked Q107 and 98 Rock, and they were all playing songs I didn't recognize."

"Hmmm. Hold on." The jock placed me on hold. He returned within the minute. "98 Rock is playing Guns 'n Roses, and Q107 is playing Cheap Trick. I'm not sure what to tell you, pal."

I sighed. "Okay. Thanks." I hung up the phone.

Something funny was going on here and not in a good way. I turned the stereo back on and redialed B104. True enough, Bad English was on the air. I checked the other two stations, and they too were the correct songs.

What did I hear then? Was something still wrong with me from this morning? I fetched the list of symptoms to be mindful of, the one the E.R. doctor gave me. Hearing bad music that didn't exist was conspicuously absent.

I peeked out the back window again. The white light was gone. I heard a car pull out onto Woodbine Road from Sawmill Road and speed past the house in the direction of Route 26.

I wondered if all of these strange events were somehow connected.

It certainly would be nice if I could afford a computer and a modem to dial into the local library to get my answers now. I smiled. Better yet, a small portable computer with a permanent modem connection to one central computer with access to information any time, day, or night. Yeah, that would be a fantastic thing to have.

Maybe someday.

Until such time, tedious treks to the library would begrudgingly suffice.

It was then I decided I'd revisit the reservoir tomorrow, specifically the site where I remember seeing those other people. Perhaps seeing the area again would nudge my memory. There was also the matter of the so-called 'island' and its actual location, the one in which Tom Richards claimed to have found me. With water levels skimming the reservoir floor in some areas, a small protrusion of land might be possible. It was all an issue of location coupled with exactly how far off the shoreline the mass jutted.

IX

Mom drove me to the reservoir the next day so that I could pick up my car. I wanted to return to the scene of yesterday's incident. Overprotective mothers being who they are, it took a bit of fancy footwork on my part to get permission for an hour to go looking for this 'island.' She instructed me to use the payphone at the Shervette's Corner convenience store by the Old Liberty Road entrance to check in before I left. That was her final offer. I accepted.

It took me damned near a half hour to find the section of the reservoir shoreline I last remembered. Even then, I couldn't be one hundred percent sure. The location was only a fair approximation. Between all that fog and my choppy memories of the morning, I couldn't be sure. I identified three possible island masses from that vantage point emerging from the shallow reservoir water. All of them were well off the shoreline and far enough to have given my swimming skills a run for their money.

I sighed.

How the hell could I have gotten out there? I was completely dry when I awoke in Tom's Jeep. If he indeed pulled me off one of those islands, then I should have been soaking wet. Even partially air-dried, my shoes and socks should have been sopping wet. They were as dry as the fucking Sahara desert when I awoke in Tom's Jeep. How was any of this possible? Tom may have saved my life, but I believe now he was far from truthful about the circumstances surrounding his recovery of my unconscious body. To say I was troubled would be an understatement.

Then there were those people in the fog. I knew they were there that morning. I would set my watch and warrant on it. They had to be part of whatever happened to me.

With little time to spare before Mom would send out a search and rescue team, I began the journey back to my car without any reasonable explanation over what happened to me.

I returned home, empty-handed.

X

I made many more trips to the north end of the reservoir in the weeks that followed in search of those piles of unidentified junk. To my dismay, I never found them. I spent endless hours searching high and low from the Liberty Road Bridge back to the Liberty Dam itself. I found nothing.

Whatever those old and rusted piles of junk were, they seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Assuming, of course, I didn't hallucinate the whole thing.

Eventually, I gave up my search. Wherever that spot is, it remains a mystery.

XI

The man who called himself Tom Richards also disappeared into thin air. I must have used every resource available through the Carroll and Baltimore county governments to track him down. Mostly, I wanted to thank him for his selfless efforts, but also I wanted to know more about where and how he found me. It defied logic and needed resolving.

Out of the twenty-four men named Thomas Richards in western Maryland, none of them revealed themselves to be the elderly German gentleman who saved my life.

He also remains a mystery.

XII

Christina Buchanan declined to reconcile with me after her return from Ocean City. She 'needed her space,' which is a euphemism for 'I want to fuck other guys.'

I'd hoped after she got whatever she needed to get out of her system in Ocean City that she might get back together with me. She alluded to it at one point. In the end, Christina crushed my hopes with prejudice.

It made no sense. Christina pursued me for well over a year before we began dating two months ago. She was barely fourteen when we met last year. I thought she was too young to date. I was sixteen and wanted more from a girl than Christina was ready to give. My philosophy was, 'why waste the time?' I wanted a girlfriend who would put out. Christina was a child then. It didn't seem right. Besides, I thought she was better as a friend. She was easy to talk to and a lot of fun to hang out with.

Hindsight being 20/20, her first year in high school changed her. I see it after the fact. She went from a starry-eyed middle school girl to a fickle high school girl who dated a senior (me). My status allowed her to go to high school prom during her freshman year. The girl I knew from the year before was gone. She ended up spending a few months dating me, sleeping with me, and learning what she could from me before moving on to college guys. Within a week of returning from Ocean City, Christina was dating some punk from college.

I was a stepping-stone, and it didn't feel at all good.

Christina's ballet dance across the shattered piece of my broken heart all but ruined for me the concept of trust where it applied to women. I wouldn't seriously date again for two years. Not until the summer of 1991. Not until I'd met Becca Saccarelli.

That was the summer when everything changed for the worse.

#  Chapter III: Peregrination

" _A course of travel; journey."_

*

Date: Friday, October 13, 2006

Location: Home, Bradenton, Florida

Age: 35 (current)

*

I

I'll never look at the moon the same way again.

Ever.

II

Ryan Capcoseve held out his hand. "Okay. Time's up."

"Is it?" I asked. My eyes never left the quarter. "You travel through time. How can time ever truly be up?"

I slid the quarter in my mouth before Ryan could answer. The fingerprint oil I used to grease up the coin made the effort of swallowing it easier. Ryan's eyes widened in disbelief as his mouth opened just wide enough to inhale in surprise. "I don't understand, Kevin. Why would you do that? I don't get it," he asked calmly. Before I could come up with a snappy answer, Ryan leaped across the distance between us and slammed me against the wall. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

"Because it can't end here, like this," I said. "Now you have to take me with you. Wherever you go now, I go too. It's as simple as that."

I now had somewhere to go. I was ready to leave.

III

Ryan sighed in apparent frustration. He rubbed the temples of his forehead in thought. Were I to hazard a guess, he might be recalling the chapter of his Temporal Directives dealing with 'How the Fuck Do I Get Out Of This Mess' situations.

He finally spoke. "Kevin, don't mess around with me. Please?" I thought I detected sincerity in his voice. Perhaps it was because there were all kinds of bad things he could do to me and would rather not. The quarter would take priority over all, with my safety taking a distant second. "Just go out back, stick your finger down your throat, and throw up the quarter."

"I can't. I know you won't believe this, but I have no gag reflex." It was a lie, of course. What did Ryan know? I didn't want to puke. I fall into the category of people who would instead feel as if they are dying from drinking too much rather than barf it up and feel better.

Ryan slumped onto a barstool by the breakfast nook with his hands still over his face in frustration. "Alright," he said, now appearing collected. He whipped out his Impüls device and pointed it directly toward me. "I can make you feel sick enough to vomit without hurting you. Then it'll all be over."

I then did something I'm well known for; acting without any thought of the consequences. I kicked Ryan's Impüls out of his hand. It flew off to the side and into my son's completed K'Nex project, The Motorized Ball Madness Machine tower. The Impüls hung within the K'Nex support structure. Ryan looked in its direction, his mouth agape in surprise. I can only hypothesize his unfamiliarity with the toy, and everything around it gave him pause. His lack of reaction gave me the advantage I needed to push him away and into the foyer area. He tripped and fell back into the front door. I dove for the Impüls and yanked it free of Spencer's K'Nex tower. Small K'Nex parts flew across the living room.

Dammit! Spencer's going to be pissed! It took us two weekends to build that fucking thing. Now, look at it. It's a wreck.

I turned toward Ryan and pointed the Impüls at him. Four buttons with a level indicator for each comprised the device's tiny control panel. There were no labels to identify any of their functions. I had no idea what button adjusted what setting. In the interest of solving the matter quickly, I pushed all the buttons, so the red meters were at full.

Ryan observed my actions with panic in his eyes. His objection was immediate. He reached out to shield himself from gunfire. "No! Kevin! Don't do that! You could kill me!"

"Then don't make me! I want to go with you wherever you have to go. I need to go!"

Ryan held up both of his hands to demonstrate submission. "You can't go. You know you can't. You have responsibilities here. You belong here. I don't. The longer I stay, the more unaccounted variables come into play, and the more dangerous my mission becomes."

I scoffed. "You don't know shit about me, bub! This situation here? It's the first thing that's happened to me in a very long time that gives me purpose. The concept of time travel to a geek like me is like Arthur and his brothers finding the Holy fucking Grail!"

Ryan's response to my assessment was enigmatic at best. He looked at me as if I had told him Santa Claus was real and would leave presents under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. "The Holy Grail? From the Bible? Are you kidding?"

I ignored his inexplicable reply. "My life has been shit for so many years now. All I do is work and raise my son. I have no life, no friends, and no girlfriend to lie down with at night. I need to know if all my science fiction fantasies are real! This is for me, Ryan. For me! I need this!"

Ryan didn't look surprised. "Yeah, I know you do, Kev," he said calmly and collected. "I know quite a lot about you, believe it or not. I studied everything we have on record for you, including events you've yet to experience. I also know what you were planning on doing at the mall this morning."

My jaw dropped. Ryan shouldn't know about that since I came up with that idea on the fly only a few hours ago. "Since you know me so well, you should know that I prefer not to take no for an answer. Now since I'm fairly certain that killing you would cause a lot of trouble where you're from, I suggest you take me to where you have to go, or I'll start pushing more buttons!"

Ryan stood up straight with his arms still raised. "You don't understand. Not only would taking you with me violate one of the most important Temporal Directives, but I don't think you'd survive the trip."

"You did!"

"Yes, Kevin, but I've trained for temporal displacement. It doesn't affect me the way it would affect you. You might live through it, but for the untrained, travel through the displacement portal is very painful and traumatic. I've seen it happen and it isn't pretty. I've seen men die from the experience. Is it worth dying over?"

Yeah, maybe it is!

Ryan shook his head and looked away as if he might have misspoken. "Okay. Maybe I shouldn't have put it that way. You have too much to live for here. You have a son who needs you."

I reaffirmed my aim toward Ryan. "Stop! If I understand half of what you've been telling me about the concept of time travel, I can be back here before anyone even knew I was gone." Ryan didn't retort. His hazel-brown eyes froze cold. His reaction led me to believe I was right. "So, where are we going?"

"Kevin, with the training I have, I could very easily take that Impüls away from you and have your memory wiped of this whole day within a matter of minutes." Ryan tapped at the Löschen. I held the Impüls closer to my chest, never taking my aim off him. I didn't think I could fire if called upon. However, I didn't want Ryan to know that either.

Another forgotten image of the three people from my lost morning at the Liberty Reservoir appeared in my head. I think now maybe one of them had been carrying such a device. I began to wonder after all these years if those people captured me and used a Löschen on me so I would forget what happened that morning. Did someone like Ryan erase my memory? Did I stumble across other time travelers? Did they blank my mind and leave me on a small island. Was Tom Richards involved too, or did he find me passed out, offering aid and assistance? Tom spoke with a German accent, didn't he? All of Ryan's cool little toys have German-sounding names, such as Impüls or Löschen. Coincidence?

I needed to tell Ryan about that day. Those events somehow have something to do with everything that happened this morning. I turned the Impüls handle side toward Ryan and presenting it to him. He nodded in approval and gently took the weapon out of my hands. "You did the right thing, Kevin." He adjusted the settings I changed on the Impüls. "If you had fired this at me, it would have killed me. The damage from that to the space-time continuum would have been...exceedingly bad."

"Why?"

"I still have missions to accomplish before--" Ryan began. He cut himself off. Was he contemplating saying something interesting or revealing? "Before my work is finished and I retire."

"I still want to go with you, Ryan." I pointed at the Löschen. "And I don't want you to use that, thing, on me. I think someone already did once, a long time ago."

My reveal earned Ryan's undivided attention. He looked downright shocked. "You do? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think so." I began to tell him about the morning at Liberty reservoir. He listened intensely without making a single interruption. It wasn't until I began to talk about the three people encompassed by fog on the shoreline did I observed a genuine reaction. Ryan's eyes widened at the mention of the woman with red hair. I paused, hoping he would say why. He instead motioned for me to continue. I did. Afterward, he said nothing for several seconds as he contemplated the new information.

"If what you say is true, Kevin, I'm almost certain you encountered a group of TDIs that morning." Ryan rubbed his chin as if recalling something. "I also think I know the woman you described, the one with the red hair. She's our chief medical officer. Then there's that area of Maryland in general, which I can't go into right now."

"I knew it! I knew there was more to that whole area! Why did some of those places make me feel like I was going to die? Can you at least tell me that?"

"No," he said. Disappointment crushed me. "But I might be more open in allowing you to tag along with me for a while longer. I think your involvement with the FCA may not be so random." Ryan paused and chuckled. "Connor...Detective MacKenzie? He wouldn't answer me when I asked him about the randomness of your involvement in this whole thing."

Hell, I could have told him that. I've felt it all my life. I've always believed I'm supposed to be doing something more significant than writing computer programs and taking other people's dollars for it. "So what does that mean, do you think?"

"It could mean everything, or it could mean nothing." Ryan reached into his pants pocket. He brought out what appeared to be the thinnest flip cell phone I had ever seen. "Sometimes Detective MacKenzie is...what was the word you used? Cryptic?"

I grinned a little. "Indeed, I did."

Ryan flipped open the cell phone thing with a flick of the wrist. "Brüder-2, please respond."

"Copy, TDI-2," the voice over the communication device said.

Something ticked in my head. The voice that resounded out of Ryan's future cell phone was rooted and articulate.

('You'll just fuck her and throw her away. You don't deserve her.')

I knew that voice. I couldn't immediately put a name or face to it. It'd been years since I last heard it, perhaps even decades.

"How's it going down there? Did you recover the anomaly?"

"Ten-four, Brüder-2. What's your twenty?"

I smiled in amusement and confusion, feeling the two blend into one facial expression. They were using the Citizen's Band (CB) codes. Ryan's use of 10-codes struck me as particularly odd, considering how old they were. Why, in a future where they have advanced technology, would the FCA still be using archaic 10-codes?

Ten-four translates to 'message received.' Twenty or ten-twenty is another way of asking the receiver's current location.

"I'm at your location now, TDI-2," the phantom voice said. "Take a look outside."

Ryan and I exchanged glances before I bolted for the front door. I left Ryan on the barstool where he'd settled himself. There were no cars on the road or parked vehicles in front of my house except for Ryan's enormous and somewhat injured Hummer in my driveway. Above was nothing but blue sky littered with random cumulus clouds. Ryan joined me at the pavement to the driveway. One of the larger and darker cumulus clouds flickered with internal lightning.

"I see you," Ryan said into the flip phone. "Stand by for instructions. TDI-2, ten-ten." Transmission complete, stand by.

I looked Ryan squarely in the eyes. "So you're going to tell me there's a space ship hiding up there inside that cloud?"

"It's the smaller of our two craft."

My mind reeled. "TWO?"

"Four...originally."

My eyes bugged out in an expression of surprise and wonder. Ryan showed no emotion one way or the other. Of course, he didn't. This was just another day at the office for him.

"So, now what?" I asked. "Do we just 'beam up'?"

My question earned an actual laugh from the stone-faced Ryan. He tilted his head back slightly as he laughed. "You and Martin will get along well. He's piloting Brüder-2. He's also a fan of the old Star Trek program. To answer your question, the technology we have isn't like any of that old television stuff. The science behind a 'matter-to-energy transporter' is flawed. It would never work as you've seen it shown on fictional television. We have something similar to a transporter, although it works a little differently from how you might expect. Even so, Brüder-2 doesn't carry a ground-to-ship transporter program. She'll have to land."

"Land? Land where?"

"That's the problem. There are no local land zones in this part of Florida in this decade. The nearest is in Tallahassee, which is about eight hours from here."

"So, how did you get here?"

Ryan looked slightly stunned as if he were talking to someone with no common sense, "I drove?"

On any typical day, I would have returned said sarcastic quip in kind with another of equal or higher value. I refrained from doing so. I couldn't tell how Ryan might take such a retort, even in jest. He's difficult to read. It's hard to tell when he's relaxed.

Ryan must have sensed my apprehension during the uncomfortable pause. "I secured the SUV in Tallahassee after Martin and I arrived. The FCA has a small landing hangar up there. I drove down while Martin gathered intelligence of your pickup location. He then backed me up via Brüder-2. We were supposed to return to FCA-1 once the anomaly was acquired and safe. Variables have changed now, and so has the plan."

"So, you're 'winging it?'" Ryan stared at me as if he didn't understand. "Making it up as you go along?"

"Yes. And where temporal displacement is involved, 'winging it' is a very dangerous variable. The less interaction I have with people from this period, the better. This brings me to our current situation. The quickest way for us to get back to where we need to be is onboard Brüder-2. Law enforcement of this era is most likely looking for my automobile. Brüder-2 will need to land in a remote location. Tallahassee is too far away to drive and is the only Florida landing zone for the FCA in this era. I suppose I don't have to tell you why the airports aren't an option."

I nodded. Ryan was right, of course. Landing an alien ship at Sarasota-Bradenton Airport or Tampa International would raise a few eyebrows, not to mention, break a rule or two in Ryan's Temporal Directives handbook.

"So you need someplace isolated," I said, reiterating Ryan's query. I pulled at the whiskers of my goatee as I considered possible locations. "Even if I could think of such a place, a ship landing will be seen for miles around."

"That won't be a problem. Brüder-2 is stealth in flight. The only time we need cover is when she's stationary. The ship produces an average cumulus cloud in observation mode. When she lands, she'll be inside an artificially created fog bank. All we need is an isolated area for about five minutes."

I flipped through locations in my head like photos in a filing cabinet. I stopped at one that would almost be perfect. I wondered if Ryan would accept 'almost.' "At the south end of Siesta Key is Turtle Beach. It's nothing but a beach for about a mile. We could drive there and park in their public lot. We'd then have to walk about a half a mile south. I think it's the best we can do mid-day." Ryan sighed. He didn't look convinced. "Or we could wait until it's darker or hope an afternoon thunderstorm rolls in. That'll chase people off the beach in a big damn hurry."

Ryan snapped to attention. "Perfect! We can create our own thunderstorm." He flipped open his communication device. "Brüder-2, please respond."

"Copy. What's the plan?" There was Martin's voice again. I knew that voice.

('I've loved her almost all my life. You don't love her at all! And it's NOT FUCKING FAIR!')

I've never known anyone named Martin. I found myself hoping I could meet the man with the mystery voice and see his face. It might answer a few questions of my own.

"Run 'Siesta Key' and 'Turtle Beach' through DRADIS," Ryan said. "Find the least populated area. Go as far south as you have to. Once you've found a suitable landing zone, create an atmospheric disturbance to ensure as few unaccounted for variables as possible." Ryan paused in thought. "Say, a five-mile radius to be safe. Contact me once you're in place. We'll meet you there in approximately one hour."

"Uh...we?" Martin asked. The apprehension in his voice was unmistakable. "Is Conundrum ten-twelve?" Visitors present.

"It's fine, Martin. The situation is stable. TDI-2, ten-eight." In service, subject to call.

"Ten-four. Brüder-2, ten-eight." Ryan flipped his device closed.

Something about Martin's reaction to my inclusion concerned me. Maybe it had something to do with his all-too-familiar voice. I don't know. Something felt wrong. Fool I am, I ignored my better judgment. The idea of tagging along with a man who works for some kind of future agency that deals with time travel was just too big a deal and too good to be true.

You know what they say about things that are too good to be true...

IV

I've lived in Florida for thirteen years. In all that time, I've never ventured south on Siesta Key beyond Turtle Beach. I never saw the point. Turtle Beach consists of a parking lot, a few scattered picnic tables, and lots of quiet beaches. Midnight Pass Road is the only road providing access to Turtle Beach. According to Martin and some supercomputer at his fingertips, Midnight Pass Road extended farther beyond Turtle Beach. I was surprised to hear this. I'd not been to Turtle Beach since 1995. Martin reported lots of development had gone up over the last ten years. Turtle Beach was no longer the private little area in which I used to take prospective women for some extracurricular activity. It was now a fucking campground.

Our only hope was to take the campground road, Blind Pass Road, all the way to its terminus. Beyond there, the road becomes private. Once there, we'd need to find a place to park my car and walk about 1000 feet south on the beach far beyond the private condominiums. Martin described the area as, 'so out of the way, you could bone your girlfriend in the middle of the day, and not even God himself would see.'

Ryan scoffed at the God reference and advised Martin to keep his silly beliefs out of our work. I suspected Ryan might be an atheist. As I am also, it should give us lots to talk about during the flight to FCA-1.

Ryan decided the quickest way to our destination involved my driving the two of us in my car. First, I could get us there faster, knowing the area as well as I do. Second, Ryan participated in a hit-and-run incident earlier in the day while saving my ass from the Agents in Black. Never mind the minimum but apparent damage to Ryan's SUV from the collision. Fleeing the scene of an automobile accident in Florida is a second-degree felony. I felt it safe to assume law enforcement might be searching for Ryan's SUV even if the Agents in Black fled to avoid questioning. No one would be on the lookout for my Corvette.

The matter of proper credentials also required consideration. Ryan carried a phony Nevada driver's license. The last thing we needed was law enforcement spotting Ryan's bad ID while on the lookout regarding a BOLO for a slightly damaged black SUV. With this in mind, and to avoid possible neighborhood-watch drive-bys, Ryan parked his offending SUV in my garage before we left for Turtle Beach.

Our drive would require half an hour, give or take. It all depended on the mid-day traffic. I also needed to be careful. I didn't want to violate the speed limit in my enthusiasm to see the Brüder-2 ship and attract more unwarranted attention.

Ryan expressed respite when I relieved him of his driving duties. He took the time to relax as we snaked our way through pre-rush hour traffic. Exhaustion surrounded him. He didn't say much. I, on the other hand, was brimming with questions. I didn't know where to begin or if Ryan would, or could, answer them. He must have sensed my overflowing curiosity after the first ten minutes of the trip. More likely, I think it had something to do with my frequently looking over at him.

"What is it you want to know?" He asked. I didn't detect impatience in his voice. Instead, he sounded more resigned to inevitability.

"You look wiped."

Ryan wiped his face with his hands. "I am. I don't really know when I last slept. Even with the training, sometimes my internal clock becomes confused as to what time it really is."

"How does that work?" I asked. "I mean, you said you started time traveling in 2083 as a job. Do you ever go back to the point in time you're supposed to be, or are you perpetually living in other time-periods?"

Ryan let off a single silent laugh. "I joined the FCA in 2083, when I was twelve. I didn't join the TDI division until I was eighteen in 2089. There's a carefully worked schedule for missions where temporal displacement is involved. I'll return to my own time, known as my current time index, after each mission for a recovery period. We do our best to keep the time I spend away from home linear with the time I go back." Ryan paused, thinking his answer might have been sufficient. I glanced at him a few times with wide unsatisfied eyes. He continued, "For example, if a particular mission takes twelve hours, I return to my time twelve hours after I left. If a mission takes a week, then I go back a week after I left. We do this specifically, so I don't appear to age faster than I should. Each of us has our own time index, a point in time where we are supposed to be. Those of us who temporally displace try to keep our time/age index as current as possible."

"Wow," was all I could say. "I can't imagine what that must be like."

"Martin compares it to something called 'jet lag.' Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah."

"It's like that but on a much bigger scale. The truth is it's a very complicated procedure from scheduling to implementation. There are teams of people whose only job involves ensuring our missions work correctly and go as smoothly as possible. All I do is show up and do my thing. I would mentally collapse if I worried about every possible aspect of it. The FCA is a very well oiled machine that I'll never fully understand. I wouldn't want to either. Most of it's compartmentalized. Some sections have no idea what the TDIs are doing, and we have no idea what exactly those who calculate the variables do just as long as they deliver the correct data. I think if we were to get in each other's way, the program would fall apart."

"So when you're done here, you'll go back to 2090-something-or-other and...what? Take a vacation?"

Ryan chuckled dryly. "Sort of. I don't really understand how the FCA decides who goes where and when. There are very specific protocols about what we can and can't do based on the information we know. Some missions are waiting for me even after this. From your perspective, they might have already happened or have yet to happen. It's not so much of a deadline situation as it is an intelligence situation. As I said, there are groups of people who sort all these things out ahead of time, who account for every conceivable variable before I go anywhere." Ryan glanced over to gauge my reaction. "To answer your question, I could go for weeks or months where I have no mission. There's also a required period of rest after each mission to deter what we call Temporal Psychosis."

That sounded particularly unpleasant. "Do I want to know what that entails?"

Ryan made eye contact when I glanced over. "In short? Insanity...or death. Sometimes both."

"What does your family think about what you do?" I asked.

Ryan sighed. I knew that sigh having heard it several times already. He either didn't want to answer or couldn't.

"I don't have a family," Ryan said regretfully. "My biological mother died during childbirth, and my father died as a result of the war..." Ryan paused, probably realizing he let slip something he shouldn't have. "...I have no wife or children. It's all part of working as a Temporal Displacement Investigator. And to some degree, required. Understand one thing, Kevin; the TDI program is not public knowledge. There are rumors about it closer to my time, but nothing anyone can prove. You also need to understand that where I come from is a radically different place from your when. It's a lot more complicated. Society's very different. There's no government. There's only The Corporation, and they dominate the entire planet. The FCA, the organization I work for, is working to take down The Corporation and restore some order to a very badly damaged planet."

I thought for a moment that I might faint. I let off the accelerator a bit. We were over halfway where we needed to be and ahead of schedule by at least ten minutes. My brain heard what Ryan said. It attempted to deny all of it. "I don't know if I can truly believe what you are telling me, Ryan. Chances are I will live to see the world you're describing. I have to tell you; I'm not very enthused about it."

"I don't blame you." There was no comfort in his voice.

"Is it inevitable then? This 'war'? Is there anything that can be done to prevent it?"

Ryan offered no immediate response. His lack of reaction warranted my glancing over to see what kind of physical clues he might be giving off. He looked serious. Too serious. "Do you really want to know?"

I paused. It was a good question. Did I want to know the future my son and I had to look forward to besides a 'very badly damaged planet' controlled by 'The Corporation'? They sounded big and dominating like a tall building looming over shorter ones, its shadow always cutting off much-needed light.

"I think I got my answer," I finally said flatly. My blood began to run cold again. What began as a dream-come-true endeavor to learn about what the future held turned out to be a nightmare in waiting. "I guess it'd be pointless to ask if you're sure about that."

"Yes," he replied in a direct matter of fact way. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. "Let me explain something about the space-time continuum. She's a fickle bitch with a bad temper. One simply can't go back and prevent some catastrophic event from happening, not if that history is established. To do so would create what Martin calls an 'alternate timeline.' Do you know what that means?" I nodded. "Anything that occurs from that point forward in an alternate timeline changes the future. If we were to displace into the past from our future and change something, the future we know might not be the one we return to. This is why we have a strict set of protocols that must be followed to the letter."

I bit my lip. I wasn't sure how much more I wanted to know. "What about this war you mentioned?"

"It's complicated. I have some discretion on what I can and can't talk about. I'll be making contact with Detective MacKenzie soon enough. After I brief him on what you've told me about your experience at Liberty Reservoir, we'll find out what that mission was about and what your involvement was. If he permits me to do so, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

I sighed. "Fair enough. We have about ten minutes before we get to Turtle Beach."

"Very good. Thank you." Ryan slid back into the passenger seat of the Corvette. "This seat is very comfortable. Is this considered a luxury car?"

I honked a short laugh. "It's no Mercedes Benz or Lexus, but yes, the Corvette is considered upper class."

"I don't know those names, but I understand your meaning."

After a few minutes of silence, I once again tread gently into additional questioning. "You said you had four ships. Any harm in asking about those?"

"We have two of them. Brüder-1 is very big, say about the size of an old-time aircraft carrier. She remains docked underground in this time-period for security reasons. She's also the only craft that's space-worthy. Brüder-2 is - to use a Star Trek term you'd understand – like a 'runabout.' She's powered by a twin Ion drive program and is designed for travel in the atmosphere, although she can maintain an orbit if necessary. Brüder-3 disappeared under control of The Corporation in mid-1991. We believed she either crashed or was lost. Brüder-4 is still unfound. We only have records of her." Ryan paused as he looked off into the distance. "I'd really like to see her before I retire."

"Why?"

"It's rumored she's equipped with a gravity drive that can bend space-time. It would make faster than light-speed travel possible."

"For real?" I asked. "The way I understand faster than light travel, you'd need to be in two places at the same time, literally."

Ryan smiled. Such an expression wasn't a common thing for him thus far. "You're absolutely right. The laws of physics can't be broken, but they can be bent. In theory, the gravity drive creates a black hole that bends space-time and converges two points in space and time, so they coexist. This would allow instant travel to the chosen destination."

"Event Horizon," I said aimlessly.

Ryan shook his head. "An event horizon is the area surrounding a black hole. Events there can't affect the outside observer. Any light emitted from beyond the horizon can never reach the observer. Anything that passes through the horizon from the observer's side would look frozen in place. The image becomes more redshifted as time passes."

I looked over at Ryan in complete confusion. "What?" Ryan looked back with equal surprise. "I'm talking about the movie, dude. You described the movie Event Horizon with the gravity drive and whatnot."

"Oh. I've not seen it or heard of it. A lot of literature and art were lost after the war, including movies." Ryan paused. "Was it any good?"

"Eh. The ending sucked. That's the problem with most science fiction stories these days; they're unbelievable...with bad endings. As I recall, their gravity drive didn't work so well. Instead of doing what you proposed, the ship ended up in another dimension, making it 'alive' and evil. It killed its crew."

Ryan chuckled. "That's complete nonsense. Even with nine known dimensions, one doesn't get there through a black hole. Those old movies are filled with inaccurate fictional nonsense."

"Nine dimensions? Really?"

"Think of time like a cylinder. Its direction is not a straight line. It's cyclical, overlapping itself in regular loops. Martin compares it to a 'Slinky.'" I nodded at Ryan's questioning glance. "The bottom of that spiral represents the past with the top extending into the future. Time is the fourth dimension. The fifth represents the temporal radius. The sixth is the distance between temporal cycles and is what makes temporal displacement possible. The last three dimensions are those of inter-space between the respective spatial cycles." I said nothing. Ryan wasn't making a lot of sense. "Did I lose you?"

"Pretty much."

"It's all basic temporal mechanics. I don't really understand the complexity of it. Detective MacKenzie could explain it better."

"I think I'll just take your word for it," I said with resignation. It was then I noticed the dark sky over the horizon as we approached the south Siesta Key drawbridge. Ryan's communication device emitted a robotic chirp.

No shitty ring tones in the future. Awesome.

Ryan flipped it open. "Go ahead, Brüder-2."

"I'm in a position to set down," Martin said. "I've got a nice little thunderstorm going. What's your ETA?"

Ryan glanced at me for the answer. "Five minutes, give or take," I said.

"Did you copy, Brüder-2?" Ryan asked.

"Ten-four. There's a parking lot about a half a mile from my location," Martin said. I nodded to acknowledge the location. "I'd park there and head down along the beach. I'll signal when you've arrived."

"Ten-four. TDI-2, ten-eight."

"What's with the 10-codes?" I finally asked. "Do you really use them that far into the future?"

"Detective MacKenzie implemented it. Before he became part of the FCA, he worked as a police detective. I believe that's where those codes originated."

I was eager to ask follow up questions to Ryan's answer.

The sudden lousy weather prevented it.

V

There are thunderstorms, and there are Florida thunderstorms. Having experienced both, I can attest to the following fact: Florida's are by and large far worse even if shorter in duration. Whatever thunderstorm the Brüder ship cooked up might as well be a hurricane for all its violence. Occasionally these 'mini-hurricanes' as the locals call them pop up from time to time. No one would suspect some alien or supernatural activity behind it. Driving through it, on the other hand, was a significant pain in the balls.

The drive to the end of Blind Pass Road with all its twists and turns through the many lush and beautiful trees was an episode of 'Dodge the Broken Palm Tree Limbs.' For those who have never seen a palm tree limb, it's a big, wide, hard stick with a huge palm leaf the size of a big-screen TV on the opposite end. When something this size rips off a palm tree in hurricane-strength wind and flies at you, you stand up and take notice. Or, in our case, swerve like a professional racecar driver and hope not to hit anything in the process. I was in no mood to test any of Newton's Laws of Motion.

The wind pushed the car from side to side as I drove. I caught Ryan waving his arms in front of his pale face a few times as he curled down into the seat.

The storm began to taper off some when we reached the turn onto Turtle Beach Road, the precursor to Blind Pass Road. The storm left one hell of a fog bank in its wake. True to my prediction, the various parking lots and campgrounds were clear of other vehicles and people. The Turtle Beach I remembered from the nineties was no more. This small, once private beach was now a tourist attraction. I couldn't help but shake my head in disgust. Secluded beaches were now only for those with money, for those who could afford to live on the private Sarasota Keys like Casey Key, Bird Key, or the obscenely wealthy Longboat Key.

I lessened our speed when Blind Pass Road crossed over into a rocky private road (or perhaps 'shelly' would be a better descriptor, since Florida roads are paved with shells instead of rocks and pebbles). Even in the apparent wind, the fog was thicker than pea soup. In the back of my mind, I marveled at how similar the fog had been that elusive morning on Liberty reservoir before I allegedly 'fainted.'

The private end of Blind Pass Road ended in a cul-de-sac. Private condominiums sat higher up on the left side of the beach. They were barely visible in this fog. I parked the Corvette in a spot next to what I guessed to be a maintenance building. I didn't see any warning signs proclaiming some redneck might tow my car to 'Billy Bob's Garage of Junk on Jerkwater Road' should I park without permission. I took the spot.

Ryan's concern involved other people inadvertently spotting the ship at what was probably the most inconvenient time of day. His unease of a UFO sighting had us running a damned marathon down the beach and away from the private condominium strip. I could feel wet sand building up inside my sneakers, the weight made for an uncomfortable trot. Martin guessed we would need to run 1000 feet. It felt more like ten miles. It was worth the pain at the end of it all. I witnessed the most magnificent thing I believe I'd seen up until that time.

Brüder-2.

And she was beautiful.

True to Ryan's Star Trek description, the ship bore a similar resemblance to a Star Trek Federation Runabout with considerable differences. Bruder-2 was much smoother and flatter. The ship seemed to be composed of a substance identical to solid mercury, like what one might see after breaking open an old thermometer and letting the mercury roll around on a sheet of paper. It reflected everything and gave the exterior an accidental pseudo camouflage. More mesmerizing than the ship's appearance was its lack of noise as I watched it hover down onto the beach. I wasn't sure what a twin Ion drive was, but damn, it was quiet. If I hadn't known a hovering UFO was waiting for us, I would never have known one was here. It was that silent.

The air around us became heavy when the ship finally landed on the beach. It was as if gravity around us doubled. I looked over the length of the craft, attempting to examine every detail I could see. The front of the craft contained no definable windshield or viewport, nor were there any lines indicating where the entry might be. By all measures, the ship appeared to be one big aerodynamically shaped glob of mercury.

Almost a foot off the ground and extending out from both sides of the craft on a downward angle, low hanging wings bragged the most noticeable and attractive feature of the ship's body. The wingtips doubled as the landing gear. Platforms began at the outermost tips and extended forward several feet. A perfectly symmetrical hole in the center middle of each wing held moving blue rings of light. These were presumably some components of the Ion engine. The rings moved on an axis to provide thrust based on pilot control. Extruding from the rear of the ship was the tail. Its design was reminiscent of an old Huey helicopter. In place of blades were more holes with the rings of blue light.

I waved my hand in the direction of the ship. "This," I whispered. "This can't be real. I'm dreaming. None of this is possible." I turned to face Ryan. "This is impossible, man!"

Ryan grinned. "You wanted to see it. Here we are. Detective MacKenzie has a saying, 'be careful what you ask for; you might get it.' Do you understand it?"

I felt my face go rubbery with resignation. "I do, actually. My mother has said that to me on more than one occasion."

A slight grin formed on Ryan's stone face. "She does, does she? Why am I not surprised?"

I looked at Ryan with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. My mouth formed the shape of an O. His slight smile spread into a full-fledged grin as if he'd smugly proven a point. I wasn't upset at the unexpected swipe, quite the opposite, in fact. I was astounded. Ryan didn't strike me as one who used irony as a tool when dealing with people. He chuckled at the expression of surprise on my face. I nodded in approval. I looked toward my feet with lips pressed together to let him know he had this one. He earned it. It was nice to see he wasn't an icy fish. Ryan slapped my shoulder in comradely. He turned away to face the left side of the ship.

"Now what?" I whispered for no apparent reason. "I don't see a way in."

"Wait for it," he replied with a warm smile. It was a smile of love. Perhaps this ship explained all this new lightheartedness from Ryan. He clearly felt love for this craft. Without warning, an entry formed as if the ship was indeed liquid. There was no door, only a doorway. It went straight down the left side of the ship and followed the contour of the hull about half the height of the ship's body. I stared in disbelief. The door that covered the entrance disappeared into thin air, leaving an empty space. It seemed a little oversized for that of an averaged sized person.

"What the hell?" I whispered. I gazed at the newly formed rectangular hole in the side of the ship. Ryan gently pulled the crease in my sports jacket as he walked up into the ship. I followed. I felt my heart beating a million miles a minute.

Surrealism has its sublevels. They range from, 'Wow, I can't believe this is happening' at the bottom to 'this must be a hallucination' somewhere in the middle, and 'this is impossible, it defies all logic' at the top. Experiencing Brüder-2 pushed me to the top and over. One of my life-long geek fantasies was about to come true. I boarded the futuristic aircraft.

I wish I could say my first impression of the interior was as exhilarating as seeing its exterior. Jet-black panels with no discernable controls or patterns lined the ship's interior. They were as smooth as onyx. It suggested a black shell encompassed the ship's interior. To what end, I couldn't say. I couldn't fathom how it was possible to accomplish anything in here much less take off and fly.

It must be some mind-link control. Yeah, you think about what you want to do, and the ship responds. It has to be! What else is there?

A dash panel surrounded the entire cockpit area in front of what was supposed to be the windshield. Opposite the dash panel sat four chairs, the pilot on the left and the co-pilot on the right. About four feet behind the pilot's chair, another chair faced a dash panel on the left side of the interior as some 'operations' position. Finally, the chair also four feet behind the copilot's met the dash panel on the right side of the interior, again, maybe an instrumentation or communications position. It took me a moment to realize the most unusual aspect of what I was seeing. Everything in the cockpit was somehow overly big. It was as if the designers of this ship made the seats, the space between them, the dash panels, and the panels themselves just a little bit bigger than they needed to be.

There was nothing but unused space in the rear of the ship. The only noticeable shape stood against the rearmost wall. From a distance between it and me, I guessed the large black box to be the size of a standard water heater. It hummed ever so smoothly.

Martin sat facing forward in the pilot's chair. He took a deep breath and swiveled around to meet us. I completely forgot about Martin and his phantom voice in my enthusiasm to see this ship. I turned away from the rear of the ship to face Martin. No seer could ever have predicted the next series of events, not on their best day. Well, perhaps that's not entirely true, especially if one considers my involvement in this matter preordained. If the 'well-oiled machine' Ryan insists the FCA to be had done their homework correctly, they should've known what would happen if or when 'Martin' and I would come face to face.

Martin froze when he made eye contact with me. He knew. He knew I knew. I finally realized why I recognized his phantom voice, a voice I'd not heard or thought about in some fifteen years.

Ryan wasted no time recognizing the tension. "What's wrong here?"

I spoke before giving 'Martin' a chance. Whatever he would say would almost surely be a lie or some twisted form of the truth. I'd then have one hell of a time attempting to prove my case.

I pointed toward the man now standing before me. "His name is not Martin. His name is O'Bryan VonWald...and he's dead...or at least he's supposed to be." I faced Ryan. "Wald was one of my best friends from high school. I watched him die. Even worse, it was my fault what happened to him, what ultimately got him killed."

#  Chapter IV: Fortuity

" _A chance or accidental occurrence."_

****

Date: Thursday, June 13, 1991

Location: Ocean City, Maryland

Age: 19

****

I

Senior Week in Ocean City, Maryland, is a local rite-of-passage in which graduating seniors of Maryland high schools enjoy a weeklong, non-stop party. The event is an introduction to the accouterments of college life by renting the dirtiest, and most run-down rental houses or apartments while consuming lousy beer, cheap vodka, old weed, and the raison d'etre: random hookups.

Yet the experience is so much more than a few descriptive sentences. In addition to the graduating classes, some underclassmen who already have their licenses invite themselves as well. One might also find first-year college students or high school dropouts in attendance, those who show up to hang out with former high school friends to relive past glory one more time.

As with most beach communities, Ocean City's prime tourist season falls between May's Memorial Day and September's Labor Day, otherwise known as the lazy, hazy days of summer.

Senior Week parties stretch out between May and July, with the peak occurring during the first two weeks of June when the majority of graduation nights take place. Families on vacation and elderly tourists keep the last quarter of the summer to avoid Senior Week season.

Ocean City encompasses the eastern Maryland shoreline bordering the Atlantic Ocean. It begins at the southern inlet and extends ten miles north into Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The inlet and the boardwalk resemble a smaller, more family-friendly variation of Atlantic City, sans the casinos. What O.C. lacks in gambling activities it makes up with outlet shops, famous restaurants, arcades, and the pier. There, tourists will find several acres of amusement rides, fishing, and the Photon laser tag arena.

Even with all these attributes, Ocean City has always been so much more to me.

II

I didn't go to Senior Week when I graduated high school in 1989. I didn't want to. I didn't have any close friends in my graduating class save for one or two people. I also wasn't one of the popular kids. Most of my peers viewed me as a geek. This status didn't bother me. I learned very quickly not to care about what other, if not lesser people thought about me. I was a 'big brain,' a term coined by my ex-girlfriend Christina Buchanan. So when I say 'lesser,' it's because I considered them complete morons. Sure, bullies could attempt to beat up on me, provided they could catch me. Insofar as a verbal argument? No. They'd lose before I began warming up. It's why animals resort to violence. It's all they understand. Civilized people discuss their issues in search of compromise or common ground. Those other cliques do not.

I earned my 'geek' brand from having an interest in computers, the drama club, and choir. Those other activities – the popular activities – didn't appeal to me on any level. Neither did the cliques who dominated them. In Carroll County, we had the 'jocks' who control the sports scene, the 'farmers' who ran the Future Farmers of America (a rather prevalent club in our county), and the affectionately termed 'druggies' who all but ran the vocational classes. I should point out for posterity that I never witnessed any student labeled a 'druggie' do actual drugs. I believe the whole image to be a façade, one they chose to wear to exacerbate the desired reputation. Who was I to argue with tougher kids who could have easily kicked my ass up one end of Liberty Road and down the other?

Me? I belonged to no particular clique. When I say I didn't want to go to Ocean City Senior Week of '89, it was because I knew such a trip would end badly for me. The kind of money a kid my age needs to make such a trip requires a committed saving of funds earned through working, allowance, or wealthy parents. If I were going to Ocean City, it would be the trip I wanted. Free of harassment from the other high school cliques.

My primary group of friends consisted mostly of underclassmen from my high school. They, too, belonged to no particular clique due to their geek ways. One might say we were privy to our own private circle, should such labels suit ya fine. We played our card games on the weekend and had a damned good time doing so. Thank ya.

The summer of 1989 wasn't a total wash concerning a summer visit to Ocean City. When the early June rush of Senior Week participants subsided, Andy Myer and I took an impromptu trip to my favorite beach town. I've known Andy Myer since the seventh grade. He suffered the same torments as me during those awkward years. Myer earned the rarely given title of 'best friend.' The kind of friend one will know their entire life, no matter how far away one may move or how often one might not see each other when real life kicks in.

Myer also graduated with me in 1989. He also skipped Senior Week that year, citing that it 'seems like too much trouble.' He befriended more people than I did during high school, mostly within our graduating class. I'm sure if he'd wanted to go, he'd have made due. Instead, he waited for me so we could take our spontaneous weekend trip together. That's what a best friend is all about. Mark it well.

On the second weekend in July of 1989, Myer and I each packed a bag, jumped into my little 1983 Fiat Spider, and made the three-hour drive across the state of Maryland to our Atlantic Beach Mecca. We hoped that we'd find a place to stay once we arrived. Locating occupancy without a reservation was more of a challenge than initially anticipated. We did find something eventually. A non-efficiency, closet-sized hole on the second floor of a building that Ocean City should have condemned years ago. To call it a dump would have done a great disservice to buildings that were actual dumps. The second story floor slanted so severely; one could put a soda can on its side and watch it roll from one side of the room to the other and not always in a straight line. It all depended on which way the wind blew. Seriously. No joke.

Never mind. None of that matters. We only used the room during the day to catch up on badly needed sleep. Any other time, Myer and I could be found somewhere in the town. Most on-the-fly trips to Ocean City typically happened in this fashion. It was part of the adventure.

III

The most crucial detail concerning the summer of 1989 involved my physical presence in Ocean City, even if only for a weekend. How we got there, where we stayed, when we left, all these things are irrelevant to me. Only the 'why' matters.

It's all I've ever wanted. There's no other place I'd rather be. It's the ambiance, the fresh salt air, the sound of the foghorn in the morning, the tastes and smells of the boardwalk, and the gorgeous fire red sunrises over the Atlantic Ocean. I could live there, die there, and be happy. I feel at peace there as if I am really, truly home. When I'm not there, I feel drawn back by some unseen string pulling at my heart no matter how far away I am.

Sometimes, not every trip, but sometimes there will be a short time directly after the sun has set and twilight begins, where the sky is dark with hues of blues and greens sprinkled with the setting sun's orange and red. Stars are beginning to reveal themselves with their signature twinkles. It makes whatever I am looking at surreal as if everything has a fluorescent glow around it. The 'twilight effect' I call it...and it's beautiful.

There is a downside. Isn't there always? The drive. From our homes in Carroll County, the trip to Ocean City takes three to four hours, depending upon traffic and the speed in which one drives. As with most road trips, the excursion to our destination is the fun part with the anticipation, the excitement, and jamming out to our favorite tunes the entire way there. The same drive home after all the enjoyment? Not so much.

For me, leaving Ocean City has always been a somewhat painful experience. No matter how much time I can spend there, making that turn off Coastal Highway onto Route 50 West is the most heart-wrenching experience there is. I feel like...no, feel is wrong. I know I'm leaving behind everything that makes a difference, everything that is right. The fresh salt air, the sound of the foghorn in the morning, the tastes and smells of the boardwalk, and the gorgeous fire red sunrises over the Atlantic Ocean, how could anyone ever want to leave behind such bliss? I'll carry that heartache with me all the hours of the long and tedious drive home. Sure, we'll listen to the same tunes and put on a happy face as if everything is okay, even if I am far from it. The music is not quite as loud now, and we're not nearly as enthusiastic. The adrenaline is also gone. Dread takes its place. The whole trip home has become a necessary evil I want done and over with.

Because in the end, what's back home to look forward too? Stale, stagnant air? Hot days doing outdoor chores? Working some lame part-time job so I can have a couple of bucks in my pocket? Yes, those things are hard to bear while imagining the harmony of sounds, sights, and smells that comprise Ocean City, Maryland. When I'm there, I don't ever want to go home. I want Ocean City to be home. I didn't know it as a child and didn't fully comprehend it until I was much older and after moving away from Maryland. Ocean City is the 'happy place' I go to in my mind when I am down or depressed. It haunts my dreams, recurring almost every other night. I've come to realize and perhaps accept I will die there, where I will finally find the peace I never found in life.

IV

It wasn't until 1991 that Andy Myer and I were able to experience Senior Week for what it was, for what it should have been.

In the school year leading up to Senior Week 1991, and at my invitation, Andy Myer began socializing with my younger group of friends. We quickly inducted him into the Card Player's Circle. Following high school graduation, Myer spent the next two years away at college in North Carolina. At the end of those two years, he decided college wasn't his bag. He did manage to stay in college one more year than I did. Myer was like me at the time. We were attempting to find our way in life post-high school. Like me, he wasn't having the best time of it. Most of his other friends were off at various colleges across the country. I was left to entertain him when he had free time, which was often. With Myer was back home in Maryland during summer break, and because there can never be too many card players at any given table, I took the liberty of introducing him to O'Bryan VonWald, Christopher Manyette, and their friend Andrew Taylor; the Card Player's Circle.

He fit right in.

The origin of the Card Player's Circle was an organic thing. It began with O'Bryan VonWald – or Wald, as he prefers - whom I met in high school on his very first day as a freshman in 1987. He'd taken an interest in the Audio-Visual club, of which I was unofficial 'president' at the time. We didn't have a hierarchy like many of the other high school clubs. Even though I was only a high school junior at the time, I was the oldest and longest-standing member. During the morning on the first day of school, the Head Librarian, Lita Henchick, introduced me to Wald. She asked me to familiarize him with the morning responsibilities and expectations of an audio-visual club volunteer, including the services we provided to the faculty of South Carroll High. The job beat sitting in homeroom for an hour bored off my ass before classes began. Wald and I hit it off immediately. We became fast friends.

Through Wald, I met two other freshman students as the school year moved forward. Chris Manyette and Andrew Taylor. The three of them grew up in the same neighborhood, all within walking distance of one another's homes. By the end of autumn, Wald revealed their weekend ritual of playing card games at Manyette's house and always at Manyette's house. I quickly discovered why the night Wald introduced me to the Card Player's Circle. The Manyette household was the 'in' home of the neighborhood. We had permission from Manyette's parents to be as loud and boisterous as we wanted without fear of retribution. Sure, it was helpful that their home sat nicely in a remote, woodsy area away from other houses. More than that, if there was to be teenage debauchery, why not let it be right under the noses of Manyette's parents where we were safe and accounted for. They allowed cigarettes and alcohol with a strict understanding such things were not to leave the property. Intoxicated persons were to spend the night, no exceptions, and no questions asked.

There was also the matter of Manyette's older sister, Tessie. She was a teenage boy's wet dream.

V

It was the same story with every new male friend Manyette invited over to play cards. Tessie would eventually find her way into the dining room where the Card Player's Circle met and seek out the new blood in her house. Male blood. Perhaps she ingratiated herself into the game and his friends to annoy her younger brother. Either way, the result was the same; the new boy's jaw would drop at the sight of her. To be brutally honest, I couldn't claim Tessie to be the most beautiful woman out there, but no one could deny the splendor of her body. In short, Tessie Manyette dripped pure and unfiltered sex appeal with her thin figure, blonde hair, and big breasts.

The younger boys tried flirting with Tessie the nights she joined the Card Player's Circle using various and uninventive techniques in hopes she would raise her shirt for a quick braless peek. None of them ever got one. Tessie would get them all riled up only to walk away and go to bed. Her victims would stare at her all hot and bothered wondering what her big soft breasts would feel like in their inexperienced hands as she left the room.

When I met Tessie, I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts. Like all those who came before me, I was instantly obsessed with her. I wanted her. I envisioned her in dozens of fantasies before making actual eye contact with her. Since Chris Manyette was a new friend, I felt concerned such a lustful attitude toward his older sister might be cause for an uncomfortable atmosphere. He assured me with a snorting laugh that I was not the first friend to wag his tongue at Tessie and wouldn't be the last. Tessie was six years her brother's senior and spent her days in college pursuing a degree in nursing. Her chosen profession earned her the colorful nickname of 'Bedpan.' Tessie made it clear on more than one occasion; her priorities didn't include casual sex with her brother's friends. If she wasn't annoying Manyette or occasionally joining in the card games, then she was in her room studying. Sometimes she would ask if she could practice drawing blood on one of us with a huge needle. No one volunteered, ever.

Strangely, Myer didn't find Tessie attractive. He never bothered with her outside of our card games save for occasionally lobbing a friendly insult or two her way. My attraction to her was a different matter. It quickly ventured beyond harmless flirting. Perhaps it was the age difference. Such a difference brings experience, or so I've heard. I wanted her. When I realized that want would not go away, I made it my mission to have her at least once.

I did make one grave error in my journey to bed Tessie. I confided my intentions to Wald. I foolishly assumed he would back me up. What I got was the exact opposite. Since he and Manyette grew up together, Wald would continuously remind me that he knew Tessie first, knew her longer, and generally knew her better. More importantly, he didn't want me to sleep with her. The subject of Tessie didn't come up often to ensure a continued smooth and unscathed friendship. Wald would occasionally share some facts about Tessie's past in hopes of demonstrating why an ice cube would survive in hell before Tessie Manyette would sleep with me. Wald knew he would never win Tessie's affections. He was too young and too close to the Manyette family. Tessie openly thought of Wald as her other 'little brother.' Still, with those parameters firmly established, Wald would never give me his blessing in any matter related to Tessie outside of her occasionally playing cards with us. Although he didn't see it, his paranoia betrayed him. His constant attempts to ward me away from her told me if anyone had a real chance with Tessie, it was I.

Wald's jealousy intensified as the months passed. All too often, Wald would storm out of a card game when Tessie and I were flirting with each other from pillar to post. His temper tantrums gave the group a good laugh. The Card Player's Circle syllabus included the complete and unfettered verbal abuse of one another. An unwritten contest to determine which player could cut up and put down the others the best (or the worst, depending on one's point of view).

It might come as no surprise that Wald was the undisputed master of the game, earning him the apt but deserving "master of cut-downs." He never let us forget it either. Wald could make snappy comebacks out of thin air faster than any seasoned comedian could. I'm not talking about a few dry quips. No, I'm talking about uncensored one-liner comebacks that had everyone, including his target, rolling around on the floor, holding their gut from laughter.

Yeah, those were good times. Good times.

However, as Robert Frost once wrote, "Nothing gold can stay."

VI

When the graduation week of 1991 approached, Senior Week, The Card Player's Circle moved their decadence to Ocean City for a week. This was the week - the year - Myer and I waited for having chosen to abandon our graduating year's Senior Week extravaganza.

A close friend of the Manyette family owned a condominium on the North Bay side end of Ocean City. Their graduation present to Manyette included the use of the condo for Senior Week. He and a select few of his friends, namely The Card Player's Circle, could stay rent-free at the condominium for the week. The only condition? Leave the condominium in the same condition in which we found it. The location of the condo left something to be desired. It sat about as far from the boardwalk and the pier as one could get before crossing into Delaware. None of us complained, though. Beggars can't be choosers. Besides, who in their right mind turns down such a generous and excellent offer as this?

The spree would be the time of our lives. We'd have seven days of partying throughout the city without parental supervision. That's what Senior Week is all about, baby!

Six of us went to Ocean City, Maryland, in June of 1991.

Five of us came back.

VII

Those who lived in Maryland during the summer of 1991 might remember what happened or read about it in the news. A freak thunderstorm developed over Ocean City on the night before our vacation ended.

Hurricane strength wind, hail, and some displaced buildings littered the beach town. Then there was the legendary lightning strike.

Oh yes, the lightning strike took out an entire section of the Ocean City fishing pier.

Wald had been standing upon that particular section of the pier when the lightning came. He was out there because of me. Because of that, I blame myself for his death.

Well, I suppose I should clarify here: presumed dead, officially.

The police and search-and-rescue teams never recovered Wald's body.

VII

"It's gonna fuckin' storm, dammit," I said. I sighed as I looked out of the backseat window of Chris Manyette's pitch black 1990 Chevy Beretta, a car he dubbed "The Black Flash." Storm clouds were forming over the pier end of the Ocean City boardwalk. I avoided thunderstorms wherever and whenever possible since my run-in with the rogue lightning strike at the Liberty reservoir a few years back.

Wald answered from the passenger front seat without looking back. "We'll play Photon for an hour. It'll rain for a half-hour like it always does, and that'll be that. Big fucking deal."

I sighed again as I watched the lightning dance from dark cloud to dark cloud. Wald could be an insensitive prick sometimes. Now was one of those times. At present, the "master of cut-downs" was slightly annoyed with me over the Tessie situation. "I guess you forgot I was struck by lightning a few years ago, asshole. Way to be supportive."

Wald scoffed. "Allegedly struck. You don't really know what happened that day, right? Anyway, you lived. Get over it." Tessie - who sat in the backseat squished between Andy Myer and me - reached out and smacked Wald on the back of his head. He snapped around and glared at her. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Because Kev is right, you are an asshole!" Wald tossed her a doubtful glance and mumbled something inaudible. Tessie sat at attention, leaned forward, and cupped her ear. "I'm sorry? What did you say?"

"I said 'you're only saying that because you're fucking him.'" Wald said, discernibly louder. He didn't look back to face her.

It wasn't true. At least not then. There had been some heavy duty flirting and the sharing of a bed between Tessie and me the previous night, but no sex. The fact that Tessie and I shared a bed led the others to believe something sexual in nature did occur. Wald was especially curious the next morning, almost to an unfriendly accusation. To yank his chain more than we usually did, Tessie refused to give him a straight answer. I remained silent, always with a smirk. To say Wald was pissed would be an understatement.

As the day progressed, we let everyone but Wald in on the truth. I passed out on the bed I used during our stay. Tessie came to say goodnight as she had every night we were there. I remember hugging on her and not letting go. It seems I put away enough straight Bailey's Irish Cream during the evening to warrant that kind of confidence. She was lying on the right side of the bed when I awoke the next morning. We were both fully dressed.

Still, it was the closest Tessie, and I had come to physical romance. That night represented the beginning of the most memorable summer of my life. The best summer and the worst summer all rolled up into one.

Tessie laughed at Wald's accusation. "What's the matter, Bryan? Jealous?"

Wald's eyebrows rose with offense as he nodding toward me. "What, of him? Let me explain something to you, Bedpan. Here is what will happen. Kevie here will use you for a few weeks, lose interest, and find someone younger to play with. Whereas I would marry you if you asked me to."

Sadly, Wald's prediction would end up being more on target than even he might have guessed. By August of that summer, friendships and alliances would change in ways none of us could ever have imagined. The Card Player's Circle would break, per Wald's prediction. The fault would be mine.

Wald's brash attitude stuck a nerve in me. I was going to say something snappy in retort. Tessie beat me to it. She grabbed my hand and pressed it up against her sizable breast. "You're upset because Kev can do this, and you can't."

This was it. After many months of fantasizing and wondering what the sensation of my hand on Tessie's breast would feel like, I now had the highly coveted answer. I smiled with wide eyes as I enjoyed the softness of her upper body. I waited for her to push me away. She didn't.

"Fuck you," Wald muttered. He glanced briefly at the act with greed. Bitterness radiated from his face as he turned to look out of the windshield.

"You wish!" Tessie gloated. She giggled over Wald's irritation. Manyette rattled off his goofy giggle as he drove. Myer bellowed with laughter. Andy Taylor, the forth of our group, also stuffed into the backseat with us merely grinned. He was a kid of few words and often claimed neutral party status when such side-taking rows occurred.

I dropped my hand off Tessie's breast. "All kidding aside, I'd prefer not to be near a coming thunderstorm of this magnitude. It looks like it's going to be big enough to take the pier apart."

Manyette finally spoke up. "We'll do Photon first. If the storm isn't done by the end of round one, I'll just kick all your asses a second time."

Wald scoffed again. It was his 'tell' that words of offense would soon follow. "Yeah, okay. You do remember yesterday's game, right? I shot your ass seventeen times, and you got in...what? Maybe three shots? A dyslexic monkey throwing bent twigs could aim better than you and hit way more targets." Wald paused as an evil grin crept across his face, "And probably do a better job in bed with your mom, considering the bad review she gave about your gimpy old pop."

"Q, buddy!" Manyette said as he flipped Wald the bird. That was Manyette's unique translation of 'fuck you, buddy' and would be his catchphrase for the duration of the summer.

At some point during the diatribe, Tessie moved her hand to place it directly over mine. She squeezed it slightly as she moved our hands to her leg and near her inner thigh. A warm rush of blood flooded my extremities. She tilted her head to rest on my shoulder. I sighed deeply. The butterflies of a new crush danced throughout my midsection. I tuned out the lingering conversation to enjoy Tessie's silent company.

We arrived at the south pier parking lot on the inlet not long after. Thunderstorm clouds now spread well to the south of the channel where Ocean City ended, and the wildlife sanctuary of Assateague Island began. The storm stretched north up the boardwalk. The sunset behind us gave the beach an eerie fire orange glow. The light show was a remarkable phenomenon one would have to see to believe. The dying light of the sunset, reflecting off the storm clouds coupled with the lack of cloud cover to the west of Ocean City, made this visual spectacle possible.

The strength of the wind also allowed for piqued curiosity. The source seemed to originate from the east. As we walked across the parking lot toward the Photon arena at the edge of the boardwalk, the direction changed at least twice.

My paranoia about possible lightning strikes all but ruined the unusual weather. I kept watching the hair on my arms, expecting them to stand up straight at any time. A reliable warning indicating a strike might be imminent.

Tessie was kind enough to notice my self-preserving body language. She escorted me to the Thrasher's Fries pavilion. Boardwalk Fries as the locals call it. The familiar scent of vinegar and salt filled the air sending waves of hunger pangs through my stomach. Boardwalk fries straight out of the fryer could easily be the sole reason to haunt the south end of the boardwalk. They were that good. Tessie caught me lost in thought as I stared at the Thrashers counter. "You wanna get some fries? I'll split a bucket with you."

I then noted how low the storm clouds were to the ground. "Yes, but not right this second. I just want to get inside Photon and out of this storm."

"I understand," Tessie said. She waved over the rest of our crew. The four of them stood next to the Black Flash, admiring the glowing orange beach. Taylor waved back. None of them made any effort to move along. I suspect Taylor was returning Tessie's wave.

The fickle wind changed direction again. It now blew from the north. Paper plates, napkins, and straws exploded off the Thrasher's Fries counter, sending them dancing across the boardwalk. Gasps of excitement arose from the crowd. Before the paper products could continue their southward voyage, a burst of southerly wind blew them apart in every direction.

Tessie and I began walking toward the front end of the Photon building where the entrance was. "What's with this fucked up wind?"

Tessie responded with her sense of wonder. "What's with those storm clouds?"

I allowed myself to take in the view once safety behind the Plexiglas surrounding the double door entrance into the Photon arena. I couldn't find the words to describe the weather phenomenon before us. The dark fire orange storm clouds gave an aura of fluorescence that lit up the beach as far as the eye could see. Lightning inside the clouds flashed like strobes. They seemed to speak to one another in an alien Morse code. The winds – and I must use the plural here, as I was sure there was more than one at work - pushed the waves higher and farther onto the beach. Salt spray kissed the boardwalk from at least 500 feet from the water's edge. Mother Nature was putting on one hell of a light show. Masses of people stood on and along the boardwalk hypnotized with her glory. I watched with the same enthrall nearly forgetting the equal measures of fright.

"Do you have a quarter, Kevie?" Tessie disrupted my trance. I turned around to face her. She was fiddling with a horoscope scroll dispenser just outside the protection of the Plexiglas. "I want to read our horoscopes."

Our horoscopes, she said. Our. Not mine, or yours. Our. Her simple choice of words launched those 'in love' butterflies again. I marveled at the sensation. I continued to stare at her. I think this was the first time I felt anything close to an emotional attachment regarding Tessie. In my quest to bed her, I never considered the possibility of falling in love.

"Yeah, I think so." I reached into my side pocket. I felt coins in there. I pulled out a collection of coins to dutifully search for the requested quarter. I stepped out of the protection of the Plexiglas to join Tessie as I began fingering through the coins.

"MOVE! GET OUT OF THE WAY!" The heavy sound of running footsteps filled my ears before I could look up from my hand. The impact of someone on the run knocked me into Tessie. The two of us fell to the concrete as the coins in my hand flew in all directions. Each made a distinctive cling or clang noise based on their size as they bounced on the concrete surface. The kid who knocked us over soared overhead in a tuck and roll maneuver. He landed on his back and rolled onto his knees. It was an impressive feat of gymnastics. I couldn't see him clearly at first due to the vertigo of the unexpected collision.

"What the FUCK is the matter with you?" I snapped. The kid glanced at me briefly with intense brown eyes as if to visually acknowledge me. He curiously cocked his head as his messy black hair flopped in the wind. He opened his mouth to say something until he glanced toward the crowd behind me. The look on his face said it all. Someone was pursuing him. It meant our time to stop and have a chat over what happened just expired. I looked around to see what spooked this kid. Three Ocean City police officers and a fourth man wearing a black suit approached at the same breakneck speed. With no apology, the kid scooped up what change he could off the ground and fled into the crowd. The group of men giving chase followed without stopping.

"Did you see that?" I asked Tessie. "That punk stole my change!"

Tessie sat on her backside. She propped herself up by her arms. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," she said, dripping with sarcasm. I smiled. She was my kind of gal.

"Sorry." I pulled her up with me as I stood. We looked in the direction of the chase. As the parted crowd began to close back up, the man in the black suit stopped and turned back to look at me. He disappeared out of sight after a few seconds as people began mingling. He didn't look away from me.

"What was that about?" Tessie asked.

"I have no fucking clue," I said softly. "Creepy."

I knelt to fish for the remaining coins. The kid left me two quarters, a dime, and a nickel. I gave Tessie one of the quarters for her (our) horoscope scroll purchase and pocketed the remaining change. As Tessie went about the business of wasting a perfectly good quarter on her (our) silly horoscopes, I redirected my attention in the direction of the fleeing kid. They were gone.

Something clicked in my head, sort of like déjà vu on steroids. For a moment, that runaway kid seemed familiar, like a single faded image in my head, leaving a full-color afterimage. He was wearing a yellow jumpsuit and surrounded by an aura of blue. The vision disappeared, leaving me hungry. For reasons I couldn't explain, the craving for a slice of PJ's Pub shrimp pizza hit me like a tidal wave. The sudden hunger for food I had not eaten in years from a place I had all but forgotten about seemed extraordinarily odd. I also had this crazy idea that there might be a quarter in a secret pouch of my wallet. I didn't know why. I brought out my wallet not only to stick the remaining change into the billfold but also to see if there was indeed a quarter in the pouch behind my driver's license fold. It was empty. I stuffed the wallet back into my rear pocket and stared in the direction of the chase.

"Is PJ's Pub still open?" I asked Tessie.

"I don't know. Where's it at?"

"Carrolltowne Mall, in Eldersburg."

Tessie looked up at me. She seemed confused about my random question. "I haven't been there since I was a little girl. Why do you ask?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I thought about it just now. I'm not sure why."

Tessie giggled. "I guess that kid knocked something around in your head after he ran into you, Kevie."

Manyette, Wald, Myer, and Taylor finally appeared from around the corner of the Photon arena. They fought the strength of the wind pushing toward them, and then all at once, from behind them. The wind's intensity grew with each passing minute.

Tessie unrolled the newly purchased horoscope scroll and began to read. "Listen to this. This is mine. 'Forbidden love is in your future when it arrives from a place you least expect.'" I imagined this was a reference to me as one of her brother's best friends. It certainly qualified as 'least expect,' if not forbidden.

I looked over her shoulder to see if she was making the prediction up. To my surprise, she recited it exactly as printed.

I didn't know if I could use the word 'love' with Tessie. I enjoyed her company without a doubt. I enjoyed spending time with her, as well. I also readily admit my obsessive desire to sleep with her. Should I ever obtain that goal, my biggest concern would be the repercussions. What would happen if Tessie wanted more than I wanted to give? What would happen to my friendship with Manyette if a relationship with his older sister didn't work out and thus making Tessie bitter? Having listened to her tell stories of past breakups, she was sure to take it badly no matter which served whom the 'Walking Papers,' a termed I coined to describe a breakup.

Tessie interrupted my thought. "What's your sign, Kev?"

"Scorpio."

"Yours says, 'Use caution when dealing with strangers who come as friends. Coming events in your life are not what they appear to be.'"

I scrunched my face in confusion. "That was pretty bleak." I looked at her with a wicked grin. "Are you not who you appear to be, Tess?"

She wrapped her arms around me. I felt her hot breath on my neck and ear. The sound and intensity of the wind disappeared with her words. "I promise you, Kevie. When I want something, I _will_ be completely upfront about it."

"Get a fucking room!" Wald called out. He broke the magic of the moment. "What are we doing now? Besides watching the two of you open festivities for GropeFest '91?"

To this, Tessie turned around with my arms still around her. She took my hands and pressed them against her breasts. "You mean like this?" She asked over the bluster of the wind. Still annoyed over Wald's comment breaking an intense high from the free flow of endorphins, I decided to exacerbate the situation. I saluted Wald with a double flip off.

I'm not able to explain clearly, what happened inside me after that. For a split second, I decided not to flip Wald off, knowing somehow that doing so would anger him into doing something terrible, something that would have lasting and negative consequences. I can only describe the sensation as having two consciousnesses inside my head. One decided to flip Wald a double middle finger, and the other did not. The reality where I spared Wald the further insult faded away. It left me standing there with my hands pushed up against Tessie's breasts with each producing the middle finger.

Wald's face flushed with anger. In all the years I've known him, I don't recall ever seeing him so red with fury. I immediately regretted my actions. Wald no longer considered this a game; he was genuinely upset. Tessie was about to make a terrible situation worse. "You'll never get this close, Bryan!" She said over the bluster of the wind. "Take a picture, so you have something to spank to. Or if you want to wait, you can get some better shots later this evening."

Wald wasn't smiling. He narrowed his eyes as one eyebrow began to twitch. "Fuck you, Bedpan," he said plainly. The intense anger on his face washed away, leaving utter disregard. "I can do something Kevie never would. Wait and see." Tessie burst out laughing. Wald cleanly shook his head as if to say, 'Silly woman, you have no idea.' He turned away and began walking toward the corner of the Photon building and toward the parking lot. Toward the pier. The five of us watched him leave.

"What's he doing?" Taylor asked.

I knew then what Wald meant to do. He and I, we've had this dance before. He planned to engage me in a battle of courage. A game of 'who can outdo the other guy' to appear braver to casual observers. The last time we played for bragging rights. Now it was for love.

"He's going to get himself killed." I began to chase after Wald. I wasn't going to watch one of my best friends tease death merely to impress a girl we both fancied, thunder and lightning be damned. The rest of the crew followed. Manyette and Myer were at my heels.

I pushed Wald too hard. He wasn't used to losing. He was always the one laying out the insults, the quips and the put-downs, and most of the time in jest. On rare occasions, one of us would get the better of him in those verbal sparring matches. When Wald doesn't 'win,' he throws the most hellacious temper tantrums. I feared we were about to witness the mother of all his tantrums.

Wald sprinted through the gusts of wind toward the fishing pier. To compound matters, rain began to fall. Hard fat rain stung my skin as I gave chase. Catching up with Wald proved to be problematic. He was already halfway across the wooden planked pier when the rest of us stopped at the pier's entrance.

"WALD!" Taylor shouted. Wald stopped. He turned around to face us. "Get your scrawny ass back here before the wind tosses you into the ocean!"

Wald said something barely audible in retort. I looked at Taylor. He looked back and shrugged his shoulders. "He's trying to impress Tessie," I shouted over the howling of the wind and the noise of the pounding ocean beneath us.

"What?" Taylor asked in surprise. He pointed toward the pier. "Why would he go out there to do that?"

"Because...it's something I won't do."

The shrieking of the wind sounded more like a full-throttled jet plane. My ears began to hurt from the strange noise.

Taylor never took his eyes off me. They were pleading with me not to let his life long friend die. It was only a matter of time before the wind would indeed pitch Wald off the pier and into the raging ocean below. No one would survive such a fall in these extreme conditions, not with the rocks of the inlet jutting out underneath.

Thunder rolled without the benefit of a lightning flash. The low bass rumble of the thunder didn't stop. I knew then it wasn't thunder. What I heard was the symptom of a tornado. A friend in Florida once described for me what a tornado sounded like, especially if it planned to drop right on top of you. She said, 'It'll sound like a freight train coming right at you.'

What I heard sounded exactly like that. I feared for Wald's life, my life, hell...everyone's life. What was now happening was no longer Wald's game. It was a fucking rescue mission.

"I'm going out there to get him," I told Taylor. It took a maximum amount of effort to make a single step forward. Andy Myer - a big guy with the strength to help - followed without being asked. "WALD!" I shouted into the wind. "You need to get back here! Being dead won't impress anyone!"

A very wind distorted 'fuck you' was all I heard. I looked back at Myer. I pushed my face into his ear so he could listen to me. "Stay behind me! If I can chase Wald back to you, then you're going to have to drag him off here. Be ready. It'll happen quickly."

He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Okay, brother. Be careful,"

Careful, indeed. My hands were shaking a mile a minute, and it wasn't from the wind. I was scared out of my skin. Had one been watching, they would've seen my skin running in the other direction while my muscle exposed body sauntered forward.

Wald stood 'matter-of-fact' right smack in the middle of the pier. He waited for me to approach; he dared me to approach. I knew I was in for some form of verbal abuse for daring to challenge the almighty Wald. I heard Myer let off a rather loud swear as I slowly approached Wald. A glance behind revealed why. The wind blew the baseball cap off Myer's head and tossed it from the short side of the pier to the other. That cap was one of Myer's favorites. It had something to do with a baseball player's signature. I caught sight of an opportunity to save it when the cap came within reaching distance. I picked it up and firmly put it on my head visor side back. I glanced briefly back at Myer. He was madly displaying a thumb up.

I reached Wald in a matter of steps. "Get back to the fucking arena, you psycho!" I yelled. Wald didn't move. He continued to stare at me with fire in his eyes. They told me I was the last person on the Earth from which he would take advice. "What the hell are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing!" He spat. "I want to see if I can make it to the end of the pier in this storm. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Bullshit! This is all about Tessie! Now tell me what you're really trying to accomplish out here before we both get killed!"

"Fuck you, bitch! You don't deserve her." Wald bellowed.

"We're not together! Tessie and I are not together. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend. Do you understand me?" The wind around us began to taper.

Oh yeah, this was bad. The eye of the storm approaches.

"But you will be," Wald growled. "When Tessie wants something, she usually gets it."

I took a step back. I think I unconsciously knew what was coming next. "Maybe I don't want her, Wald. Did you ever think of that?"

"Now who's full of shit?" Wald snapped back. "You've been trying to get into her pants since you met her! You told me so! So you say she's not your girlfriend, and I believe you. Tell me, Kevie. Do you love her?"

I stumbled. It gave me away. "Wald, I really do like her a lot, but what you don't---"

"So that's a no. You don't love her. But you want to sleep with her. Yes or No."

I sighed. "You know I do."

"And what happens afterwards, old friend of mine? What happens to Tessie when she wants more, and you don't?"

"I don't know, Wald. We haven't slept together yet, and that is the truth."

"Oh, I know it is," Wald said smugly. "Taylor told me everything that didn't happen. Did you really think you and Tessie could torment me all day without a real friend telling me what was going on right under my nose?"

I grinned sheepishly. "For a little while, anyway."

Wald's composure never changed. "Okay. Then answer my question. What happens to Tessie when you fuck her, and she wants more from you?"

Damn. Wald had me.

"I'm hoping Tessie and I will get to know each other a little better before anything like that happens."

Wald appeared to relax a little. "Really? Do you really mean that or are you just telling me what I want to hear to get me off this pier?"

Another excellent question. I never thought Tessie would come to the point where she would begin to take me flirting with her seriously, as she was doing now. I'd hoped, of course, but never expected it. The thought of Tessie and me together as long-term lovers was genuine for Wald. It wasn't for me. Maybe it should have. Perhaps I should be giving my budding relationship with Tessie some earnest consideration.

My silence must have been too long.

"Fuck this!" Wald shouted. "I know you, Garrison! You'll fuck her and throw her away. You don't deserve her. I've loved her almost all my life. You don't love her at all! And it's NOT FUCKING FAIR!"

"Wald, let's get off the pier and talk about this like civilized people. We're both going to get fucking killed out here." Wald said nothing. He did his best to stand up straight with arms folded while peering into my eyes. I could only hope he was considering my words.

The wind around us died entirely. It hadn't stopped altogether everywhere else. I could still see the effects of strong wind gusts at both ends of the pier and the parking lot behind Myer.

The entire scene was eerily familiar, far beyond déjà vu. I was experiencing something akin to flashbacks from my morning at Liberty reservoir. Not memories specifically, more like sensations. I remembered how I felt. Did it happen like this? The deafening quiet? The tingling skin?

I looked at my arms for raised hair. The hair was not standing, although my skin tingled.

The cumulus storm cloud over the area of the pier began to glow a dull pink. The sound of machinery began spinning up from within the cloud. Had I been blind, I would have guessed someone started a passenger airplane's engines. Only this engine didn't sound healthy and might benefit from a mechanic's visit. I knew this sound. I don't know why I did, but I knew it, and it meant something terrible was about to happen.

"Wald!" I yelled urgently. "We have to go! NOW!" The sound of the machine warming up was now a full-fledged roar. It encompassed everything. Wald ignored me and looked up. I suppose he expected to see whatever it was making this abnormal noise. What he got was a dark storm cloud tinged with glowing pink light. "Wald! This is bad! RUN!"

I turned and ran toward Myer as fast as I could go while frantically waving him off. I skidded to a stop at the entrance of the pier and looking back at Wald, hoping he'd followed. He budged not an inch. He smiled in pure satisfaction as I ran. Was he wholly contented with himself since I ran away, and he stayed? Was it because he believed he won?

I would never get those answers. For then, it happened.

A blinding bolt of lightning jumped out of the pink-tinged cloud. It landed directly on top of Wald. He didn't fall into the water. Nor did he explode into several pieces. He disappeared. One second he was there, the next, he was not. It's as simple as that.

The section of the pier Wald stood over exploded after Wald disappeared into thin air. Shards of wood and steel burst into the air and began raining down over the area. The force of the blast tossed Myer and me several feet away from the pier's entrance. I landed back-of-the-head first into a parking meter. The bolts of pain in my head from the collision injected themselves into every vein of my body. The pain blocked out the sound of whatever propelled a section of the pier into nothing. Flashes of light like sunlight twinkling through ice sickles danced in my peripheral vision.

Myer ran up to me and knelt where I lay. "Dude! Are you okay?"

"Wald," I said through the haziness of semi-consciousness. "Is he okay?"

"I dunno."

Myer helping me to my feet is the next coherent memory I could recall. He helped me off the parking lot. A crowd gathered around the entrance to the pier. I expected it to be on fire. It was not.

The powerful winds slowly began to die.

The rain stopped.

Tessie joined me as I stumbled to the entrance of the pier. "Kev? Are you okay?"

"He's gone. Wald's gone." I pointed at the pier as I attempted to catch my breath. "He was standing...where it blew up. I think he...was hit by lightning."

"Are you sure?" Tessie asked. We pushed our way through the assembling crowd.

"I don't know. I can't think straight." I put my hands over my head in a futile attempt to stop the dizziness. Myer's cap was gone. He wasn't going to be happy.

"We should get you to the hospital," Tessie said. "You could have a concussion."

"No. Not yet," I insisted. "I need to find Wald." Manyette and Taylor were now among us, although I don't remember them approaching. They were asking the same question for which I wanted an answer. What happened to Wald?

My struggle to stay conscious developed into a fight I would quickly lose. Every time I blinked, the effort to reopen my eyes and keep them open raised slightly. Soon that effort would fail. The uneasy feeling of my legs turning into jelly was too strong to ignore. My weight doubled in an instant.

"Kev?" Myer asked. I leaned on him for support. I knew my fight was over. The flashing sparkles returned. They filled my entire view as the twinkling faded to black.

VIII

I stand on the cement sidewalk that is the inlet end of the Ocean City boardwalk. No one else is around. I am by myself. The soft sound of the ocean waves breaking onto the beach fills my ears. The call of gulls to one another fills the gaps of the remaining silence, creating a soothing harmony.

I am home. Everything begins and ends here in Ocean City, Maryland. I do not want to leave when I am here, ever. I know if I try, it will be impossible. This place will pull at my soul and force me to return before I've left.

I turn to face the beach. It is dusk. The sun has already set. The fire orange of atmospheric distortion spills light all around. It is always dusk here now. The sky is permanently on fire. It is a soothing and comforting sensation reminiscent of the womb.

This is the end of the world. I am content with it. This is where I want to be. This is where I have always wanted to be. I know I have left loved ones behind, but I am not sad about it. I know they are waiting for me to return. I will not. I am okay with this.

A gentle breeze blows. It always blows. It feels good. Although there is no one else here, I still smell the ambient scents of the boardwalk. Vinegar, salt, taffy, pizza, sunblock, they are all here.

I hear my name spoken. I turn around to find myself standing in the middle of the fishing pier with Wald. His hair is no longer chestnut brown. It is black. He is wearing the same entourage of clothes I usually wear: jeans, a white-collar shirt, tie, and a black sports jacket.

" _Why are you here?" I ask._

" _I was going to ask you the same question," Wald replies. He is non-confrontational. He is not angry._

" _This is where I belong. I live here."_

" _Do you?" Wald asks inquisitively._

" _Yes. I've always lived here."_

" _We all have," Wald says with indifference. Somehow, this makes sense._

" _Why are you dressed like me?" I ask. "Are you trying to be me?"_

" _No," Wald replies. "I am you." This makes sense as well, but it is a lie._

" _No, you're not," I say. "You died."_

" _Did I?"_

" _Yes. I watched it happen."_

" _Are you sure?" Wald is not sarcastic as he so often is. He is serious. Like me._

" _No," I admit. "Not really."_

" _Good," Wald says, nodding in approval. He folds his arms. "Events are not as they appear to be."_

" _So, you're a stranger who comes as a friend?"_

" _No. I am you." Wald says as he reiterates what he has already explained._

" _I don't believe you," I say. "Who are you, really?"_

Wald ignores the question. "How's he doing?"

" _He'll be fine," I say while shrugging my shoulders. "Although I don't envy the headache he'll have."_

" _That sucks," Wald says as he turns away. "Will he be able to leave tomorrow?"_

" _Yes," someone else says. Not me. Tessie. "I'll probably have to drive his car, though."_

IX

I opened my eyes. I immediately raised my hand to cover them. The reflection of white fluorescent light off the white cloth partitions blinded me.

Tessie sat next to my bed. She held my free hand. The soothing envelope of my dream shattered. It left me in the cold, painful world of reality. Pain pulsed through my head and out into the rest of my body with each heartbeat. I groaned.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Tessie said with a smile. Myer stood behind her. He looked down at me with concern. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"What the fuck happened?" The words came out as a croak. My throat felt like a slab of dried leather. Tessie poured some water into a plastic cup out of the dull topaz water pitcher one typically sees in hospital rooms. I took the drink eagerly.

"You took a rather big thump to the head, sweetie," Tessie said. "You passed out, and we took you to the hospital."

"How long was I out?"

Tessie looked at her watch. "Six hours, give or take. You have a mild concussion and a shit load of cuts and bruises."

"You look like you got your ass kicked," Myer added as he snapped his fingers. I sat up to take in a better view of the cubicle. The small area appeared to be a section of the emergency room with each cubicle partitioned off by a hanging section of sterile white cloth.

I sat up. "Where's Wald? Did they find him? Is he okay?" Tessie looked down toward the floor as she gently squeezed my hand.

"No," she finally said. "Christopher and Andy went back to the pier after we admitted you. The thunderstorm cleared up as quickly as it came. Rescue teams are still searching the length of the pier but haven't found anything yet. I think they're planning on extending the search father out to sea."

"They won't find him," I said flatly. "I watched him get hit by lightning. He disappeared." Both Tessie and Myer stared at me. I think they were waiting for me to say more. "I don't know how else to explain it to you. He was there...and then he wasn't. Then the pier...blew up."

"He probably fell into the water," Myer said. "A whole section of the pier is gone. Where else could he have gone but down?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe I remember it wrong." I laid back down on the quasi-soft bed. "It was my fault he was out there."

Tessie squeezed my hand again. "No, Kev. That's not true."

"Yeah, it is," I insisted. "One of the last things Wald said to me was I didn't deserve you. He went out on the pier to prove to you that he would do something I never would. We egged him on, Tessie. With you putting my hands on your tits and my flipping him off..."

"No. It's always been that way, Kev," Tessie said. "Wald's been crushing on me since we were kids. Every boyfriend I've had, we've always teased him."

"But we're not there yet," I said, correcting her. "All games aside, we both know something is going on between us that hasn't evolved yet. Wald knew it. But I'm not some guy you went to high school with or some dude Wald didn't know. He knew me, Tessie. Wald and I have been tight since we met. I can't help but think the prospect of you and I getting serious affected him more than either one of us realized." Tessie said nothing. She looked down toward the floor and nodded slightly. The guilt festering in my stomach began to rise into my throat and, ultimately, into tears. Tessie leaned over to hold me.

Myer looked away as if appearing slightly uncomfortable. "It's not your fault, Kev," he agreed. "We all rode his ass for one thing or another. We all do it to each other."

I choked down a sob. "Yeah. I know that. But this is different. I can't help but wonder if in this particular game of 'who can put the other guy down worse' that maybe we crossed a line this time."

Tessie straightened up so she could look into my face. "Kev, you didn't tell him to go running out onto a pier in the middle of a hurricane all to impress me."

"Didn't I?"

"No. You didn't," Tessie whispered.

I let it go. She didn't understand.

I let her hold me, although I found no solace in it. I looked off and pondered my guilt.

X

Tessie and I got together in the weeks following Wald's disappearance for all the wrong reasons. We lasted a short two months. From beyond the grave, or wherever Wald was, he made sure his final act would haunt me for years to come.

Tessie will tell you we broke up due to me messing around with other women, as Wald had predicted. I'll tell you we broke up because I couldn't handle the guilt coupled with my inability to grieve someone I didn't believe was dead. Every time I stared into her eyes, every time we had sex, all I could hear were Wald's last words; he always loved her. I didn't. And it wasn't fucking fair.

There are three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth. The truth most often lies somewhere in between yours and mine.

Tessie didn't lie in her reasons for our breakup. I sought comfort elsewhere. Her name was Becca Saccarelli, and she was Andy Taylor's girlfriend at the time. I didn't cheat on Tessie with Becca for the reasons Tess believed. Taylor brought Becca to meet us, the remains of the Card Player's Circle, toward the end of July. Becca and I connected on some subconscious level. It led to her and I getting together behind Taylor's back while my festering guilt over Wald's disappearance led to my inability to sleep with, much less look at, Tessie. I refused to believe Wald was dead for the two months Tessie and I dated. Becca reached into me and pulled me over that hump.

Taylor reacted badly. He swore never to speak to me again after an unfortunate attempt to kick my ass. He was drunk when he tried. He failed miserably. I didn't fight back when Taylor jumped me. Instead, I allowed him to vent at me. He had the right. It took a whopper of a lie about not hooking up with Becca to escape that situation. He bought it. Days later, he realized that he'd been right all along and that I duped him twice. We didn't speak for months afterward.

Manyette left for Navy boot camp while Tessie and I dated. Upon his return a month later, Tessie told him her version, and I told him mine. They were pretty much the same. Manyette found the situation amusing, if not inevitable. Tessie was who she was, as was I. Coming clean with Manyette helped me to realize Tessie and I should have stayed friends and not crossed the line into lover territory.

In the end, Myer was the only one left from the Card Player's Circle to stand by me. Only now with the Circle broken, I realized Wald had indeed been the glue holding our group together as it was he who brought us together.

Almost a month after Becca and I became a couple, her parents forced her to choose between her college education and dating me. They didn't approve of me. Consequently, they got their way and forced us apart. We tried desperately to find ways to continue seeing each other up to and including running away together. For reasons that would take too long to get into – and because that tale is best told another time – out plans fell apart. In the end, she stood in her parent's backyard on chilly September night, waved, and blew me a kiss goodbye.

I never saw Becca Saccarelli again.

The image I have of her blowing me that kiss and waving goodbye is all I have left.

It haunts me to this day.

In addition to Wald's disappearance, I carried the guilt of ripping the Card Player's Circle apart for hurting people who didn't deserve to be harmed all because I was hurting and didn't want to deal with it.

A month after losing Becca, I would meet Marie Kirsch. She would eventually become my wife and the mother of my son, Spencer. I wish I could tell you meeting Marie improved my life after the mess I left behind in the summer of 1991.

I wish I could tell you that, for not all stories end with 'and they lived happily ever after.'

I don't believe any of them do.

# Chapter V: Corpus Delicti

" _The substantial and fundamental fact necessary to prove the commission of a crime."_

****

Date: Friday, October 13, 2006

Location: Turtle Beach, Sarasota, Florida

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

"His name is not Martin. His name is O'Bryan VonWald...and he's dead...or at least he's supposed to be." I faced Ryan. "Wald was one of my best friends from high school. I watched him die. Even worse, it was my fault what happened to him, what ultimately got him killed."

Ryan looked at me, then at Martin, and finally back to me. He wiped his face in frustration.

"Ryan..." Martin began.

"No. Be quiet!" Ryan snapped as he held up a single finger in Martin's direction. "We may have a Code Black situation here, and protocol must be followed. No exceptions." Ryan turned to me. "What that means, in the simplest terms, is that one mission has or may have crossed another. The risk of revealing future events to another person, events in which they may have participated or will participate in is the worst of its kind. I was nearly certain this might be the case when you explained the Liberty Reservoir incident. But now you're telling me you actually know who this is?" Ryan motioned toward Martin. "This is a huge problem. We potentially risk creating a paradox, which would be very bad."

"So, what do we..." I began to say. Ryan cut me off by violently raising his hand.

"No one speaks for any reason unless I specifically ask you a question. This will be protocol until I can stabilize the situation and account for all possible variables. When I say there are too many unaccountable variables right now, I am dead serious."

I looked at Martin. He was Wald, through and through, albeit fifteen years older. He'd aged well. Part of me wanted to run over there, hug him, and tell him I missed him and that I was glad he is alive. The other part of me wanted to kick his skinny ass for not telling me he was alive and arguably well for the last decade and a half.

Ryan stepped toward the pilot's seat, clearly unhappy about what he needed to do. "I need to temporarily relieve you of duty, Martin."

"Understood." Martin handed Ryan a hand-sized device and stepped away from the empty console panel.

Ryan slid the device into a small slot on the leftmost side of the panel nearest the pilot's chair. I could see no other visible control access. The telephone booth sized container at the rear of the craft hummed to life. Ryan offered me a glance with the hint of a geek's smile. "Berechnung, Kontrollen."

The empty black panels surrounding the cockpit area lit up with glowing buttons and other various control devices. My jaw dropped. A three-dimensional holographic interface extended from one side of the cockpit to the other.

Ryan spoke another command in the alien language, "Berechnung, Innere Muster ein." A transparent blue force field behind us divided the flight deck from the rest of the ship, leaving only space for an open doorway. I reached out and pressed my finger against the semi-transparent field of shimmering blue. The energy field passively and painlessly buzzed my fingertip upon contact while preventing penetration.

Ryan turned to the ship's pilot. "Martin, would you excuse us, please?" Martin gave Ryan a compliant nod and left the cockpit. Ryan must have noticed I looked more scared than anxious.

"Berechnung, Tür schließen," Ryan said to the ship. The cockpit entry sealed itself off from the rear of the ship. "Don't worry, Kevin. Once I make contact with Detective MacKenzie, and we study the HoloLog..." Ryan slapped at the glass rod in his breast pocket. "...we should be able to make more sense of this and get back to business. However, I can't tell you much else while we're in Code Black. Do you understand?"

"More or less," I said. Then my ears popped for no apparent reason. It was no little pop either, as one might experience during an airplane flight. It felt as if someone stuck plungers on my ears and yanked with considerable force. I threw my hands over the sides of my head as I cringed in discomfort. Ryan looked back at Martin through the force field. Both men appeared more than concerned. Martin nodded, sat down, and leaned against the back of the ship. He looked as if he fell asleep with his eyes open. "What the hell was that?"

"Trouble." Ryan sat down on the pilot's side of the flight console. He tapped at various holographic controls. "Berechnung, nahe Luke, volle Energie der Maschine."

The ship's entrance disappeared, leaving no discernable egress. Other blank sections of the cockpit jumped to life with holographic interfaces as the humming from the rear increased in volume and pitch. I stumbled off balance as we lifted off the ground without warning. There was no lengthy takeoff procedure. We simply began to hover.

Ryan nodded toward the seat behind the co-pilot's chair. "You might want to sit down. This could get a little weird for you."

I complied with Ryan's suggestion. "A little?" I asked under my breath. "What happened to Wald, err, Martin?"

"He's fine. Don't panic when we start to move forward. If you feel queasy, then close your eyes. It'll pass."

"What does that mean?" I asked. The answer came quickly. Ryan made a forward motion with his right hand over the center section of his side of the flight panel. We began to move forward, leaning down on an angle as we went. I surely would have taken a nasty stumble had I been standing.

I realize there are only so many ways I can state, 'what happened next defied all belief' without sounding like a broken record. Perhaps this time, I'll go with 'what happened next all but nullifies the laws of physics.' It's more appropriate.

The black shell lining the interior of the ship, including the ones behind the holographic displays and the seats, faded into nothing. I could now see everything on the outside of the ship. The ship became transparent, leaving only the holographic displays and the three of us scattered about the interior. I narrowed my eyes as I looked down. I watched the surface of the beach disappear into the fog bank as we lifted higher into the air. Upon closer inspection, the hull wasn't genuinely transparent. There was a kind of textural distortion to it, the transparency. I felt the need to stomp my feet to maintain balance.

I looked up at Ryan in utter awe. He glanced back with a half-grin. "Cool, isn't it?" I opened my mouth to reply. There were no words to describe what I felt. Comparing the sensation to that of flying inside a dream would only scratch the surface. Ryan must have seen the look of melded disbelief and pleasure on my face. His half grin turned into a full one. "I know. I felt the same way on my first ride." I understood now why Ryan spoke of this ship with such love. She was indeed a thing of beauty inside and out.

"I don't believe what I'm seeing," I finally managed to say in a whisper.

Martin approached from behind while I was ogling over the ship. I never heard the spoken command to open the entrance into the cockpit. "We need to move," he said with urgency. "Our Corporation friends know we're here."

"Not a problem." Ryan moved his left hand with precision over the flight panel. The course of the ship changed. "I'm surprised we made it this long."

"Are they chasing us?" I asked. "Do they have a ship too?"

"No, they don't," Ryan said. "But we do need to put some distance between them and us." Ryan turned to look at one of the wall panels behind him. "Martin, would you calibrate the inertia compensator? I think we're going to have to do some serious speed."

"Copy." Martin took his place in the co-pilot's chair. He turned to the right-side panel. His fingers danced over several lit buttons that were not there while studying the data scrolling down in a view screen. I stretched my neck to peek at the display. The readout appeared German. I couldn't say with any degree of certainty what I was reading even with a semester of German under my belt from high school.

"Are we good?" Ryan asked.

"As good as we'll ever be," Martin said. He didn't sound as hopeful as I would've preferred.

Ryan shifted his glance back to me. "We're about to fly just under the speed of sound, so we don't attract any attention. You might feel the air around us compressing you. That's normal. You'll get used to it. Otherwise, sit back and enjoy the ride. It'll be like flying inside an old airplane with a much better view."

Old airplane.

"Okay," I said.

Ryan looked at Martin. Martin nodded in acknowledgment. Ryan turned around, tapped at the holographic controls, and finally placed his hands over the objects controlling direction. "Here we go."

The ship slowly lurched forward in sync with Ryan's left hand as he guided it over the throttle control. The cloud cover quickly dissipated with our increased speed.

Ryan was incorrect. This experience was nothing like flying in an airplane. For a moment, I was tempted to lie flat on my stomach and extended my arms to simulate the sensation of flying under my own volition. Setting aside the unobstructed view, Brüder-2 operated quieter than any aircraft in which I'd previously traveled. There was no roar of a jet engine or the sound of wind shear. There was only the now quiet and level hum of whatever was going on in the tall box toward the ship's rear. It was obviously the heart driving the holography around us. No, this was no ordinary airplane at all. It was a luxury car with no audible engine or road noise.

I stood up. It did indeed feel as if the air pressure surrounded me held me in place. I supposed it was so the speed and motion of the ship didn't slam us into the holographic wall. I carefully stepped forward for a better peek at the flight panel. A series of interactive inputs and outputs lined the entire half circle that encompassed the front of the cockpit. It was one massive toolbox of shapes, dials, numbers, bars, textual outputs, and QWERTY keyboards for each pilot. Some of the keys substituted German letters for English.

"This is fascinating," I said. "Is everything inside this ship holographic? How does that work?"

"I'm not sure, to tell you the truth," Ryan said. "I'm not an engineer. Don't people drive cars and not understand the workings of an internal combustion engine?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I guess that's true. Still, how did you bring this ship back with you from your time?"

Ryan shifted in discomfort. "We didn't. Our ships don't come from the future." He sighed and tapped at several buttons on one of the holographic keypads. The ship jolted slightly and then smoothed out. He glanced toward Martin. "Would you excuse us for a little bit?"

Martin nodded and left the cockpit. Ryan gave the verbal command to seal it off.

"Wait a sec," I said. "If you didn't bring this ship with you, then where did it come from?"

Ryan shook his head. "First thing's first. I need to know why you think Martin is a friend from your school days."

"Because he is," I said. "You call him Martin. I remember him as O'Bryan VonWald, or Wald as we all called him. Granted, he's aged since I last saw him. But make no mistake. That is Wald."

"When did you last see your friend Wald? You said you watched him die."

I sighed. "I did. That was back in 1991. Wald was struck by lightning and..."

"What?" Ryan asked with instantly raised eyebrows. He appeared caught off guard again.

"At least I think he was," I said. "Wald disappeared when the strike came, or so I thought. Then the section of the pier he disappeared from blew apart. I tried to tell the people I was with that I watched him disappear, versus falling off the pier or being blown into bits. I don't even know if I remember it right. The blast knocked me into a parking meter, and I lost consciousness for a few hours. Law enforcement and rescue teams never found Wald's body ." I looked back toward Martin. "Until now."

Ryan studied me in silence. His face almost seemed to twist in worry. Finally, he spoke. "Listen to me very carefully, Kevin. I need you to account for everything that happened that day in as much detail as possible. Those details could be very critical. Can you do that for me?"

I agreed to Ryan's request. For the next fifteen minutes or so, I recounted the entire evening up until Wald's disappearance while citing every detail I could remember. Fortunately, for Ryan, I've always had an exceptional memory. Maybe not quite photographic, but I could tell you about things I did and thought as early as the age of three. The details must have been sufficient. Ryan didn't ask additional questions as I spoke. I finished the tale with my discharge from the hospital when Tessie, Myer, and I rejoined the rest of our group at the condominium.

Ryan alternated his attention between the ship's flight panel and me. He occasionally nodded in acknowledgment of my words. I posed a question of my own upon completion of my tale. "That guy in the black suit chasing that kid on the boardwalk. Do you think he's part of the same group that showed up at my house posing as Homeland Security?"

"Yes," Ryan said with no hesitation.

"And that thunderstorm...was that you guys hiding in another cloud?"

"Good question. I intend to find out. If a Corporation agent was pursuing someone in 1991 who just happened to run into you, then it's my belief something much bigger was – or is \- going on. The fact that you've had two run-ins with possible TDI cases makes me think you're more involved than Detective MacKenzie led me to believe. This is why I need to make contact with him immediately."

"What about my friend, Wald? How is it he's still alive and believing he's someone else working for a group from the future?"

"That is an incredibly complicated answer that I don't fully understand either," Ryan said. "I can tell you this; the individual with me is, in fact, Martin Wexler, even if the body is that of your old friend. I can't explain why for two reasons. One, I don't understand how Martin does what he does. And two, it's classified. Detective MacKenzie will have to make the call to tell you or not. How the body of your friend came to be in service of the FCA is another good question. One I don't have an answer for either. Rest assured, I'll get one before all this is said and done." Ryan tapped a button on the flight panel. "Martin, would you join us please?"

The holographic door to the flight deck disappeared. Martin returned to his seat at the co-pilot position and slapped his knees. "So, what's the plan?"

"Considering the information I've just learned, it appears our friend Conundrum isn't just an anomaly after all. I'll be returning to FCA-1 to brief Connor with the new information."

"But we need to dock the ship and report in to..."

Ryan's raised hand silenced Martin. "I have reason to believe there is a breach of security," Ryan said. Martin looked ill. "Protocol says we report directly to the FCA."

"That's impossible," Martin whispered. "What did Conundrum tell you that could possibly make you think that?"

"I will brief you after I've briefed Connor. Where is the closest Jaunte portal in this time?"

"ES-5, where we left."

"You're absolutely positive about that?"

Martin tapped his fingers here and there on the flight console. He studied the outputted data. "Affirm."

Ryan sighed in frustration. "Set a course. Full stealth. Climb into the upper atmosphere and go sub-light."

"We might attract attention," Martin said. "That's all we need right now, another UFO sighting."

Ryan did not appreciate the advice. "You've flown sub-light speed before."

"Yes, but..."

"This is what I need, Martin. If we're high enough in the atmosphere, then all anyone will see is an electromagnetic disturbance and blame it on the sun, if they're even looking. Use the standard approach protocol. ETA?"

"Ten minutes, give or take."

"Okay. Let's go then," Ryan looked at me. "Remember, if you get queasy, sit down and close your eyes." I nodded.

"Aktivieren DRADIS," Martin said. A holograph globe lit up in the center of the flight panel. It looked like a three-dimensional radar with two reference lines moved across the globe, One on the Y-axis, the other on the Z-axis. Martin guided the ship from the co-pilot's seat further into the atmosphere until we were clear of all cloud cover. I watched the surface of the Earth slowly shrink away in complete awe. The weight of the air in the cockpit deepened as the ship's speed increased. I wasn't queasy or sick.

On the contrary, it was an exhilarating experience. I couldn't begin to guess how many miles up we were. We'd long left the Florida coast and were heading west.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"ES-5," Ryan said. He paused to realize I didn't understand all his acronyms. "It's short for Earth Station 5. From there, we'll transport to FCA headquarters."

Earth Station? Ryan's words implied there could be stations off Earth.

"Is that where Detective MacKenzie is?" I asked. "Is he in 2006...with us?"

"No. I'll need to return to 2095 to meet with him and get this HoloLog analyzed." Ryan tapped at his breast pocket and the glass-like rod he took off the Agents in Black a few hours ago. At least I think it was a few hours. Time can be a funny thing. "After we review what's on it, the data should explain quite a few things that aren't fitting into the larger picture."

"The 'variables unaccounted for'?" I asked with a grin.

Ryan tossed me a half-grin and nodded once in approval. "Glad to see you've been paying attention. While I do this, you and Martin will stand by at the base. My trip will only take a few minutes from your perspective. You won't be waiting for long."

The fourth-dimensional aspect made sense. Ryan could go when he needed, spend as much time there as necessary, and then come back whenever he chose as long as he returned within a few minutes after he left. Days could pass for Ryan while he was away and appear as mere minutes here. With such confusing situations, where the when is an adjusted variable, I could easily see where Temporal Psychosis might be a problem for the uninitiated.

I needed to understand the concept of an 'Earth station.' "How do you have a station for your organization here in my time when technically it hasn't been formed yet?"

"You have it wrong," Ryan said. "The FCA itself has been around a long, long time. Earth's official involvement won't begin until sometime at the turn of the twentieth century."

I blinked at the short circuit in my brain. "That doesn't make any sense, 'Earth's official involvement.' That implies your FCA didn't originate on Earth." Ryan sighed. He shook his head in frustration as he continued to stare out the front of the ship. He also didn't answer. I pushed a little harder. "That would suggest it started someplace other than Earth." I paused, realizing the gravity of what that meant. "Are we not alone in the universe?"

Martin looked cautiously at Ryan. Ryan folded. "No. We aren't."

"Ryan," Martin said cautiously.

"It's okay, Martin." Ryan looked at me. "I can't say any more at this point. I understand why you have so many questions. I did as well many years ago. But for now, I really need you to stop asking them until I've spoken with Detective MacKenzie."

I sat, feeling faint. "Okay," I said aimlessly. Ryan had just confirmed for me a question man has been asking for thousands of years. Is there other life out there?

Yes. Apparently, there is.

Since Brüder-2 isn't from Ryan's future, I began to suspect the ship might be alien. Although the ship was unusual, it didn't seem as 'alien' as it should be. It begged the question, what exactly would something alien in nature look like?

"What about this ship?" I whispered. I couldn't manage anything louder. "Is it alien too?"

"Not exactly," Ryan said. I waited for more. Nothing came.

I returned to my seat behind Martin and buried my head in my hands. What in the hell did I get myself into here? How could I possibly go back to living my routine boring life after this? I was beginning to think I might need to have my memory blanked when all of this was over. Everything that happened over the last few hours happened so fast. It didn't seem real.

Several minutes passed since my last question. I heard Martin say something in German; his voice brought me out of my meditative state. The ship slowed as she began her descent. The scene outside the ship disappeared. Fog or clouds replaced everything while we were in stealth mode and close to landing. I stood back up so I could watch. The ship's viewport resembled a windshield that blended with the rest of the ship's transparent stealth environment. One could see right through the cloud or fog cover and toward the ground.

We were hovering. I didn't need to see it; I could feel it. Whatever system the ship used to balance the air pressure to compensate for speed as not to end up as smears on the back of the hull 'loosened up.' I didn't feel any of that heavy air at all now.

Martin began tapping his fingers at empty spaces on the flight panel. "They're not hailing us,"

"I noticed." Ryan reviewed the three-dimensional radar globe set mid-flight panel. "They should be able to see us on DRADIS." I opened my mouth to ask what that meant. Anticipating my further interrogation, Ryan glanced back and shook his head. An indication I should save the question for a later time. He looked at Martin. "Backup protocol."

"Got it." Martin tapped at a larger cobalt blue button off to the left of the flight console. The entire ship went off like a flashbulb.

I snapped my eyes shut as the negative image on my retinas screamed out in protest. "That was not pleasant," I grumbled.

"Sorry," Martin said. I opened my eyes. They began the ever so slow task of readjusting to the much dimmer illumination of the ship's interior.

Several seconds passed. Ryan concentrated on one of the readouts of the flight panel. Martin watched anxiously. Whatever they were expecting was not happening.

"Hit it again," Ryan said. I closed my eyes as Martin tapped the cobalt button. The intensity of the flash penetrated my eyelids.

"That was a lightning flash, wasn't it?" I asked.

Ryan nodded. "We're attempting to signal our people. They should've seen us on a more advanced radar system used to track ships like ours. The problem is they aren't hailing us. We have several backup protocols to get their attention in the case of equipment failure or human error. This might take a little longer than usual."

"Can't you just call them on your radio?" I asked. It seemed simple enough.

"Yes," Ryan said. "Considering our recent run-ins with our Corporation friends, they could be listening in as well. If so, it could present a whole different set of problems."

I found this dilemma interesting. "Could equipment in my time pick up transmissions from this ship even with all your stealth tricks?"

"No. The frequencies we use are significantly higher than the ones used in this era. Even so, the likelihood of Corporation agents monitoring those frequencies is high, considering everything that's happened this morning."

I was going to ask exactly how high those frequencies were. A rather annoying electronic twitter accompanied by a series of pulsing red lights from the flight panel interrupted me. Martin and Ryan locked glances. The tension in the cockpit doubled.

"Oh, shit," Martin whispered.

"What?" I asked. I figured if Martin and Ryan looked as if they shit their pants, I might need to worry as well.

"This is wrong." Ryan quickly did something on the flight panel. "That's not our frequency. Someone is hailing us on a much lower one. One from this era."

"And that's bad?" I asked.

That was a stupid question, dumbass, I thought.

"It isn't protocol," Martin replied as he scanned readouts on the flight panel. He looked at Ryan. "What should I do?"

Ryan glanced back and forth at the panel. "Either their communication device is inoperable, or there's been a security breach. Open the channel, Martin. If this is a legitimate transmission, then they'll use the standard query."

Martin tapped the first pulsating red button in that group and glanced at Ryan again for approval. Ryan gave it to him. Martin touched the next button and spoke, "Echo Sierra fiver, ten-eighteen?" Anything for us?

Several seconds passed.

A deep voice finally replied. "Attention, Brüder ship! Surrender the anomaly!"

Martin sat straight up. "That's not right."

Ryan tapped the reply control. "Echo Sierra Fiver, identify yourself."

"Brüder ship! I repeat, surrender the anomaly! Please respond, or we will open fire."

"What?" I asked in a whisper.

"Don't worry," Martin said. "Conventional weapons won't do shit to us. They can't even see us."

A low-frequency bass tone enveloped the entire ship causing it to shake. I doubled over and fell onto the floor. The sound and vibration of that tone left me highly nauseated. I fought not to projectile vomit. Ryan and Martin were suffering from the same symptoms.

Then it was over.

I gasped for air as I slowly stood. "What the fuck was that?"

Martin spoke while sitting doubled over. "Ryan, if that happens again, I'm going to lose displacement."

"This is all wrong," Ryan said. Whatever training he endured as a TDI, it left him least affected by the attack. Ryan pushed the ship's throttle as far as it would go under light speeds. Heavy air filled the cabin as the ship jumped forward and angled upward at breakneck speed.

"Brüder ship! Do not attempt to escape!" The voice warned. "Surrender Conundrum at once, or we will fire again."

"Me?" I asked in a panic. "What the fuck do they want with me? And why do they know my codename? I thought only Detective MacKenzie and you guys knew that."

"Probably because you swallowed the anomaly," Ryan said. "I have no idea how they know your code name. I did warn you about unaccounted variables." I suppose he did. I was beginning to think I should have heeded his warning. I didn't think death would be on the itinerary.

Martin jumped back into the dialog. He began tapping at a series of control off to the right side of the flight panel. "Ryan, where the hell did they get such a powerful Impüls weapon? We're too far up for the standard hand weapon." The right side entrance to the ship glimmered away. A pale blue force field replaced it to prevent decompression of the cabin.

"What's that for?" I asked, unable to take my gaze off the soft blue wall of light separating us from the atmosphere. Ryan noticed, as well.

"I don't know," Ryan said. He glanced at Martin. "Reconnoiter?" Martin nodded. Ryan nodded back in approval. "None of this makes sense. We should be far enough away..." A much larger low frequency enveloped us. It made the last episode feel like a mild warning. My consciousness consisted of total and complete disorientation. I fell to the floor again and curled up into a fetal position. I couldn't breathe. Martin dropped to the floor in front of me, completely unresponsive. His lifeless body flopped with the rocking of the ship.

Ryan barely continued to maintain his seat. He appeared ready to support himself on his hands and knees. "Son of a bitch _!_ " He growled through clenched teeth while forcing himself to sit up. I couldn't move without threats from my stomach to clench and heave. All I could do was watch Ryan adjust something next to the throttle control. After that, he pushed the throttle forward again. The result was a noticeable increase in speed.

The cloud cover visible through the hull disappeared as the ship pushed farther away from the Earth. The blue sky faded to white as we approached the Earth's outer atmosphere.

"Berechnung, Modus äußer," Ryan said through gasps. Another holographic panel activated to Ryan's left. The air weight and pressure inside the ship shifted. I felt myself lift off the floor for a moment as if gravity vanished. The sensation stopped when Ryan finished tapping around the panel. Not only could I stand again, but I also felt significantly lighter as if half my body weight melted away. The ambient temperature also dropped appreciably.

Martin remained unconscious.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

Ryan regained his composure and positive control of the ship. "He will be."

"What the hell happened?"

"One hell of a security breach," he said as he turned to study readouts on the newly lit flight panel. "We should be safe at this altitude."

"We're almost in space, aren't we?"

"Close enough. We can't stay here too long. Even though the ship's exterior is practically indestructible, it isn't reinforced to simulate Earth's electromagnetic zone."

"Meaning...we'll fry before too long."

"Exactly." Ryan must have sensed my fear. He smiled with some assurance. "We have about an hour before we need to start worrying. We'll be out of here by then."

"So, what happened? Why is Martin still out? And why the open entrance into space?"

"I think someone down there used an Impüls canon." Ryan tapped at the Impüls holstered on his belt buckle. "It's similar to this, only much larger. There shouldn't be one here in this when. As for Martin, all I can say is he's fine and should be awake soon." I found it curious Ryan dodged the issue of the shielded entrance.

"He goes to sleep every time we get his with those Impüls bursts. That doesn't make any sense."

"He's not asleep. It'll all make sense soon enough. In the meantime, I need to get you someplace safe until we can retrieve the anomaly – the quarter – you swallowed."

"Believe me; I'm having some serious regrets about doing that."

Ryan smirked. "I'll bet. It's irrelevant now. There's something else going on here that involves you. You've described for me two separate incidents that involve..."

Martin sat up. He looked utterly dispirited and tired. "We have a problem. I don't understand how or why, but ES-5 is crawling with Corporation agents. Some are wearing suits, and some are dressed like the military. The idiots are still wearing those Corporation rings, although they turn inward to hide the emblem. It's not all that hard to tell them apart. Oh, and they have an Impüls canon."

"I think that's obvious," Ryan said with a touch of sarcasm. Martin returned to his seat in the co-pilot's position. Usually, such minimal action would never have attracted my attention. How often does one watch another stand-up and sit down? The way Martin did was so laid back as if what happened was no big deal. I'd been watching Martin since I realized he was Wald or somehow using Wald's body. I suppose it's why I noticed a lack of enthusiasm. "The Corporation isn't supposed to be this organized in 2006. This is the second time they've ambushed us today. I don't understand how that's possible."

"Could they have a time traveler too?" I asked.

"No. That's impossible." Ryan said. Martin shot me a look of contempt. I returned one saying, 'what the hell was that for?' Ryan continued. He missed the unspoken exchange. "There's only one man who uses the temporal displacement element, and that's Detective MacKenzie. Even if they've compromised an Earth station, there are security protocols in place to stop anyone without proper access. Should that protocol fail, heavily armed guards protect FCA headquarters. No, whatever information they have they acquired here in 2006." Ryan put his hand on Martin's shoulder. Martin flinched. "I think we may have to infiltrate and immobilize. Thoughts?"

"I agree," Martin said without a care in the world. His eyes, once bright and alert when we met now seemed older somehow as if he aged thirty years. The way he carried himself also implied the experience of age. "We need to get closer to ES-5, though. That last displacement took a bit out of me."

I guess so, I thought. I don't know why, but you look years older.

"Understood." Ryan turned back to the flight console and began guiding the ship back into the atmosphere. "Berechnung, Modus beobachten."

The air pressure and gravity of the ship shifted again, leaving me feeling heavier.

Martin sat up straight in his seat. "Berechnung, eine sicher." A layer of light blue bands formed around his waist, arms, and legs. They kept him strapped to the chair. "Whenever you're ready, Ryan."

"Stand by." Ryan guided the ship into its cloudy cover. "Your priority is to disable that Impüls canon, otherwise we're done for. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Next, immobilize as many of those Corporation bastards as you can so I can land in our hangar. Have someone contact me with the security query when you've finished."

"Okay." Martin laid his head back as he awaited Ryan's go-ahead. Martin glanced briefly at me before he closed his eyes. I felt contempt radiating from him. Something was different about him. It scared me. For a moment, I questioned whether the person invading Wald's body was Martin.

Ryan piloted the ship downward at a steep angle. How fast we flew, I couldn't say. It was plenty fast enough to reach our destination quickly.

"Okay, Martin. It's all you." Ryan nodded at him. Martin nodded in return and fell unconscious.

Occam's razor, a rule in science and philosophy, states that one should not multiply entities needlessly. This rule is interpreted to mean that the simplest of two or more competing theories is preferable and that an explanation for unknown phenomena should first be attempted in terms of what is already known, applied. Even without an account from Ryan, I knew what Martin was capable of doing. He could discorporate his consciousness from body to body and control the host. Since Martin currently haunted my old friend Wald's body, Martin's real body must be somewhere else, if at all.

I could no longer keep quiet even though Ryan asked me several times to do so. "Ryan, is Martin a ghost?" I asked gingerly in case Ryan was going to be upset with me.

He grinned. "No, Kevin. Martin is most certainly not a ghost. There are no such things as ghosts, at least as you understand them."

"No such things as ghosts," I repeated. "I'll bet there are groups out there who would strongly disagree with you. Not me personally, I'm just saying."

"I'm not surprised considering the era. Many paranoid people who believe in ghosts don't fully understand what happens after the death of the body and the brain. Those two things are nothing more than receptacles."

Ryan's reply left me feeling anxious, much in the same way one feels when they are about to discover the twist ending to a good movie. "Does that mean you know what happens after we die?" I asked cautiously. "First, you tell me we aren't alone in the universe, and now you know what happens after death?"

"I didn't say that, exactly. We'll have to have this discussion later. We're almost where we need to be." Reluctantly, I abstained from additional dialog to give Ryan room to work. We both sat quietly, waiting for Martin to call in. After several minutes, Ryan's communication device twittered its robot chirp. Ryan answered it. "Echo Sierra fiver, ten-eighteen?"

"Brüder-2, ten-four," the voice said. "Are you a stranger who comes as a friend?"

I answered before Ryan could. "Things are not as they appear," I whispered. Ryan glanced at me. This time his jaw dropped as disbelief etched across his face. He repeated into the communicator my words verbatim. His look never left mine as he spoke.

The unknown voice replied, "Brüder-2, all ten-thirty-four--" Trouble at This Station "--has been neutralized. You are clear to land in hangar niner Echo. Copy?"

"Ten-four, Echo Sierra fiver," Ryan said. "Ten-twenty-two,--" Report in-person "--ETA three minutes. Brüder-2, ten-eight." Ryan's eyes were still firmly locked on mine. "Do you want to tell me how you knew the answer to our security query?"

"You remember those horoscopes I told you about? The ones Tessie wanted to read the night Wald disappeared?" Ryan nodded. "That series of sentences you and Martin spoke to each other was part of my horoscope. Tessie read it to me, 'Use caution when dealing with strangers who come as friends. Coming events in your life are not what they appear to be.'"

Ryan studied me. He appeared leery. I was worried he might not believe me. "Let me get this straight. On a June night in 1991, you first witness a Corporation Agent chasing a kid who runs into you. Following that, a probable Brüder ship over the same location uses their transport program to detain your friend Wald, the same person whom Martin is now displacing. Now you're telling me on that very same night your girlfriend drops a quarter into a vending machine that produces a horoscope paper, and your horoscope just happens to be one of our security protocols. Do I have it right?"

"I guess so," I said. I didn't know what else to say. I could have theorized the whole evening went down as one of the most significant coincidences known to man. I don't believe Ryan would have accepted that.

He rubbed his temples. "I am starting to think that particular horoscope scroll wasn't meant for you. It might have been a plant meant for the kid those Corporation agents were chasing. That might explain why he was carrying all those coins." He paused as he glanced off competitively. "If he was a TDI, then I wonder who he was." I didn't answer Ryan's rhetorical question.

He turned to the flight panel and began the landing procedure.

The ship lowered through the fog and turned sharply. Ryan guided Brüder-2 into a large hangar and landed the ship.

"Berechnung, abschalten, geöffnete Luke," Ryan said to the ship. The humming from the rear of the craft slowly began to wind down. The exit door formed on the left.

"What's with all the German?" I asked.

"Never mind that for now, Kevin." Ryan removed the hand-sized device from the control panel. If I were to guess, it was the equivalent of the ship's key. The holographic panels disappeared, leaving the interior of the ship an empty onyx black. The only remaining light emitted from the holographic supports holding Martin to his seat.

Ryan leaned over in his chair. He slapped his hands on his knees. I knew I was in for a talking to based on the appearance of seriousness on his face. "You need to know a few things about where we are."

"Okay."

"Before the war, this place was a secret U.S. military installation known as Area 51." My eyebrows topped out on my forehead in surprise. "It was...is considered top secret. There are men out there whose job it is to assist in our missions and nothing else. They work for your military but take orders from the FCA. Do not speak to them even if they speak to you first. I will speak on your behalf. I need you to do as I ask; otherwise, these men will shoot you unless your answers are the right ones. As you don't know those answers, say nothing. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said in a small voice. The words 'Area 51' hung in the air. It's the very center of UFO lore. It made sense in a cosmic sort of way.

Martin jumped back to life. "Berechnung, eine Freigabe," he said. The holographic restraints disappeared. Martin stood up. "We're all clear."

Ryan and I stood as well. He gently took me by the upper arm to escort me as the three of us disembarked. "Remember, not a word."

I nodded.

II

Fully armed men in military uniforms poured into the hangar. Several of them surrounded the ship. An older man dressed in a higher decorated uniform entered the hangar. Four fully armed men dressed in black fatigues flanked him. I took note of their hardware. M-3 rifles were I to guess, or something similar.

The higher-ranking officer and his entourage approached the ship's entrance and faced Ryan directly. Martin and I lingered behind as the four operatives surrounding the higher-ranking officer simultaneously pointed their weapons at Ryan. He didn't flinch.

"Identity, please," the head military officer ordered.

"Capcoseve, Ryan. FCA, #17914011." Ryan stepped forward and off the ship. The military officer withdrew a penlight-like device that looked similar to Ryan's Löschen. Ryan allowed the officer to point the device at his retinas. It blinked a bluish LED light twice. The officer turned the device sideways to observe readout.

"Confirmed," he said. "Welcome back to Earth Station 5, sir."

Ryan disregarded the pleasantry. "Colonel Robinson, could you explain to me exactly how Corporation agents infiltrated this facility with a damn Impüls cannon?"

Robinson frowned. He glanced back toward the front entrance of the hanger, where several covered bodies lay among blood splatter. "We're attempting to ascertain that situation now, sir. Unfortunately, all twelve agents are dead."

Ryan looked back at Martin with apparent exasperation. "You killed them? I said, 'immobilize,' Martin."

"They killed each other," Martin said. "I didn't have the chance to immobilize any of them."

"I can confirm that," Robinson said. "The leader of the group shouted something in German. They turned on each other in pairs and fired."

"What specifically did he say?" Ryan asked.

Robinson turned to one of his subordinates, who whispered into his ear. "He said, geck com, prom it...ummm--"

Ryan interrupted Robinson's lousy attempt at German. "Gekompromittiert, beenden Sie?"

Martin whispered into my ear the translation; compromised, terminate.

"Yes, sir," Robinson said. "I believe this to be some failed suicide mission."

Martin leaned over toward Ryan. "They weren't going to let us capture them," he whispered. "The agent I displaced gave the order when he became aware of me, which was within seconds."

Ryan turned his head to reply in the same low whisper. "He could sense you that quickly?"

"I can't explain it. I should have been able to immobilize him before he knew what hit him. It was as if he – or any of them – expected displacement."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ryan said softly. "The Corporation has protection against spiritual displacement." Martin shrugged his shoulders as if he had no explanation.

Ryan turned his attention back toward Robinson. "I need to see the device they used, Colonel."

"Yes, sir," Robinson said. He turned to nod toward the first operative behind him. He briskly walked off and out of sight.

Ryan was far from finished with Robinson. "I need to know how these agents infiltrated this facility and overtook your men, Colonel. If a groundhog farts within fifty miles of this base, you people know about it. So how did this happen?"

"Again, sir, we're still not sure," Robinson said reluctantly. "There was no penetration of the base or its perimeter, no unauthorized aircraft in our air space, and no stealth Brüder craft approaches, except yours. The Corporation agents were already here by then. They seemed to appear out of nowhere." Ryan brushed his hand over his mouth as he contemplated the information. Perplexion defined his appearance.

The operative who left to retrieve the Impüls canon returned. He held a black box the size of a standard VCR. Laying on top of the device and connected to the device by an abnormally thick wire was a handheld device that protruded a small radar dish.

Somehow, I expected something more extensive.

Ryan scoffed when he saw it. "Crude. Very crude. It's a badly constructed version of the real thing." Ryan looked up and stared off.

"Sir?" Robinson asked.

"I'll want to run forensics on this when I get back. Place it about Brüder-2 and post guards on the ship. No one enters that ship until I get back."

Behind me, Martin scoffed under his breath. I didn't turn around to see why.

"Yes, sir," Robinson said. The operative holding the device placed it inside Brüder-2. Two guards stationed themselves at the entrance of the ship.

The little box did a hell of a job for a 'badly constructed version of the real thing.' It clearly worked as intended. Of this, I can personally testify.

Ryan turned to his side and motioned toward Martin and me. "I am escorting Conundrum to FCA-1, Colonel. Would you please prepare the Jaunte for immediate transport?"

Robinson looked suspiciously at Ryan. If Robinson's demeanor was meant to intimidate Ryan, then it didn't work. Ryan remained solid as a rock.

"I need to confirm identities, sir," Robinson said. The remaining operative pointed his rifles toward Martin and me. Martin allowed Robinson to confirm his identity.

When it was my turn, Ryan blocked me with his arm. "Conundrum won't be listed. He is under my protection."

Robinson pursed his lips in suspicion. "Then he needs to be questioned. You know the protocols, sir."

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but that won't be permitted," Ryan said. "Conundrum is under my protection. We are in a Code Black situation."

A look of surprise washed over Robinson's face. "Excuse me?"

"Code Black," Ryan repeated. "Protocol says I must make contact with FCA MacKenzie immediately. Since Conundrum has been identified as an unaccounted variable, he must remain under my protection."

A displeased Robinson peered at Ryan with continued misgiving. "Begging your pardon, sir, but that's all the more reason for me to detain him. And you want to take him through the Jaunte? Are you suffering from Temporal Psychosis?"

"Colonel!" Ryan spat. "That was completely inappropriate!"

"No, sir." Robinson maintained his stance. The operatives pulled their rifles closer to their faces for better aiming and trained them on the three of us. "There's never been a Code Black in the history of this facility. That could mean a potential paradox. Transporting an unknown variable to FCA-1 would be a security breach of biblical proportion!"

Ryan looked more annoyed than upset. "Robinson, we can do without the religious drama, thank you. First, FCA MacKenzie is the only one who can make that determination, which is why my orders supersede yours. Second, let's not forget that you allowed twelve agents from The Corporation to come aboard this base on your watch with an Impüls cannon, and you can't tell me how or why. Now you're suggesting amid a possible Code Black situation that I leave a vital piece of evidence in your care?" Robinson didn't reply. He eased his stance. Robinson knew he was out of line and that Ryan was right. I wouldn't be safe where Ryan wasn't. "Look, Colonel, the fact is if something happens to Conundrum and he's not under my protection, then that responsibility falls on you. If you want me to pass that information on to FCA MacKenzie, then I'll be happy to do so." Robinson looked away from Ryan. I could only surmise Ryan's threat isn't something Robinson wanted. "Otherwise, I will take full responsibility for escorting Conundrum to FCA-1."

Robinson nodded. "So be it, sir. I want it on record that I'm executing your order under protest."

"So noted," Ryan said apathetically. "Please prepare the Jaunte for immediate transport."

The two men turned and walked out of the hangar, leaving the three of us standing next to Brüder-2 and the two guards standing watch over her. The remaining military personal slowly drifted away while remaining watchful of us.

"That was close," Martin said softly as not to be heard by anyone else in the hangar.

Ryan's composure relaxed. "It worked out. That's all that matters." He looked at me. "Thank you for not speaking. You made my job a lot easier."

"Not a problem," I said with a half-grin. "You maybe want to tell me what exactly a 'Jaunte' is? Or rather, can you?"

"The Jaunte is a transport device that exists at each of our surviving Earth stations," Ryan said.

"How long does transport take?" I asked.

"It's instantaneous," Ryan replied. "But you'll age about a minute during transport. Not to worry, Kevin. It's very safe. There is one issue, however. We have to be asleep when we go through."

The reveal took me by surprise. "Or what?"

"You die," Ryan said flatly. "Or you go insane and then die. The result is the same."

I felt nervous again. I could feel my hands shaking. "I'm supposed to fall asleep on demand, just like that?" My voice was shaking. "I have trouble falling asleep on my own as it is even with the help of sleep aids. Why do I need to be asleep?"

"The transport system is based on a stabilized topological feature of space-time," Ryan explained.

"An artificial wormhole," Martin said, cutting through Ryan's technical explanation.

Ryan gave Martin an unsure look. "Yeah, something like that. Even though matter makes the trip across the wormhole without any trauma, the conscious mind does not. What should be perceived as an instantaneous process has been determined to last a whole lot longer when consciously moving through the Jaunte."

I was intrigued. "How much longer?"

Ryan shook his head. "You couldn't possibly imagine it."

"Try me."

"I've never actually seen it happen, but I've heard stories." Ryan looked off and out of the hangar. "The last person who went through the Jaunte conscious for research purposes lived only a few minutes afterwards. His hair turned completely white. The white of his eyes turned a sickly yellow color with age. He repeated the same word over and over again until he died of a severe heart attack." Ryan paused. "Eternity."

I looked at Martin. He solemnly nodded in agreement.

Ryan returned his attention to me and smiled. "Not to worry. We have rigorous protocols for Jaunte travel."

Of course, they did. The FCA has protocols for everything. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn there were protocols for sex and foreplay in the late twenty-first century.

Martin took over with the instructions, "I'll be giving you and Ryan a small burst of sound and light designed to induce unconsciousness. When you get to the other side, the system'll wake you using another series of sounds. You'll wake up like you never went to sleep. It's a pleasant experience, to be honest."

"Lights and sounds to make us sleep?" I asked. "How does that work?"

Ryan answered. "You understand that light and sound amount to stimuli interpreted by the brain?"

"Of course."

"Certain combinations of complexly timed flashes of light and noise with delta waves trick the brain into unconsciousness. It eliminates the need for sleep-inducing drugs. It became necessary considering how often the Jaunte system is used."

"Okay," I said with skepticism. "You two have gotten me this far. What's one more leap of faith?"

"Interesting choice of words," Ryan mused. He turned to Martin. "Any thoughts on how Corporation agents breached security?"

"You tell me. Would visually displaced agents trigger perimeter alarms?"

"Yes," Ryan replied. "I've run every protocol Robert wrote on the subject. The security grid detects space-time variances of visual displacement."

Martin nodded and smiled warmly at the mention of Robert's name. "Robert. I wish he were here now." Martin's words didn't come off reminiscent of an old friend. Instead, it sounded like a dig at Ryan.

"Who's Robert?" I asked.

"My predecessor," Ryan said as he eyed Martin over the previous comment. "He died several years ago by my time index. He was a true hero."

"And a great friend," Martin added, returning Ryan's hard glance. The tension between the two men became so intense one could almost see it. I surmised Robert and Ryan's replacement of him was a sensitive topic.

"What about a transporter?" I asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from what appeared to be a confrontation in the making. "You said you had that kind of technology."

Ryan shook his head and looked away from Martin. "No. The ship-to-ground transporter we have is not exactly subtle. The entire base would have known about it long before anyone could transport down. Besides, the only craft with that capability is Brüder-1. She's docked right now far from here and away from The Corporation."

"Brüder-4 is supposed to have one as well," Martin said with the same confrontational tone he used when speaking of Robert. "A much better one."

This time Ryan turned and stepped toward Martin. The difference in height between the two became obvious. Ryan was at least half a foot taller. "What's with you all of a sudden? Are you deliberately provoking me? No one knows where she is, even in my time! Do we really need to do this again, right now of all times?"

"All I'm saying is what if The Corporation found her?" Martin said, ignoring Ryan's visible warning to take it down a notch. "Maybe that's why we can't find her."

The current discourse provided my first real insight into the relationship between Ryan and Martin. The two had a history. Perhaps there was some bad blood over matters beyond me...decades from here. I'd heard once in times of war men have trusted each other with their lives and not liked each other. I believe Martin and Ryan fell into this mold.

Ryan was visibly annoyed. "We've been through this before, Martin. There are pages of reasons as to why your theory isn't possible. Even if it were true, Robinson and his men would have seen it. They would have felt it. Understand?"

I understood now. Martin's suggestion implied The Corporation might have this coveted Brüder ship and used it to infiltrate this base. However, the subject of the ship itself seemed a sore spot with Ryan. I'd have to ask why later.

Martin glanced away. "Yeah, I'm hip."

The deliberate lack of eye contact suggested the subject of Brüder-4 was far from over. Ryan must have thought the same thing. He ran his fingers through his dirty-blonde hair in frustration. "How many times do we have to go through this?"

"Forget it," Martin said as he slightly bowed his head. "I'm sorry." The apology wasn't sincere. It did imply a temporary truce.

This business with the fourth Brüder ship fascinated me. I might have said that Ryan was initially in love with the myth. Now I wondered if he was protecting it in some way. Martin seemed intent on pushing Ryan's buttons for some reason known only to the two of them. More so after Martin awoke from the second Impüls burst. His attitude became much more standoffish after that. It seemed Martin harbored some form of anger and wanted to pick a fight.

Robinson and his operatives returned. Ryan gently grabbed my upper arm again. "It's okay," Ryan whispered. "This is just protocol. You're not a prisoner."

"Thanks," I said cautiously but appreciative.

Robinson approached Ryan. "The Jaunte is ready and operational. The tech is waiting for you."

"Okay, then. Let's proceed."

Robinson's men escorted us through the hangar and across the base. I felt excited and scared at the same time. I didn't want to go, yet I couldn't wait to get there. It was an odd combination of emotions.

Ryan spoke to Robinson without looking at him. "While we're gone, I want you to gather as much evidence from those dead Corporation agents as possible and prepare a report for FCA MacKenzie. I'll attempt to find out from my side of the timeline exactly happened and how those Corporation bastards 'appeared here out of nowhere,' to use your words."

"I understand, sir," Robinson said, still seemingly hot under the collar. He hid it well.

Additional black fatigued military personal were lined up and patrolling the area, all with automatic rifles. The stationary guards watched as we approached a small and heavily guarded building farther down the facility. Robinson approached the panel next to the main door and fit his forehead into a built-in eye scanner. The entering of a rather lengthy access code followed. The device chirped compliantly. The entrance to the building opened. It immediately closed after the eight of us entered.

The inside of this building was nothing at all like the outside. The door that closed behind. A completely empty room lay before us. The only other exit appeared to be a shut door on the other side of the building. If there was more to the building, it was not for me to see.

"Stand back, please," Robinson said as he entered a code into a standard security system panel on the wall to his left. Extending halfway into the room, the wooden floor before us sunk close to an inch and a half. The sunken portion began to slide underneath the section remaining in place. A set of concrete stairs leading father into the ground became visible. They headed further down into an underground tunnel. Robinson extended his arm toward the stairs. "Gentlemen, after you, please."

Ryan and Martin guided me down thirteen good-sized concrete stairs. Like the inside of the Brüder-2 ship, the stairs were just a bit oversized. The steps and the tunnel we entered both suffered from a lack of maintenance. The dust and dirt settled on the stairs revealed scattered footprints of previous visitors. The dimly lit hallway extended farther than I could see. Antique wall lamps provided little illumination and only for the first five doors leading into the tunnel. Everything beyond was pitch black. I looked around as we walked, taking in as much detail as I could. Whatever this place was, it was enormous. I had the desire to stop and look through each room just to see what might be inside each. We stopped at the fifth door on the left about 500 feet in. The two men who stood in defense of it raised their rifles and pointed them at Martin and me.

Ryan witnessed this. "Gentlemen, that won't be necessary. I am Capcoseve, Ryan, FCA #17914011, and am currently executing the resolution of a Code Black protocol. General Robinson has been briefed."

"Concur," Robinson said flatly. The armed men guarding the Jaunte door lowered their weapons and allowed access into the room.

It was a small room with yet another oversized stairwell leading farther into the ground. Instead of darkness, the glow of an intense unseen red light flooded the concrete steps. Ryan led me down the stairs into the sub-room. The architecture capturing my gaze was unlike anything I could ever have imagined. The length of the floor from the last step to the giant wall lumbering over us had to be at least fifty feet. Protruding from the wall and towering over the room at the height of perhaps twelve feet sat the shape of an octagon. The red light deluging the area radiated from within the octagon shape. It was a force field protecting the Jaunte from unauthorized entry. It hummed twice as loud as the blue force fields from the Brüder-2 ship.

Ryan whispered into my ear. "You might not want to touch this one. There's enough power flowing through there to knock you back to the other side of the room."

"Good tip," I said in a squeak while struggling to swallow the lump in my throat. I made the decision to stick close to Ryan from this point forward.

Two single rails jut through the bottom of the octagon. They suggested a two-way transportation system to and from whatever lay on the other side. The left track sat empty. It ran through the octagon at the bottom and stopped at the edge of the force field, presumably connecting to a rail on the other side. On the right track sat a platform with eight steel or steel like seats in a two by four layout.

Ryan approached a control panel on the right side of the octagon shape. I wasn't able to see what he did. Whatever it was, it disabled the red force field. The glow and the vibrating hum subsided. It left the room darker and deathly quiet. A frozen and badly redshifted image of four men and two guards inside the unprotected octagon looked in our direction.

I gingerly approached the center of the Jaunte portal. "The Stars of My Destination," I whispered. "This is some kind of teleportation device, isn't it?"

"Alfred Bester," Martin said, understanding the reference. Proof positive Martin was the geek Ryan claimed him to be. "I'm actually impressed." I looked over my shoulder to a condescending nod from Martin. I wanted to ask him what the fuck his problem was. I lowered my eyebrows in annoyance over his attitude. He replied with raised eyebrows suggesting I was the one with the insolence.

Robinson looked at me and then at Martin. "I'm not following. What are you two talking about?"

I didn't answer as Ryan asked me not to speak to these men. He did instead. "They're referencing an old twentieth-century book. In it, the character of Charles Ford Jaunte discovers teleportation. It's where we got the name. Martin's doing." Robinson made no reply. He continued to stare, flummoxed at Ryan. "Don't you read, Colonel?" Robinson ignored the question. Ryan shrugged and returned his attention to me. "Yes, Kevin. It is a form of teleportation, but not like the ones you've read about in science fiction stories. Martin won't be going with us." Ryan glanced at Robinson. "He'll need to stay behind and help keep order...considering recent events." Robinson appeared perturbed.

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked, not fully believing the excuse.

"The trip would kill Martin, asleep or awake," Ryan begrudgingly replied. "Because of his unique ability."

I looked at Martin. He shrugged indifferently.

Ryan led me to the Jaunte platform. I carefully stepped up onto it and took the seat to the left. The seat was not at all comfortable. Ryan sat to my right. A small black control panel containing several holographic buttons sat atop a pole before each position. Ryan tapped the only blue button on my panel. A blue holographic seat restraint appeared around my waist, so I wouldn't slide out of it. He performed the same for himself. "Okay. Let's do it."

Martin approached the holographic control panel on the right side of the Jaunte octagon and entered information into an oversized keypad. "One trip to FCA-1, coming up. Please keep your hand and feet inside the Jaunte platform at all times and your trays in their upright position." He glanced back at us with a sarcastic half-grin. "Thank you for flying the Brüder Jaunte Portal."

A pulsating white noise filled the area of the platform. Its hypnotic rhythm washed warm and peaceful sensations over me as if silky euphoria swallowed me whole. I was going to comment on how incredible I felt until a series of timed strobe flashes prevented it.

I remembered nothing else on that side of the Jaunte.

III

A series of white noise bursts filled my head.

I opened my eyes.

True to Martin's description, I felt like I'd never been asleep. I would have marveled over how cool the process was had the two black fatigued security personnel not been pointing their automatic weapons at us. I looked over at Ryan. He was fully awake. He did his song and dance with the guards, citing his credentials, the Code Black situation, and me being under his protection. They lowered their weapons afterward. Ryan tapped the blue button on his panel and mine, causing the seat restraints to disappear. The guards returned to their static position on opposite sides of the Jaunte portal. Their discipline was something to admire. They reminded me of the Royal Guard, who would stand undistracted by anything around them as they carried out their only order; prevent unauthorized access to and from the Jaunte portal.

Wherever we were, the air tasted manufactured and artificial, much like living inside an air-conditioned room. A harsh chill also filled the air. Directly across from our platform sat the opposite platform facing the opposite direction into the Jaunte. I began to understand now. The platforms provided one-way trips. Ryan would send it back through to ES-5 after disembarking the platform. One could then follow should they want to.

I looked back into the Jaunte. A frozen red image of Martin, Robinson, and the other operatives watching us began to redshift.

"You're looking at the event horizon," Ryan said as he urged me to step off the platform. I did. "If I don't return the platform, then no one else can follow us. I would prefer to keep it here until I've finished my report to Detective MacKenzie."

"Okay," I said. "Where are we? It's a lot colder here."

"We're in the Jaunte room of FCA-1."

"No, I meant, where are we? Are we farther underground?"

Ryan contemplated the question. "Yes. We're most certainly underground."

His answer was cryptic. Then, so is Ryan. I knew follow up examination would end with additional unanswered questions, so I let it go. "Now what?"

"Follow me and keep quiet." We left the Jaunte room and stepped into a long, barely lit hallway where yet another set of security personnel awaited us.

The gravity was lighter but not by much. I looked at each door outline we passed. A label in pseudo-German above each mocked me for my inability to read it. Ryan stopped after a minute or so of walking steadily at a much larger door outline. Another pair of guards stopped us and demanded identification. Ryan turned to me when he finished. "We're here. We use this special room for temporal displacement. Please, Kevin, touch nothing. I can not stress how serious I am about this."

"Not a problem," I said. I meant it too.

"What I told Colonel Robinson was the truth. You are under my protection. It wasn't a lie to get my way, and that's the only reason you've accompanied me this far into FCA-1."

"If you say 'jump,' I say 'how high?'"

Ryan considered those words and nodded in approval. "I've not heard that expression before. I like it." I smiled at his childlike wonder of all things 20th century. He reminded me a bit of my son with his mannerisms.

Ryan subjected himself to a retinal scan over the security panel next to the room's entrance. It looked similar to the one Robinson used at the ES-5 Jaunte building. The entrance's frame glowed yellow for a moment. The doorway within the outline disappeared to allow entry.

We walked into a small waiting room, which led into a larger room. Yet another pair of guards challenged Ryan's identity. He quickly passed while explaining my presence.

My 'unbelievable stuff' meter maxed out...again. If what I was seeing was accurate, a small, bright, pulsating star hovered four feet off the floor. It was brighter and whiter than the sun, yet it didn't hurt to stare at it. It was beautiful on so many levels. I might have stared at it forever or even walked into it to become one with it had Ryan not been here. That would've been okay too. I wasn't afraid of what I was seeing. Darkness surrounded the floating white star. It radiated darkness, as difficult as it might be to believe. Twinkles of independent light hung throughout the dark. They gave the illusion the room was full of tiny stars as seen from outside our solar system. Some pulled toward the center of the hovering, throbbing sphere of light and eventually slid into it. Another flicker of light would appear soon after and hang in the air.

I couldn't take my eyes off it. I didn't want to. "What is this?" I whispered in wonder.

Ryan smiled at my hypnotic awe. "We call it the twilight effect, as the room looks like it's full of captured twilight. In the middle is the actual displacement portal."

"It's beautiful," I said, still whispering. "It's so full of life, and color, and energy. I want to touch it."

"No!" Ryan snapped. His demeanor drew me out of my hypnotic state. "If you get that close to it, you will be taken to July of 2095. You need to trust me when I say you don't want any part of that when. The trip would also probably kill you."

I surveyed the rest of the room. I choose to back off the portal and stand against the far wall and away from the guards.

Ryan observed my apprehension. "It's okay, Kevin. They're not here to hurt you. They're here to protect you while I'm gone. The trip will take a few seconds on your side of the timeline. When I come back, we're going to have most of, if not all, of the answers to the questions regarding you and the TDI cases you've crossed."

I grinned. "All variables will be accounted for?"

Ryan put his hand on my shoulder – a warm act I never expected – and returned the grin. "You got it." Ryan offered his hand. I shook it. "I'll be back in a flash." Ryan turned to face the portal star. He began walking through the twilight effect and toward the center.

IV

The guard standing closest to me pointed his rifle at his counterpart on the opposite side of the entrance. The unsuspecting guard never saw the act of betrayal that ended his life. Obscene amounts of blood sprayed across the wall as he silently fell down dead. I snapped my head around toward Ryan. He didn't see or hear what transpired. I ran around the portal to stand across from Ryan and the line of fire.

"RYAN!" I screamed. I didn't wait for a response. Had I done so, I believe he would be dead and me with him. I charged Ryan with no regard for the consequences, hoping to send us both through the portal star. If it killed me, then it killed me. In the end, Ryan and Connor wanted FutureQuarter. My death would be nothing more than an unfortunate removal of an unaccounted variable in a larger equation. Not that I much cared. Whether by rifle fire at FCA-1, my plan at the Sarasota Square Mall, or travel across the sixth dimension, the result would be the same. We tumbled through the portal. The beautiful light disappeared, leaving pitch black surrounding us. I felt time itself stretch me paper-thin from the end of my fingertips all the way to the tips my toes. We stepped out the other side of the portal star. It was a full step down like coming off a bottom step. Ryan jerked away. He spun around to face me.

I expected wrath. I received concern.

"Kevin?" Ryan asked. "Are you okay? Can you understand me?"

"Yes." I was surprised. I looked around the room. It was the same room from 2006 only situated differently. "Didn't you say time travel was a painful and traumatic experience to the uninitiated?"

Detective Connor McKenzie sat up on the couch where he previously lay. The portal closed, and the twilight effect dithered away into nothing as he did. The room became brighter when the portal disappeared. Connor looked upon me with great concern. Several other men and women circled around me as if they were waiting for something to happen.

"I don't see what the big deal is. I don't feel as bad as you said I might," I said.

Connor looked at Ryan. Ryan shook his head as he gently took me by the shoulders. "There might be a delay, Kevin. The pain doesn't start until a few moments have passed. Then you'll wish you were dead. What happened? Why did you push us through the portal?"

"It all happened so fast, Ryan," I said. "I can't believe you didn't see it or hear it. The guard nearest me shot and killed the other. Then he tried to shoot you in the back. That's when I pushed you through."

Something strange began to happen to me. There was bubbling in my stomach. It was as if I'd slammed too many sodas and was going to let off the mother of all burps. Intense heat radiated from the pit of my stomach. Vertigo set in as I felt hot bile crawling up the back of my throat. Everyone in the room must have seen the panic on my face. Ryan began to support me, so I wouldn't fall down.

"Yeah." I struggled to get the word out. "Maybe I don't feel so good after all."

Ryan held me up by my shoulders. "Kevin, tell me what's wrong."

"My stomach is on fire," I managed to say. "And my throat burns, and my nostrils. I think I am going to be si..." And that's precisely what happened. Whatever I vomited up was boiling hot. I was sure the inside of my mouth, including my tongue and lips, suffered from burns. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to see it.

The projectile vomiting occurred a second time. Burning red-orange liquid dripped off my chin and onto my shirt. I distinctly heard the dull clink of FutureQuarter hit the floor.

"Go get Dr. Ecklie," I heard someone say. Someone else left the room.

Ryan propped me up when my vomiting ceased. He allowed me to put my weight on him. Connor MacKenzie stood before me. "I can't say I was expecting you so soon, Kevin," he said. I struggled to open my eyes to see him better. "Welcome to FCA Headquarters, FCA-1, Lunar station."

Expecting me so soon? Did I hear that right?

I tried to convey this but couldn't summon the strength to breathe deep enough to talk. I ventured to stand on my own but couldn't do that either. The experience left my skeleton feeling liquefied. Any attempt to move brought forth unimaginable pain.

I forced myself to look at Connor. I finally managed a sentence through the burning vomit and drool. "Lunar station? The moon?"

Connor briefly glanced at Ryan. "Yes, Kevin. It's located within the moon, FCA-1 is. It's in an underground observation facility, ten of thousands of years old. Don't worry about that right now. Our doctor is on the way. She'll do everything she can for you."

What I heard was, the moon is a big space station, and we hide underground inside of it. Oh, and did I mention it's been here long before the time of Jesus?

With this information stored in my failing head, I decided my brain had processed enough input for one day. Indeed, the mind can accept only so much at once. Mine had reached its quota and then some. It was now time to shut down and deal with this mess later.

I closed my eyes and let the black unconsciousness swallow me.

V

I'll never look at the moon the same way again.

Ever.

#  Chapter VI: Perturbation

" _A cause of mental disquiet, disturbance, or agitation."_

****

Date: Saturday, May 13, 1989

Location: Cranberry Mall, Westminster, Maryland

Age: 17

****

I

It was supposed to be another boring Saturday night at Cranberry Mall. O'Bryan VonWald, Andy Myer, and I were supposed to be catching the 7:30 PM showing of Pet Semetary, the latest Stephen King novel translated to the big screen. The two movies we really wanted to see wouldn't be out until next weekend. Tim Burton's remake of Batman, starring Michael Keaton, the guy from BeetleJuice, and Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade with Sean Connery portraying the part of Indiana's dad. Sneak previews of the latest Indy flick claimed Connery and Harrison Ford demonstrate on-screen chemistry worth the five-dollar admittance price.

My frustration with Wald and Myer multiplied with the 7:30 showing time quickly approaching. I could find them nowhere. I sat resigned at one of the grungy food court tables across from Subway and caddy-corner to the movie theater. I pulled a quarter out of my pocket and began flipping it back and forth over my knuckles to alleviate boredom. From my location, I could see people leaving or entering the food court from either direction. I wouldn't miss Wald and Myer when they would pass through. Passers-by would note the many eye rolls and sighs of exasperation my tardy friends were causing me as the quarter danced without purpose across my knuckles. What I wouldn't give to have one of those Nokia-Mobira or Centel cellular phones or at the very least the six hundred bucks it would cost to own one. No, I would need way more upon contemplation, at least a few hundred dollars to cover the cost of 50 to 75 cents a minute cell tower time. I sighed again over the social unfairness of it all. Only the rich could ever afford cellular phones.

It must be nice to be loaded, I thought sourly.

No one has that kind of money in the farm county where I live. In fact, there isn't much for one to do but drink, do drugs, party, have sex, and hang out at the mall. This ultimately leads to an epidemic every local mall has, a handful of lost youths who spend their days and nights seeking popularity as the town's biggest badass. Once this reputation is established, one becomes a feared entity. They can do whatever they want, such as running into other people and asking them what their problem is. Town bullies, in a nutshell. Such hierarchies are sadly inevitable. The real problem arises when these egotistical personalities clash with one another. This is when what should be a family-friendly shopping mall becomes the stage for a turf war. As with all power struggles, peers choose sides, and metaphoric lines are drawn. The question then becomes who will cross that line first?

II

In what the locals would come to term the Cranberry Mall Riot, the night two culturally different kids in their post-high school years and their followers stepped up to that line. One of the misguided youths involved called himself 'Kross.' He's an eighteen-year-old black male who loitered with a gang referred to as 'the blacks.' Behind their backs, we called them 'the yos' or 'the yo boys' due to their continually calling out 'yo' to one another. Kross and his minions wore baggy clothes and lots of gold jewelry. If Kross had a real name, I didn't know what it was. I don't think anyone did. On the other side of that equation was a white male a few years older than Kross, who the kids simply called Farmer John. He associated with a group aptly termed as 'the farmers.' They originally came together from the hugely popular high school Future Farmers of America club. Farmer John stood nearly seven feet tall. He lumbered over everyone else.

If local mall gossip were to be believed, a dispute arose between the two cliques at some point in the recent past. Rumors swirled about a possible gang fight sometime this weekend. Even so, I didn't believe anyone thought such a fray would end up at Cranberry Mall. Nevertheless, that's what happened. Both groups showed up at the mall that dull Saturday evening. Reports of a showdown spread throughout the mall at the speed of light.

What began the melee, I don't recall. The numerous news reports that followed never cited one. The two gangs simply didn't like one another and wanted an excuse to fight. Sometimes, that's all it takes.

Within fifteen minutes of overhearing this chatter, the coming confrontation became apparent with the loitering of various members of each group in the food court. Something terrible was brewing. I still couldn't account for Myer and Wald. Their absence made me nervous. Most of the other mall consumers – kids mostly – were carefully watching the rival groups at a respectable distance. Three of Farmer John's boys walked ominously by Subway and the table at which I sat. I figured it was time to get the hell out. Witnessing a silly mall turf rumble at ground zero was most certainly exempt from my list of things to do. This disturbance clearly had the potential to get out of control and fast. If it happened, it would be every man for himself, the most dangerous kind of riot there is.

The situation in the food court was akin to watching an oncoming tornado. You know you should run and get the hell out of its way, but somehow you can't take your eyes off it while standing frozen in place. I did stand up, but I didn't move. Farmer John stood outside the video game arcade adjacent to the mall exit and across from the movie theater. Loyal followers surrounded him.

Meanwhile, Kross and his entourage exited their cars curbside, about fifty feet from the exit doors where Farmer John stood. Kross's intentions were clear. He planned to bring his beef with the farmers into the mall.

The mall grapevine, clearly alive and well, made its way to the security office. Two unarmed mall security personnel - affectionately termed 'rent-a-cops' - hurriedly turned the corner from the mall's main hallway and into the food court. I cringed at the sight of two rent-a-cops as they stood before two sweltering gangs preparing for battle. In Cranberry Mall, the Pinkerton Security contracted rent-a-cops have no real power or respect, and more importantly, no real weapons. They are the unappreciated butt of jokes and whispers. The two responding to the food court situation had to know they were walking into the gates of hell itself, powerless to do anything to squelch the circumstances. I could hear one over the mumbling of the spectator's radio back to their headquarters, ironically located next to the mall's main lavatories, for someone to call 911.

Kross and his posse literally barged through the mall doors. They positioned themselves in front of the movie theater and opposite the arcade where Farmer John and his group carefully observed. The few people in the vicinity with any common sense took off in opposite directions as this happened. Those who stayed inadvertently formed a wall of onlookers at the hallway end of the food court. This unfortunate by-product of the situation effectively blocked off any escape for those who desired it, including me. I stepped into the foyer area of Subway, where I felt sufficient protection existed in the event a nuke went off.

III

"What's going on out there," a voice behind me asked. I glanced back. A teenage male peered over the sneeze guard of the Subway make-table. He was maybe five foot, five inches, and skinny as a rail. His long dirty blonde hair, respectable mustache, and John Deere cap gave away which side he would back in the event a choice was required of him.

"Kross and his boys just walked in," I said. "I think this is going to get ugly."

"Is John there too?"

Oh boy. Here we go.

"Yup."

"Bitchin'." The kid squealed with excitement. He left his post at the Subway counter. The store manager poked her head out from behind the back wall as Subway Boy took off into the expanding crowd.

I tossed her a doubtful look. "You might consider calling 911," I said over the growing din of the crowd. "The mall heat won't be stopping this one." She nodded anxiously and disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

As I predicted, at least six other black youths sympathetic to Kross and his cause stopped the mall cops dead in their tracks. One of the security guards backed off immediately. The other did not. He paid for his defiance. One of Kross' thugs put the drop on him. The mall cop went down, suffering a barrage of kicks and stomps. At that moment, I thought I might be watching another human being die, and there wasn't a fucking thing I could do for him.

I turned away in disgust. The point of no return officially came and went. My thoughts quickly became ones of an exit strategy. I felt my own adrenaline level rise amidst the excitement.

Kross and John were having words, although I couldn't hear what they were saying. Each was slowly making his way toward the other in a deadlock stare. Neither one was backing down. Within seconds, they were face-to-face and no longer speaking. They peered into each other's eyes with hate while waiting for the other to flinch. Their respective associates were mere feet behind them as they egged on the other side with racial slurs and defamatory insults. Ironically, it was not Kross or John who began the riot. Another group of kids began screaming at each other, not ten feet from where I stood over something completely unrelated. That incident and that incident alone lit the fuse for the riot to come. The pushing and shoving spread like aggressive cancer. Food flew in all directions, along with napkins, cups, and plates. Anything one could easily pick up became a flying object.

I looked back toward the mall exit where Kross and John were still staring each other down. John made a move with his right hand. I couldn't fully see what he meant to do. What little I did see looked like the business end of a rather large knife. Kross withdrew a snub-nosed gun from his sweatshirt jacket. Serious blood would soon spill.

With anxiety creased in my face, I waited for the gunshot to ring out. Instead, Kross took a step backward, dropped his gun, and collapsed to the floor. John dropped his knife and collapsed to the surface as well. I thought my eyes would pop out of my skull due to the utter surprise plastered on my face. What the hell just happened here? Did both boys just faint? Each gang of kids stepped in to assist their particular leader by dragging them to their side of the mall exit.

The riot itself, however, gained steam at a monumental rate. It spread across the food court like wildfire. The crowd of people creating the dam across the hallway side of the food court spread outward into the main hallway. These were not people escaping the fight; they were the fight. The brawling spread in both directions. Still standing inside the Subway foyer, I realized all too quickly I had nowhere to go but backward and deeper into the restaurant. What began as a grumbling din was now full-fledged shouting and screaming. The objects in play graduated from effortless perishables to much larger objects capable of doing considerable physical harm; napkin holders, food trays, utensil containers, etc.

I stood on my toes, which brought my natural height of six feet and two inches to a cool seven feet. I scanned the crowd for Wald and Myer. I could see a group of two boys and a girl looking into the crowd at the far end of the mall's main walkway. They were safely out of the way until someone brave enough to toss a chair out of the rioting crowd did so. It flew directly toward the three of them. They ducked behind one of the mall planters and disappeared.

Other chairs began to fly. Soon it would be the tables. This was my cue to get the fuck out of the food court. With nowhere else to go, I slipped into the back of the now-abandoned Subway store. The manager decided to flee for her life through the service entrance into the delivery corridor. I was about to follow when I quickly realized I had no idea where I'd be going. Either direction dumped into a different hallway. Without the benefit of wall guides and the red 'you are here' dot, this could quickly become an exercise of 'escape the maze,' Jack Nicholson style. I didn't know where I would end up. Anywhere was better than here.

"Hey," a voice called out. "Wait for me. I'm comin' too!"

I turned around to see Subway Boy catch up with me. I gestured toward the tunnel. "You lead the way, dude. I have no idea where I'm going."

"No problem," he said, feverishly excited or scared shitless. "Let's go!"

Per my fear, the delivery tunnels were a maze of turns and stairs leading down into one primary tunnel underneath the mall. Subway Boy and I stopped when we reached the central tunnel. I listened to the romp progressing above us. The sound of running footsteps headed in our direction from the left end of the main tunnel.

Subway Boy took charge. "Stop! Who are you?" Three other older teenaged kids stopped in front of us. I recognized them as the three who dodged the first launched chair only minutes earlier.

"I'm Martin Wexler," the first one said, gasping for breath. "We're trying to get away from the riot in the food court."

"Us too," Subway Boy said, nodding in my direction. "Follow us! I work at Subway and know how to get outta here. The niggers won't be far behind. Let's go before they catch up."

The long blonde haired girl in their group displayed notable offense over Subways Boy's racial slur. She huffed under her breath. "That was a nice thing to say," she said sarcastically.

"Least of our problems, baby," her companion said.

"Maybe not," Martin said. "If they're part of the group starting fights and chasing people, they will become our problem." Martin nodded toward Subway Boy to lead the way. We scurried quickly across what would have been the middle of the mall and toward the other side, the 'dead' side where units went unrented.

"Wait," The Boyfriend said through several heavy breaths. "Where are we going? I thought we were going to the pool hall."

"The pool hall?" Subway boy asked. "That place closed last year."

The Boyfriend gasped for each breath. "Yeah, I know. But there's an exit there."

Subway Boy seemed annoyed. "There is also one next to Tully's. What difference does that make?"

Martin stepped in to avoid what could have become a spat. "Our car is on the pool hall side, but it's cool. Tully's it is." He turned to The Boyfriend. "We'll just walk to the car later. Okay?" The Boyfriend nodded.

Subway Boy continued the lead. The clomping footsteps of other people from behind drew closer. If the police were in the mall now, then others were undoubtedly looking for ways out. Or worse, gang kids were avoiding the cops. "People are coming up from behind," Martin shouted to Subway Boy. "Pick up the pace!"

"Alright!" He called back.

Within the minute, we stopped at the ramp labeled 'Tully's Restaurant.' The path upward dumped us at a mall level service door. Freedom awaited on the other side. Subway Boy reached for the door first and attempted to open it. It didn't budge.

Martin looked away in exasperation. We were at a dead end, and others were coming. If they were the group of kids chasing Subway Boy, then all of us would have problems.

The Boyfriend leaned over to Martin and whispered something in his ear.

Martin beamed at his companion. "That's a fucking great idea, Walter. Hold me up." Walter propped himself behind Martin while his girlfriend kept him on balance from the front. I watched in awe without remotely understanding what they were doing. Not that it mattered. A group of black teens turned the tunnel corner and spotted us.

The black kid in front pointed his knife at Subway Boy. "Der you are, muthafucka!" Subway Boy said nothing.

"What did you do?" I whispered.

"I kicked him in the balls."

I sighed quietly. This would explain the chase.

"Yea. Dats right, bitch," Knife Boy hissed. "An I gone cut you foe dat!" Three of the thugs advanced.

The second one spoke when he saw The Girlfriend. "Yo, check out dis pussy." He grabbed The Girlfriend by her arm. She cried and screamed as he dragged her back to the tunnel junction.

Walter continued to hold Martin up. He didn't take kindly to his girlfriend's abduction. "Leave her alone, please."

Knife Boy blinked in surprise. "Fuck you, cracka bitch!"

Walter was unable to move. He remained propped up against his friend for some still unknown reason. If I didn't step in, Girlfriend's near future would involve rape. I couldn't live with myself if I let that happen. How I could protest and not get myself killed in the process, I had no idea.

"C'mon, guys," I said diplomatically. "We can all walk away from this, and no one would ever need to speak of what happened here today. Let's be cool."

One of the other thugs stepped up and pistol-whipped me on the left side of my head. I fell to the floor without protest as white sparkles of pain danced in my field of vision. I thought I was going to pass out. I didn't. I feigned unconsciousness to avoid further injury while keeping one eye slit open. Clearly, diplomacy would be a wasted effort here. I heard the sound of the exit door open behind me. Whomever it was wedged it open and didn't move.

"You bes' move yo' punk ass," Knife Boy snapped as he waved the knife in Walter's face. Walter said nothing. His ghost-white face revealed his fear of dying this night.

The thug drew his knife back and plunged it into Martin's chest. Martin jumped back to life and fell over with a blood-curling scream. He pushed Walter out of the way to address his attacker. "Fuck you!"

"Choo hear dat?" Knife Boy spat. "We gots us a moufy cracka."

Martin spat blood in Knife Boy's face. "You can kiss my big white ass, nigger," Martin hissed. He grabbed at his chest and the blood gushing from it. The stupid thug missed Martin's heart, having stuck the knife in the wrong side. Still, the blade must have hit a lung based on the amount of blood and his staggered breathing.

Knife Boy grabbed Martin by the throat and held a newly revealed switchblade to his face. "Youz gotsa nasty mouf foe a cracka. Maybe I jus cut yo tongue outta yo' face!"

Martin met eyes with the thug. "I have...the most powerful weapon...you could ever imagine, bitch...and I'm going to kill you with it...right now."

Knife Boy released Martin. He dropped his knife and began clutching his chest. Blood began to drip from the corners of the thug's mouth. Walter caught Martin's falling body as Knife Boy fall to the floor. "Martin! Stop! You're going to kill him."

Martin's body twitched back to life. "Too late...he's already dead. Where's Cyndi?"

"I don't know. I don't see her anywhere." Walter said through his heavy breathing. "CYNDI! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Walter! Help me! Pleeease!" She screamed back from within the tunnel.

"Shut up, bitch," someone else barked. A loudly reverberated slap silenced Cyndi's scream.

"Who's next?" Martin asked with absolute calm, his head hanging in fatigue and pain. His sharp crystal blue eyes told a different story. They were blazing with rage. He glared at the thugs with hatred I could feel from my downed position. The three other thugs stood there, unsure of what to make of Martin's threat. "I can drop...the three of you...like I did that punk-ass...over there...in the snap of a finger. If you doubt me...then just say the word."

The three thugs said nothing while a fourth was tangling with Subway Boy at the edge of the ramp. A knife came down into Subway Boy's chest. His career with Subway Sandwich Systems came to an abrupt end.

Subway Boy's killer dropped to his knees. Blood oozed out of every hole in his head as it dripped to the floor. Puddles of blood formed around his knees. He fell over dead.

Martin faced the other three with clenched fists. "You want some of that too? Huh? Let's fucking go...right now!"

"How you be doin' dat?" One of the thugs asked.

"Ancient Chinese Secret," Martin quipped. He quickly turned to Walter and whispered, "Hold me up."

"Fuck you," the inquisitive thug spat. He stopped speaking as he grabbed his head in pain.

Martin snapped awake while his victim tried to shake off the head pain. "How'd you like that, nigger?" Martin asked. A shit-eating grin spread across his face. "Want some more, boy?"

"No," he said as he held his hand up. "You some kinda freak and I won' be messin' wif dat, coz I think you kill me if'u want. But you ain' heard da last of dis, nigga."

"Yeah, what the fuck ever," Martin sighed and rolled his eyes. "Get lost."

I tried to pull myself up to speak before Martin walked off. The attempt brought sparkled tunnel vision to my reality. My world went black.

#  Chapter VII: Elucidation

" _To make something obscure or difficult clear; to clarify."_

****

Date: Thursday, July 14, 2095

Location: Sector 7, FCA-1

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

I am sitting on the ledge of the stone fountain that is the center of Carrolltowne Mall. I am by myself waiting for my mom and sister to come out of PJ's Pub, where we ate dinner. I love eating dinner at PJ's. They have the best pizza. The shrimp pizza is my favorite.

I am throwing pennies into the fountain. Making wishes with coins is what ten-year-old boys like to do when presented with an outdoor fountain and time to kill.

I look toward the restaurant and see the cable car style booths through the window. Mom is still at the checkout with my little sister. She wanted to come with me to throw coins in the fountain. Mom said no. She is not old enough to be out in the middle of the mall with me.

A man who looks old enough to be my dad approaches me and sits on the fountain ledge not too far from me. I know about strangers and that I should not talk to them, but this man is different. He means me no harm, and I can sense it. He has long blonde hair and a beard that surrounds his mouth and not the sides of his face. He smiles at me.

" _Hi, little man," he says._

" _Hi," I say back._

" _What's your name?"_

" _I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," I say._

" _Yes. That's very good advice," the man says, still smiling at me. "Although you don't know me, I know your parents. I'm an old friend." I nod. I feel like I may have seen this man before at one of the many family picnics we have. "You don't have anything to worry about, buddy. I'm not here to hurt you or take you anywhere, or scare you. In fact, I can only talk to you for a minute or two."_

" _What about?" I ask._

" _I was hoping you might do me a favor," the man says. "I have a very special coin I want you to hold on to for me. Do you have a secret place in your house where you hide your treasures?"_

I nodded. My little sister is always trying to take my stuff. I found a special hiding place in the basement that nobody knows about where I keep my very special things.

The man held out a shiny new quarter. "This is a magic quarter," he says. "It's very special because there is no other quarter like it."

I take the quarter and examine it. I see nothing special about it. "Why?"

" _It was made in the future, a long, long time from now." I look at the year on the back. Mom told me the year on money is the year it's made. The year on the quarter I am holding says 2025._

" _Cool. How did you get it?" I ask._

" _Well, little man, that's a long story. I'll tell you what. You hide this quarter for me in your special hiding place for a little while, and when I come back to visit you and your mom, I promise to tell you all about it. Okay?"_

" _When will that be?" I ask._

" _I'm not sure. It could be a few weeks, or it could be a few months," he says. "But I can promise you that I will come back for it. Can you do this for me?"_

I smile. "Yes. I can."

II

You're going to be okay, love, a soft female voice said. Her voice is far off.

I slipped out of my dream but didn't wake up. I lingered in that euphoric state between sleep and consciousness. I thought I was home in bed.

I tried to answer to ask why. Sleep paralysis prevented it. I didn't want to fight it because I might wake up. I felt good where I was.

I remember everything you told me, her voice whispered. It's difficult to see you here now...knowing what's going to happen to you...and her.

_Her who?_ I asked in my head. I think I mumbled the words. _What's going to happen to me?_

_Becca,_ she said.

Becca Saccarelli?

Yes.

I was puzzled. Why would this voice be talking about a girl I hadn't heard from or seen in almost fifteen years?

Do you know Becca? Is she here?

Sorry, love. She isn't, and I never met her. You told me quite the story about her, about the two of you.

What story?

Sorry. I've said too much. I will take care of you the same way you took care of me...the way you will take care of me.

That makes no sense.

I know it doesn't. It will in a few years.

She was gone. I drifted back to sleep.

III

I awoke with a terrible feeling. What happened? Where was I? An attempt to sit up failed. Sore muscles and joints screamed for mercy. I cried out in pain.

A quick scan of my environment gave me the impression I was in some sort of recovery room. A row of beds lined the rightmost wall. Workstations lined the opposite wall. One central area with monitors resembled a nurse's station.

A strawberry-blonde haired woman dressed in doctor's garbs approached me. "Good. You're awake," she said. Her thick British accent caught my attention immediately. She observed a holographic display of vital statistics attached to the bed and on a panel over my head.

"What the hell happened? Where am I?"

"You're in a recovery room designed for various temporal sicknesses. What's the last thing you remember?"

Sector seven? Lunar station?

"We're inside the moon, aren't we?"

She nodded. "About a mile down from the top."

I bit my lip. The good doctor didn't pull any punches with the truth. "I remember getting sick and feeling like I was going to melt into a pool of boiling goo."

She chuckled with a single breath making a hmmph sound. "I'm not surprised, considering you've had no formal training through the portal. I can also imagine you're quite sore."

"That's one way of putting it. How long was I unconscious?"

"A few hours. I'm surprised you're as coherent as you are. I've seen men who've trained for temporal displacement simulation laid out for days."

"Great," I said under my breath.

The doctor opened her cell phone like device. "Central, this is Medical. Please alert Actual and XO that Conundrum is awake and coherent."

Several seconds passed. "Medical, this is Actual. We're on our way. Please keep Conundrum there."

I snorted. "Where else am I going to go?" I whispered to myself.

"Copy, Actual. Medical out." The doctor looked at me and winked. "Connor and Ryan are on their way. Here, this will soothe some of your aches." She pushed a tubular device against my jugular vein. It made a popping sound. The relief from it was instantaneous. I smiled pleasantly from the euphoria.

The doctor excused herself as I waited for Connor and Ryan. I closed my eyes and slipped back into half-sleep.

IV

I opened my eyes long enough to observe the entrance to the recovery room disappear.

Ryan and Connor entered the medical bay. Ryan's mouth went thin-lipped as he shook his head. "I thought that trip would kill you," he said. I realized another force field construct comprised a large window in the wall separating the recovery room from whatever existed on the other side. The semi-transparent off white almost natural color fooled me. It looked nothing like the transparent blue fields from the Brüder ship. "I'm glad you proved me wrong. Had you died, the repercussions would have been..." Ryan waved his hand in a circle over his head in thought for a proper adjective. "...well, catastrophic wouldn't begin to cover it."

"I'm sorry about what happened," I said. I looked at Ryan square in the eyes. I wanted him to see my sincerity. "I never meant to follow you to...well, whenever we are now."

"I know," Ryan said. He appeared to want to say more. He didn't.

I wondered if he believed me.

"I'm serious. I know I was a pain in the balls about swallowing the quarter, but...oh, shit! The quarter! I threw it up! Did you save it?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it," Ryan said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "I have the anomaly again." He still seemed distracted.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Connor MacKenzie stepped forward. His smile was warm and inviting. "Welcome to 2095, Kevin. How are you doing?"

"I've seen better days," I said. "To be honest, when I woke up yesterday, I never expected to find myself in the future a mile underneath the surface of the moon."

Connor nodded, still smiling. "Most people don't. Having been in a similar position many years ago, I can say I understand how you feel."

"This happened to you too?"

"If by 'this,' you mean finding myself not feeling so well in an unfamiliar place in the future away from my time index, then my answer is yes. My situation was a little different, in that I was kidnapped and left stranded in an empty city."

My eyes widened. "This, I have to hear."

"Another time, perhaps. For now, we have to get you back there safely, to 2006. If what you said when you arrived is true, it might be easier said than done. Now that you're awake, and from what I can see, coherent, I'd like you to tell me what happened after you and Ryan arrived at FCA-1 in 2006 in more detail. Could you do that for me?"

I nodded. I recounted everything I could remember. I began from the time I awoke from the Jaunte ride and ended when the rogue military guard shot his partner and then attempted to shoot Ryan. "I thought I'd been shot when you and Ryan picked me up of the floor."

Ryan offered a rare chuckle. "It probably would've hurt less." He looked at Connor. "If what Kevin said is true, the security breach is more widespread than I originally reported."

The strawberry-blonde doctor left her position behind Connor and returned with a cart of medical devices. Connor stepped aside so she could begin taking readings. "Kevin, this is Dr. Kristina Ecklie." Connor nodded in her direction. She looked jarringly familiar. Somewhere, somehow, I was sure our paths crossed before. I couldn't put my finger on where or when. She smiled in acknowledgment but barely made eye contact with me. It seemed deliberate. "She's been keeping you stabilized over the last few hours and is our resident expert in temporal sicknesses, among other things."

"Connor exaggerates a bit," she said in her firm, clean, almost royal British accent. "You can call me Krissie. The whole 'doctor' formality is entirely unnecessary."

"On the contrary," Connor said. "You couldn't be in better hands."

I smiled at Krissie. "Thanks for helping me."

"No." She stopped to put her hand on top of mine. "Thank you for saving the life of our time hopping mate, Ryan. He's quite the hero around these parts."

Ryan looked embarrassed. "Krissie, I'm no hero."

Krissie waved her hand dismissively. "Bullocks! You never give yourself enough credit, love."

Connor heartily slapped Ryan's back. "You are a hero, old friend."

"No," Ryan said flatly, "That last mission was a complete disaster."

"Maybe not," Connor said. "I was able to take a look at it, the HoloLog you brought back. The information is substantial."

"Does it explain the 2006 FCA-1 breach?" Ryan asked.

"Not specifically. It does reveal more about the origin of it, the anomaly, and who misplaced it."

Anomaly this, anomaly that. I needed clarification. "You're talking about the 2025 quarter, right?"

Connor nodded. "Yes."

"So, who was it?" Ryan asked. "Is it anyone we know?"

Connor cast Ryan an uncertain glance. "Victor Merrick."

"Damn," Ryan said under his breath. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I could."

I threw my hands up in the air. "Who's Victor Merrick?"

Connor looked at me and shook his head in frustration. "He's...someone we've had a problem locating."

"Is he another Corporation person?" I asked.

Connor shook his head. "No. He was one of Martin's best friends when they were younger. He disappeared under mysterious circumstances the night we rescued him from certain death, Martin."

I couldn't help but notice a startling similarity here. Martin lost his best friend when he was younger. I lost my best friend when I was younger. Then Martin shows up as that friend I lost. There was no way it was all a coincidence.

"Your actions saved Martin's life that night," Ryan said to Connor. "Who's selling themselves short now?"

Connor chuckled. "Maybe so. It was a bloody night, to be certain."

The inside references escaped me. "What are you two talking about?"

Connor directed his attention to me. "You used to live in that area, right? You might remember it as the riot at the Cranberry Mall in 1989."

I felt myself go pale. Connor dug at a memory better left buried. The realization of my previously meeting Martin Wexler in my youth clicked in my head like an unexpected splash of cold water. I cleared my throat. "Yeah. I do remember that night. I remember Martin too. I was there and came damn close to getting myself killed. It's a night I've worked hard to forget."

Ryan shook his head in disbelief, all the while staring at me in wonder. "You've got to be kidding me. This is the third time you've crossed paths with TDIs. Connor, this can't be a coincidence."

Connor's eyes hardened with surprise. He chose not to answer Ryan. He focused his attention on me instead. "Please, elaborate."

I sighed. For the first time in almost eighteen years, I recalled my part in the tragedy known as the Cranberry Mall riot. Connor, Ryan, and Krissie listened intently. No one spoke until I finished. "I awoke in the back of an ambulance after passing out in the delivery hallway from that pistol whip. Wald and Myer were there when I came to. As you can imagine, I had the worst headache known to man. Under protest of the EMTs, I declined a trip to the hospital. The Maryland State Police, on the other hand, kept me occupied for quite some time when I gave them my statement. I don't know how much of what I told them they believed. From what I understand, they never found Martin."

"No. They didn't," Connor said. "They were fatally stabbed, Walter and Martin, while defending Cyndi. She was Walter's girlfriend. We rescued Martin before they could, the state police."

I pondered this statement. "Why didn't you rescue Walter too? And where does Victor Merrick fit into all of this?"

Connor frowned. "This might sound a little cold from your point of view, what I'm about to say. Walter DuMont wasn't imperative to the FCA. Martin was, or is. Other people were looking for him that night, Martin. It was my mission to prevent anyone else from finding him. I had Martin taken away. That's all I can really say about that right now. As for Victor, he, Martin, and Walter were all there that night at Cranberry Mall. Victor disappeared without a trace before it started, the riot. He hasn't been seen or heard from since."

"Until now," Ryan said. "I think The Corporation took Victor the night of the riot, instead of Martin."

Connor nodded. "It's starting to look that way."

A lot of this conversation made little sense to me. "I don't get it. What's the difference between Martin and Victor?"

"A very big one," Ryan said under his breath.

Connor glanced at Ryan as he deliberately cleared his throat. Knock off the stray comments, it said. "I'm sure you've noticed by now, he has a rather unique ability, Martin does."

"If you mean the ability to jump from person to person, then yeah, I have. I don't suppose you want to explain that?"

Connor sighed. Not the usual 'I don't want to answer this' kind of response I expect from Ryan, but rather a 'this is going to take some explaining' kind of reaction. "It's a long story."

"No." I cut him off. "I mean no disrespect, Detective MacKenzie..."

"Please, Kevin. Call me Connor. Except when dealing with the military, we're very informal around here."

"Okay, Connor. Ryan made it clear on several occasions that there's this strict list of protocols and directives y'all fanatically adhere to. I get that. He also assured me that if you gave your approval, he'd tell me everything I wanted to know. So please, I need to know why this Corporation is looking to snatch me up every time I turn around. It's a bit disconcerting. I don't believe I'm supposed to be here in a time where my son is probably no longer alive," I paused. Spencer. My heart began to ache. "Am I ever going to see my little boy again?"

Krissie gently touched my shoulder.

"You will if I have anything to say about it," Connor said. "Taking you back to your time index in 2006 won't be a problem. Getting there safely is the question mark."

"Count me in," Ryan said. "You saved my life, Kevin. Whatever I can do, I will."

Ryan's sincerity touched me. I looked back at Connor. "Does this mean you'll fill me in on a few things?"

Connor pulled up a rolling stool and sat down. He informally faced the backrest. "I'll offer you a proposition. I'll answer some of them, your questions, to the best of my ability and to which our protocols allow. Some information is classified and available only to FCA personnel. In return, I may call upon you at some future date – by your time index."

I smirked at Connor's proposition. "I'm going to guess you already know the answer to that; otherwise, you wouldn't be proposing it."

Connor grinned. He pressed his lips together. "Intuitive. I like that. I'll take that as a yes, your answer?"

"Agreed." Connor extended his hand for the deal-sealing shake. I accepted his strong and firm grip.

"What would you like to know?" Connor asked.

Where to begin?

"You can start by telling me how the hell time travel is even possible," I said.

Connor smiled. "You don't waste time getting to the point, do you?" I shook my head but offered a smile anyway. "It's not as simple as pushing a few buttons, entering a date, and driving to 88 miles an hour. I can assure you of that."

"You're going to tell me it's a long story, aren't you?" I asked.

"The truth is, Kevin, it is. There's no short way to explain it. Even so, it comes with a price, that kind of knowledge. The responsibility of knowing it and carrying it around with you is greater than you think. It would require a greater commitment from you, and I don't think you're ready for it yet."

Yet?

"I don't understand. Does this mean you aren't going to tell me?"

"You wouldn't understand even if I did. It would include explanations of questions you've not yet thought to ask, the answer does. It's that knowledge I am referring to that requires a bigger commitment."

I felt as if I was getting the run around again. "Just tell me," I said with frustration. "I'm not stupid."

Ryan interjected. "You remember my explanation of the nine dimensions?"

"Yes."

"Did you understand that?" Ryan asked. "You told me you didn't."

"You were talking about inter-spatial dimensions in some kind of cosmic time coil," I retorted. "I'd never even heard of such a thing before. You mean to tell me there's no layman way of explaining how it's all accomplished?"

"I think about it," Connor said plainly.

I stared back, dumbfounded. "That's it? You think about time travel and you can just...do it?"

"I told you, you wouldn't understand," Connor said. "The simplest explanation is I will it to happen."

I looked at Ryan. He nodded in confirmation. "This is like a bad sci-fi movie. What kind of explanation is that?"

Connor laughed. "You remind me of Martin when he and I first met. You'll have to trust me when I say there's a very scientific explanation behind it. Some of it I understand, some of it I don't. Knowing the entire story of how I became involved with the FCA would clear up most of what you don't understand. But as I said, the price of this information isn't one I think you can afford, my friend. It's also a very long story."

"Okay," I said, conceding to the inevitable. "What does 'FCA' stand for?"

"Fifth Column Alliance," Connor replied without hesitation.

I didn't see that one coming. Germany, World War II, the frequent use of Germans sounding words and phrases, what were the odds this was a coincidence? I squeezed my eyes shut while rubbing my forehead. "So let me understand this. You're in charge of a group of people who are - clandestinely of all things - attempting to undermine The Corporation by aiding their enemy. But aren't you their enemy? Or is there another enemy involved?"

Connor nodded in approval. "Yes. That's what a 'fifth column' is about, by definition. It is a term we borrowed when we allied with the movement within the Brüder known as 'die Widerstand.' They rose up against The Corporation. So technically speaking, the terminology applies."

"Hold on," I said. "I thought Brüder was the name you gave your ships. If I hear you correctly, Brüder is the name of the people who built them?"

Connor nodded. "That's about right. Although referring to the Brüder as 'people' wouldn't be. They're a completely different species of beings--"

I had to interrupt. "You mean aliens, don't you?"

"Well, 'aliens' isn't a term we use when referring to them, the Brüder. They aren't as alien to the human race as you might think."

"How does that work?"

"The Brüder are responsible for the appearance of early man, the human beings we are today. We evolved from those early men."

Ryan jumped in, "You could say we're children of the Brüder since half our genetic makeup comes from them."

Connor shook his head. "That isn't accurate either, children. Those from Earth who made first contact with der Widerstand used the term 'brothers.'" Connor looked at me, "Brüder is the translation of 'brothers' in their language, and why we call them as such."

"If the Brüder make up half our genetics, where does the other half come from?"

"We don't know much about them," Connor said. "We have a very basic understanding about them, the other race the Brüder combined their DNA with to create human beings."

I laughed. "So the human race was raised by its mother while our father abandoned us. That certainly explains some human behavior."

Connor chuckled. "It's not quite that cut and dry. The original experiment, die Zukunft as the Brüder called it; they considered it a failure."

It bothered me to hear this. I couldn't tell you why. The human race was a failure as judged by our creators. A fact such as this isn't something one drops in another's lap, walks away from, and hopes the recipient sleeps well knowing it.

I attempted to sort this out for myself. "So let me get this straight. The Brüder, another species in our universe, bred with yet another species, and human beings were the result. But wait, here's the best, the Brüder deemed us a failure," I paused while looking around at three inquiring faces. "I guess the obvious question is, why?"

"Again, it's not that simple, your interpretation," Connor said. "We're talking about primordial man, Homo Erectus. They were cave dwellers, violent by nature. The Brüder wanted to create a new form of life, using what they thought to be the best of both races and combine them at the DNA level. The Brüder succeeded in doing that, but not in ways they'd hoped for."

I laughed at this. "The average caveman being the end result? I guess not."

"You're not seeing the bigger picture," Connor explained. "The Brüder knew the experiment was not something that would produce the results they wanted within a generation, or ten, or even a hundred. They waited millennia, tweaking our genetic code along the way, hoping we would become what they wanted."

I paused as I waited for the answer. "Which was?"

"A master race," Connor said carefully. I winced at the subtle German reference. "They consider themselves superior to other known races in our galaxy, the Brüder do. In some cases, they are. Look at where we are. We're in an observation facility orbiting Earth that, for the most part, still operates as designed. We know it as the moon. You've seen what Brüder-2 can do, the holographic technology that makes it run. The Brüder have all sorts of technology you've not seen yet that will blow your mind."

"I'll bet," I said in soft wonder.

"But even with all their amazing technology, the Brüder are far from an enlightened species with good in their heart. When we, the human race, didn't perform as the Brüder and their partner expected, they went to great lengths to terminate their experiment, to terminate us as a species. They called it the Ausrottung."

Ryan interjected. "The Brüder failed miserably. They didn't anticipate or understand the lengths we would go to preserve ourselves. We also had a little help."

Connor continued, "die Widerstand, the origin of the FCA, were a group of individuals in Brüder society opposed to the original experiment. They thought the operation was a reckless creation of life with no respect for it from those who engineered it. They didn't have any real power to stop what was already happening here on Earth. When the Brüder decided to implement the Ausrottung and end the experiment, die Widerstand came to our rescue. They believed since the Brüder created us for their self-serving purposes, and since we thrived for tens of thousands of years on our own, we had a right to continue living and to evolve. die Widerstand arrived in the ship we now call Brüder-1 or The Ark. It's a huge starship the size of an aircraft carrier. With it, they loaded a generation of humans, wildlife, and enough DNA patterns of Earth's proprietary vegetation days before the Ausrottung would begin. After die Widerstand escaped with Brüder-1, the Brüder seeded the Earth's atmosphere and flooded it, the entire planet, in a massive worldwide hurricane that lasted a little over a month.

"die Widerstand took Brüder-1 and its cargo and went into hiding in the space between Earth and the star we know as Alpha Centauri. They returned to Earth a little over a year later once die Widerstand determined they'd abandoned the planet, The Brüder. The reshaping of the planet's surface after the great flood left it more or less at it is today, mostly water with scattered landmasses."

Ryan jumped in, "It might surprise you to know that Earth, before the Ausrottung, was originally less than 32 percent water. The Ausrottung provided the planet with all the water it has today. If you think about it, the result of the Ausrottung was a huge favor. Once die Widerstand reseeded the Earth of what it lost in the Ausrottung, evolution sped up considerably because of it."

Connor nodded and continued, "The Brüder abandoned this observation facility and eight underground facilities left on Earth. One of them is Area 51. We know it as Earth Station Five. It's one of five that survived, those facilities, and are all carefully guarded by the FCA."

"And the Brüder?" I asked. "Have they been back since then?"

All three in the room nodded their heads in unison. Connor continued. "They have. After Brüder-1 and the survivors came back, and not all of them survived the trip, including some species of beautiful animals that..."

"What animals?" I asked, jumping in with a smile. I wanted to know if he was talking about the dinosaurs.

"The Dragon comes to mind, and the Unicorn."

My jaw dropped as my eyes lit up. "Those are mythological."

"To us, they are. The impressions we have about them both are completely wrong. The dragon never breathed fire and was a lot smaller than people think. It was about the size of a Labrador dog. The Unicorn was larger than a horse and wild for the most part." Connor cleared his throat and continued, "The remaining members of die Widerstand kept watch over them, the surviving Earth Stations and this observation facility. They stayed not only to keep the Brüder away but also to safeguard the survivors of the Ausrottung. Us, specifically, the human race. At some point - a date we don't know – a group of Brüder came back to Earth, probably to recover certain pieces of technology. Imagine their surprise when not only had humans survived, we'd flourished. They were unable to get anywhere near this facility or the surviving Earth Stations. die Widerstand defended all of them, keeping them heavily guarded and protected with their weaponry. When they realized the extent of their failure, the remaining Brüder devised a new plan. They posed as humans and started interfering in our society. This started as far back as first century B.C. Are you familiar with the Holy Roman Empire?" I nodded. "They were Brüder." Connor stopped to catch his breath.

Ryan picked up where Connor left off. "Brüder-2 crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico in 1947 as part of a larger armada after FCA operatives at ES-5 disabled it mid-flight. The data recovered from that crash revealed it was here on a reconnaissance mission and why it was the stealth technology it does."

"What happened to the ship's pilots?" I asked. "Did the FCA ops actually see them?"

"Yes. They did," Connor said. "They were disguised as humans. All three were killed when the ship crashed."

"Or they killed themselves," Ryan said. "Some believe the FCA ops had them killed."

Connor tossed him a doubtful glance. "In any event, we now had Brüder-2, and it's more advanced technology. It didn't take long for them to respond, the Brüder. Knowing they wouldn't be able to try another Ausrottung event to wipe the planet clean, they took a more subtle approach. They injected themselves deep into our society, unbeknownst to us."

Ryan added, "You might recognize them as some of the more ruthless figures to appear in that last few centuries."

"We didn't understand the full extent of Brüder involvement in our planetary affairs until it was too late," Connor said. "They orchestrated the war between the European and Western alliances in 2032, the Brüder did, in conjunction with governments and other more secret organizations of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. That group is known as The Corporation."

The sinking feeling I felt when Ryan first told me of this future (past) war returned...now twice as intense. "I see."

"Not yet," Ryan said.

"He's right," Connor said, adding to the pile. "The Corporation didn't completely succeed with their plan. The weapon they designed and used in the 2032 war, called RAID, was supposed to work in two steps. First, the RAID missiles would deploy a biotoxin into the atmosphere, spreading quickly, and cause all human subjects to die. The second step would seed the atmosphere to cause a massive toxic rain. The rain would then combine with the biotoxin on the surface and inside humans. This combination was then supposed to produce an aggressive gas. Its only purpose would have been the forced decomposition of dead bodies, to crumble them into dust. After an undetermined amount of time, they would become inert and die, both toxins. On paper, the design was brilliant. Too bad for the Brüder, it failed miserably."

"It did?" I asked.

"In this time, we're not as extinct as the Brüder would like us to be, the human race. We not sure why it failed, the RAID weapon, and neither does The Corporation. Since 2032, they've had a majority of what's left of our species in concentration camps. The survivors who avoided capture live beyond The Boundaries either at ES-5, here at FCA-1, or in other whens guarding the same sites."

"What are 'The Boundaries'?" I asked.

Ryan answered. "Imagine a straight line from the leftmost border of Ohio running straight down to the left most borders of Missouri. The Corporation refers to it as The Boundaries. They lie to the survivors of the war about it. They tell them the area beyond is still RAID contaminated. They tell us that anyone stupid enough to venture out that far would die a quick and painful death."

I looked at Connor. "Is that true? Ryan seems to imply its propaganda."

"It is propaganda," Connor said. "Recall I said RAID failed? It didn't kill everyone. Those closest to the impact zones died, but mass death never followed, and the toxic rain never came. RAID is still present in the atmosphere in most of the western half of the continent, but it doesn't kill. It did something quite different, something completely unexpected."

"Did it turn them into zombies?"

Ryan laughed as Connor grinned. "The same reason I can't elaborate on time travel applies here as well." Connor paused cautiously. "I believe there may come a time when you'll have that opportunity to choose to know that information."

Ryan placed his hand gently on my shoulder. "This is not something you should take lightly."

"I don't understand," I said haplessly.

"You will," Ryan said with assurance. "You will."

V

The blinking of red holographic strobes in each corner of the room broke the conversation. A wailing alarm followed. Connor jumped to his feet.

"What the hell is this?" I asked.

"Lockdown warning," Ryan said quickly. "Can you walk?"

I sat up. "I will if I have to." My body protested with aches and pains centered mostly in my fingers and toes. Whatever Krissie injected into my neck was still doing its job. I wouldn't let this demanding pain stop me. "What's the lockdown for?"

Connor looked over at Krissie and nodded. She took a black doctor's bag off one of the counters and stood ready. Connor flipped his cell phone-like device open and read the incoming text. He turned his attention to Ryan. "It's been activated, The Jaunte system. It's an unauthorized transport. Someone's on their way here. A response team should already be there." He tapped on the communicator's interface. "Sector-7 security, this is MacKenzie. Report."

"Seitz reporting, sir. Beta and Gamma teams are in place at the Jaunte now."

Ryan nodded in approval. "The Gamma guys are the best we have," he whispered to me.

Connor raised a finger to his lips. "Seitz, can you determine the origin of the incoming Jaunte?"

There was a brief pause. "Negative, sir. The information appears to have been blocked or erased."

Connor frowned. He met Ryan's stare. "Our incoming guest has intimate knowledge of the Jaunte protocols."

"So it would seem."

Connor spoke into the communicator, "Seitz, keep an open COM line and lock that room down until we determine our guest's identity."

"Yes, sir."

I timidly raised my hand. I immediately felt foolish for doing so. "Should I be worried here?"

"Security will detain whoever comes through," Connor replied with a half-smile. "They'll learn their identity and determine if they're a threat. Should there be one, this entire facility will lockdown. Except for security personnel, no one else will be permitted in or out of wherever they are until the lockdown is lifted." He looked at Ryan. "We should be ready to go in the event it's enabled, that protocol."

"How many people are here?" I asked.

"At any given time? Maybe a few hundred FCA members. Civilians are a different matter. Thousands, maybe."

I looked at the empty hallway through the semi-transparent force field that separated the room from the rest of the level. "I don't see anyone else."

Ryan leaned over to whisper. "We're in what you would call a restricted area. Very few people here have clearance to Sector-7. The other teams are farther underground."

A minute went by. It felt more like an hour. Connor held his communicator out in front of him. We watched it anxiously. After all the mind-blowing technology I'd seen in the last few hours, it led me to the inevitable question, "Total shot in the dark here, but with all these holographic wonders, don't you have cameras or the like to see what's going on in the Jaunte room?"

Connor smiled. He chuckled as he looked down and shook his head.

To my surprise, Krissie replied as she affixed her gaze upon Connor. "You make an excellent point, my dear. It was felt, by some, that HoloMonitors were not necessary for Medical since it's the least used facility in Sector-7. Our fine Detective MacKenzie and I will need to reevaluate the issue sometime soon." She shoulder jabbed Connor. "Isn't that right, love?"

Ryan grinned wider than usual. Connor continued to smile and shake his head in defeat. "Your opinion has been duly noted, Doctor Ecklie," Connor said, unable to restrain his amusement.

Seitz's voice interrupted the semi-jovial moment. "Detective?"

"Go ahead."

"The Jaunte has almost finished cycling. Stand by for contact. We're on open COM, confirm?"

"Confirmed. Standing by."

Seitz ordered his men to stand ready. Nothing seemed to be happening.

Connor licked his lips. "Seitz?"

"The Jaunte has completed, sir. No one emerged. The platform is empty." Had one of the Gamma boys dropped a pin, we'd have heard it hit the floor. A series of harmonic white noises played, then silence.

Ryan said to me, "That's the protocol for awakening Jaunte passengers had anyone been on the platform." I nodded.

"Behind you!" a voice shouted through the communicator.

"Get your hands up!" Seitz demanded. The sound of clattering followed, then the shuffle of footsteps.

"Seitz?" Connor asked. No reply.

Ryan shook his head. "Connor, that noise was his communicator falling to the floor. Whatever happened, Gamma and Beta teams are down."

"How is that possible?" Connor asked harshly as he gripped the communicator. He dismissed himself and punched a set of codes into the communicator. He spoke into the device. "Enable FCA-1 Lockdown, authorization MacKenzie four, pi, upsilon, omega."

A high-pitched tone filled the room. The white force field wall enclosing the room switched to red and probably dangerous to touch. The flashing holographic red lights in the ceiling corners of the room stopped flashing. They now remained a steady red.

Connor sighed and turned to face me. "Kevin, you're about to see something you won't understand. You'll probably have questions. Save them for a later time, please. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said weakly.

"Ryan," Connor said. The tone of his voice changed to one of a leader giving orders. "Visual Displacement. Reconnoiter only."

"Understood, sir," Ryan said with a nod as he also slipped into military mode.

Then the impossible happened.

I should note here that I never believed time travel to be unattainable. Einstein and his theories convinced me of it. What Ryan did, however, qualified as impossible. He disappeared right before my eyes inside of a flash of green light. "What the actual blue fuck?" I whispered. I rubbed my eyes as if doing so would confirm what I witnessed. The door to Medical opened and closed in one flicker.

A black ring Connor wore on his right-hand ring finger began to glow a dull green. When I looked at Krissie's hands for rings, she was wearing one as well. Her ring glowed two bands of colors, one green, and one red. She caught me looking at it. "It'll let us know if Ryan's close."

"What exactly did he just do?"

Connor held his hand up without ever turning around. "Not now, Kevin. Later."

I looked at Krissie. She shrugged her shoulders. "No worries about it right now, love."

I leaned over to whisper to Krissie. "Why is there no red on Connor's ring?"

"My ring is detecting Connor, who is red. Ryan is green."

A light bulb lit up in my head. "I get it. Connors's ring doesn't detect himself. Why is Connor red?"

"Temporal displacement," she said. "That's about all I can say on the matter for now." She smiled and gently touched my face. Her unexpected touch sent goosebumps across my neck. I looked away to observe Connor's ring. The dull green glow decreased incrementally.

Connor's communicator chirped. "MacKenzie here. Go."

Ryan answered. "The Jaunte room is clear. Gamma and Beta teams are down but not dead. My Entdecken is illuminating twice its power. I think it's safe to say we have at least one visually displaced agent on-premises. Maybe more."

Connor glanced at Krissie with a deep frown. "Ten-four. Get back here, double-time. MacKenzie, out."

"Aren't we locked down? We're safe, right?" I asked.

"The truth is, it might get a little complicated," Connor said quickly. "Whoever Jaunted here, they can do the same thing Ryan does. They can also get into any room not protected by a force field."

"Well, we're protected, right?"

"Hopefully. Protocol has the surrounding rooms locked down with them as well, protective fields. Let's hope we locked them down before they could get far."

"Bloody hell, Connor!" Krissie swore. "What are we supposed to do now? They're clearly hostile!"

Connor still appeared lost in thought. "Security at one of the Earth Stations failed." He looked at Krissie. "I think The Corporation has mutated the coding of it again, their artificial version of the visual element, or..." Connor paused, heaving a sigh. "...or we have a Code Brown on our hands."

"A mole?" I asked with a dash of sarcasm. "Ryan thought as much back on Earth."

Connor ran his fingers through his hair. "That's my theory. I'm not surprised at Ryan's insight. Only this time, I may need to take him seriously."

"This time?" I asked.

The Medical door flashed opened and closed again.

Ryan reappeared next to Connor in a flash of green light. It was a fantastic feat of trickery. I couldn't take my eyes off him. "Whoever it was is visually displaced," Ryan said, tugging at his little black ring. "This worthless piece of garbage won't detect multiple instances. We need the original rings, Connor."

"I concur, but we can't implement the protocols to get to them right now considering the situation. We'll have to worry about it later." Connor looked at me with an attempt at reassurance. "Whoever is out there – should they have an Impüls weapon – won't be able to fire until they displace." He turned back to Ryan. "What about access to the other rooms on this level? Did you see any unprotected?"

"No. We're secure in here unless they know how to take a force field down."

"Nothing would surprise me after this," Connor said sadly. He continued to stare off in thought. "Access to lower levels was cut off during the initial alarm before the Jaunte arrived. Whoever's here can't leave this level. Operations and civilians are safe. Chances are they'll end up here, especially if they're looking for me, or one of us." He paused. "Okay, listen up. Set Impüls power levels to stun and take cover. We don't want to do worse at this point, killing them." Ryan and Connor set their Impüls weapons. Krissie withdrew an additional Impüls from a belt under her white overcoat ready. Krissie and Connor crouched behind a console in the 'nurse's station.' Ryan grabbed my arm and pulled me down behind the bed closest to Connor's position. He remained in front of me.

The waiting game began. Connor looked over top the medical console he used for cover. He then sat back down and shook his head.

"The quiet before the storm," Ryan murmured. Connor nodded.

The sound of a running device powered down somewhere on the force field side of the room. A reflex guided by curiosity caused me to peek over the top of the bed in an attempt to see what happened. The illumination from the red force field enclosing the room disappeared. Connor's face went grim. He nodded at Ryan to be alert.

With one eye still breaching the top of the bed, I watched one of our disappearing mystery guests displace in a flash of green. He appeared halfway toward Connor's position. The uninvited guest was dressed exactly like the other Corporation agents I'd encountered so far. He held an Impüls exactly as a trained police officer would hold a firearm by grasping it firmly with his right hand while cupping it with the left.

Ryan had the best shot strategically to take this man down. Should Connor opt to make a stand from his position, it would allow the agent to fire first. Connor's place was in the agent's line of fire. He'd make an easy and vulnerable target. Ryan recognized the tactical flaw immediately and made a series of hand gestures to Connor. Connor appeared reluctant but eventually nodded. Ryan readjusted his Impüls settings. He turned to me, thrust his Impüls into my hands, and put his lips up to my ear. He spoke softly, practically mouthing the words. "I'm going to displace you so that you'll shift slightly out of normal space-time. It won't hurt, but you'll see everything slightly fuzzy and in green. After I do this, I want you to stand and take aim at the agent. Tap your foot once when you're ready to fire. I'll let go. Then fire. You won't miss. Then duck back down. Do you understand?"

"Yes?" I whispered. It came out as a question. I was scared and white as a sheet with fear. I didn't understand why Ryan needed me to do this.

Ryan reached up under my pants at the ankle and gripped me tightly.

We went invisible inside a strobe of green flash.

The sensation was like nothing I'd ever experienced. True to Ryan's words, I observed the room through a fuzzy green filter. Objects appeared distorted but clear enough to determine what was what and who was who.

I stood up. The Impüls shook in my terrified grip. I managed to aim it toward the slowly approaching agent. I tapped my foot. Ryan let go. My eyesight snapped back to normal in another brilliant flash of green. I fired as the agent turned his head in my direction. The air between us rippled in his direction. It encompassed the agent and several feet on either side of him. I understood now the adjustment Ryan made to the Impüls. Its energy spread on a wide-angle making it impossible to miss.

The agent fell faster than I could squat back down behind the bed. I stared at Ryan in confusion. "Why didn't you do that? It would have been a lot easier."

"He would have detected me. Passing the displacement onto you by proxy prevented that."

His reasoning made no sense to me. "I see."

Connor wasted no time in moving to pick up and restrain our uninvited guest to the rolling chair. The agent rolled his head in semi-consciousness. "You can stand up, folks," Connor said. "They won't fire while we have a hostage, if there are more."

Krissie and Ryan rejoined Connor. I, on the other hand, took my time. I was still confused and concerned for my safety. Something felt wrong. It began when Ryan displaced us. Connor clapped Ryan on the shoulder. "That was a brilliant plan, old friend." I joined them with my arms crossed over my chest. Connor beamed approval. "Nice shooting, Kevin. You held up well under the circumstances."

I didn't agree. I decided to keep it to myself. "Now what?"

The answer came from behind as three flashes of green light reflected off everything around us. "You give us the anomaly." I looked over my shoulder. Three Corporation agents pointed their Impüls rifles at us.

"Four of them?" Ryan asked rhetorically. He reaffirmed his aiming stance in the direction of the three intruders.

Connor tapped the prisoner on his head. "You won't fire. Not with your man sitting here."

"He's expendable," the lead agent said coldly. "Where's the anomaly?"

I glanced at Connor. His attempt to conceal the mix of rage and surprise on his face began to fail. The Corporation caught him with his pants down, and he knew it.

"It's not here," Connor said. The expression on the lead agent's face clearly said, 'don't lie to me, cause now I have to get medieval on your ass.' The lead agent fired his Impüls at Connor without hesitation. A low-frequency buzz filled the room in a flash of air rippling light from the weapon. Connor dropped to the floor. He began groaning and clutching at his abdomen as angry pain swelled across his face.

"Lie to me again, MacKenzie, and the next wave will put you down twice as hard," the agent advised. "Where is the anomaly?"

I had turned to face the agents. The action placed Ryan behind me. He dropped his Impüls and raised his hands halfway up in the air. From Ryan's position, he was catty-corner to the agents with me blocking much of his view. His location allowed him to move his left hand down slowly. If everything lined up correctly, the Corporation agents shouldn't be able to see Ryan's deception. I couldn't see Ryan, but I heard him slip his hand into his pocket. If I could hear it, then I worried our captors might hear it too. I cleared my throat just loud enough to sound legitimate while providing Ryan with cover. I kept my hands raised. The agents took no notice of me. They were obsessed - and a little too amused - over Connor's pain and position on the floor.

I felt two fingers reach underneath my sports jacks to slip something into my right rear pocket. I felt comfortably certain that Ryan moved FutureQuarter from his pocket to mine, based on the feel and size of the object.

"I have it," Ryan stated flatly. "If I give you the anomaly, do I have your word that when you leave, you'll leave us alive?"

The lead agent waved his hand dismissively into the air. "Yes. Of course." I'd have to remember that. It was a clue. "The Corporation has no interest in you. They want the anomaly."

"That's a lie." Connor hissed through his clenched teeth. He remained on the floor with his arms crossed over his stomach. "The Brüder want this station back. They want all of them back. We're humans. We're expendable. Do not give him the anomaly, Ryan." The lead agent pointed his Impüls toward Connor and gave him another jolt. Connor howled in pain as he twitched uncontrollably on the floor. I bit the inside of my cheeks in anger. They were torturing him and enjoying it.

Krissie ignored the danger and ran to Connor. She knelt next to him and glared at the lead agent. "Stop it, for fuck's sake! You're going to kill him!"

"Who cares," one of the other agents said. Empathy was clearly not one of his better qualities, assuming he had any at all. "The world would be a better place without Connor MacKenzie."

The lead agent turned his head to scowl at the loose-lipped agent. He redirected his attention to Ryan and held out his hand. "The anomaly, please, Mr. Capcoseve."

"Do you want to do this by the book?" Ryan asked the agent.

The lead agent cocked his head. "What? I don't know what that means. If you have the anomaly, then surrender it now!"

"Fine. Then I give you my word to resolve this as quickly and cleanly as possible. Okay?"

Connor coughed. He looked up at Ryan. "If they don't want to this by the book, then I'll understand if you need to come up with a different way to handle this."

The three agents looked at each other in confusion. I didn't blame them. Ryan and Connor were making no sense to me either. If they were stalling, then I didn't see the need for it. We were all pretty well fucked.

The lead agent leveled his Impüls at Ryan. "Enough of this silliness! Surrender the anomaly!"

The lead agent pushed me aside as he walked past me. A small grin crept across Ryan's face. I was now much closer to the fallen Connor. "This is a conundrum, wouldn't you say?" Ryan asked. He emphasized the last word. Was this some kind of message to me? "This has got to be the most sought after coin I've ever seen. I'll have to go into my pocket and open my wallet this time to find my coin place. Otherwise, some of these coins will get away from me."

Why the deliberate emphasis on some of those words?

Ryan glanced at Connor out of the corner of his eye. Connor barely nodded. He pushed his hand at Krissie out of the agent's view. She stepped back as Connor placed his hand on her black bag. He slid his other hand under my pants at the ankle and grabbed hold of me. Connor looked weakly up at me. "Get ready," he whispered. I realized then the importance of the dialog between Ryan and Connor. They were speaking in code. Ryan gave Connor a message right under the agent's nose. 'Conundrum, has, coin, open, time, place, get away.' I nodded ever so slightly, knowing another trip through the temporal portal was coming. It also meant I would be sick as a dog again.

The mouthy agent who took a particular dislike to Connor realized what was happening. "They're going to run! Don't let them escape!"

Connor closed his eyes and began concentrating on whatever he needed to do. The world around us went as bright as the sun. I distinctly heard the discharge of an Impüls somewhere in the distance. The stretching sensation of displacement encompassed my entire body.

Then it was over.

#  Chapter VIII: Exigence

" _A case or situation that demands prompt action or remedy; emergency."_

****

Date: Unknown

Location: Sector 7, FCA-1

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

The stretching sensation subsided.

Connor and I fell close to three feet through the air. I landed awkwardly on my feet and lost balance. The sudden shift in space caused me to drop to my knees. Connor fell through the air. He landing on his left side with a sickening thump, with his ribcage taking the brunt of the impact. His face twisted in pain. I feared he might have broken a rib or two in that fall.

We were still in Medical, albeit farther away from the entrance and at the far end of the room. The force field wall remained disabled. Except for the medical beds still lined up in a row along the rightmost wall, the room was empty. Reduced lighting gave the room a dull and lifeless atmosphere. It made seeing more difficult. More importantly, breathing was now a chore due to the thinner air. It reminded me of the time I spent in the Colorado Mountains as a young teen. It took a concerted effort to catch a deep breath. The air here had a dull and stale taste.

I stumbled when I stood due to the lighter gravity. Whenever we were, FCA-1, Sector-7, seemed to be dormant. The minimal life support and general condition of the place suggested Medical - if not the entire section – remained undisturbed for quite some time.

The sickening side effect of temporal displacement had not yet taken hold. I could feel it coming, though. I looked down at Connor. He was conscious but not by much. His other hand still clutched at Krissie's medical bag. "Connor, are you alright?"

"No," he said softly. He reached inside the medical bag without observing his action. Using his fingers to identify objects in the bag, he pulled out a red injector. It looked no different from a modern-day, handheld jet insulin injector. A small rounded tip with a micro grated surface graced the injector end with a depressible black button on the other. The characters TS-14 were stamped in big, bold black letters on the side.

Connor held out the injector. "Listen to me...carefully. I'm not well...and I can't take care of you...if you should...get sick and pass out...from temporal sickness. Stick the tip of this...into your jugular and press...the button. It won't hurt. It will help...your symptoms...and should keep...you conscious."

I looked at Connor, completely scared out of my wits. I reached for injector and took it with great apprehension. The boiling sensation in my lower gut began to manifest. Vertigo and hot flashes engulfed me. Connor nodded. He could read the panic of what was coming over me. "Do it now...before it's too late. It will be alright...Kevin. I promise."

I jammed the tip end of the injector into my neck, shut my eyes, and used my thumb to press the black button. The nozzle made a thock-pshh sound as it released highly compressed medication directly into my bloodstream. There was no pain. It felt weird. A warm sensation coursed down my neck and into my chest. From there, it instantly spread to the rest of my body one appendage at a time. I felt euphoric for a moment with tingles in my temples and strangely enough in the tips of my fingers and toes as well. I dropped the injector and fell onto my hands, waiting for the projectile vomit of boiling liquid to come spurting out of my mouth. I could feel Connor watching me. He must have been waiting to see if I would become a useless bag of sick meat. Waves of nausea came and went. No gag followed. As a bonus, I maintained consciousness, although I felt like complete shit. My joints ached at the mere thought of using them. I also experienced that 'melting skeleton' sensation to a much lesser degree. I laid down next to Connor, hoping the disagreeable sensations would pass.

"How...are you?" Connor asked.

I scoffed and managed to look over with a grin. "I've seen better days."

"Are you...going to...pass out?"

"No. I don't think so. But I don't feel terrific. It's going to hurt to stand up and worse to walk, I think. What about you? What's happening to you?"

Connor closed his eyes. He shook his head and waved off someone who was not there. "They...they got off another shot...before we displaced...those agents did. I don't think... I'm going to be able...to walk."

"There has to be somebody here who can help you."

"There isn't," Connor said, barely managing the words. "There isn't anything...in Krissie's bag...to help me."

I turned my head to look at a man who might have been dying. "Tell me what to do to help you, Connor. Wherever we are...whenever we are, we don't belong here. Whatever I have to do, no matter how bad it might hurt, I'll do."

"Okay. Let me think." Connor closed his eyes. "If I did...the math right...we should be...in the first half...of 1977." Each new breath brought him obvious pain. "Life support here...is minimal...in this time."

I sighed. "Okay. If there's no one here who can help you, then what do we do now?"

Connor finally opened his eyes and looked at me. The buoyant attitude he exhibited only minutes before was now gone. Connor now seemed dead somber. He looked scared. "We have to...Jaunte to Earth."

"Okay," I said. "That sounds simple enough. You're going to have to walk me through how to do that."

Connor nodded. "It's an easy process. What worries me...is the timeline. As far as I know...we've not...been in the seventies before."

"I don't understand. You said you've done this before, observing events in the past. Why would this be any different?"

Connor's reply – minus the gasps of pain when inhaling – amounted to this, "The observation we do and that we've done in the past is controlled and done without stepping foot onto Earth. Only in dire emergencies will any TDI inject themselves into past events, and only after we've been able to verify its part of recorded history, their presence. All other observation is done from here on FCA-1 through holographic imagery."

"I don't understand."

"It's okay, I didn't think you would," Connor said. "What concerns me is that we'll have to go back down to Earth and make contact with the FCA liaison in this decade while interfering as little as possible. Since I've not verified you and me in this timeline, there's no telling if what will happen is predestined or a paradox."

He was talking over my head again. "Look, just tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it. You can't die on me, Connor."

He smiled and reached out to clasp my hand. "We'll make it. We should get to the Jaunte station as quickly as possible. If this when is compromised by The Corporation as well, we don't want to be vulnerable as we are here, now, should anyone else show up."

II

Helping Connor maneuver the hallway of FCA-1, Sector-7 to the Jaunte room turned out to be more of a challenge than I anticipated. The man was in bad shape. I wasn't much better. Between Connor's broken ribs, whatever damage the Impüls fire did to him, and my severe aches and pains from two trips through the temporal displacement portal, we were an unplanned comedy act. There were no wheelchairs or other equipment in Medical in which to carry Connor. The beds were not portable. I checked other adjoining rooms only to return empty-handed. We came up with a method of wrapping our arms around each other like drunken friends while pushing up against the other to avoid falling over. Our steps were small but stable. Whatever the Impüls weapon fire did to Connor, it fucked him up something fierce. I thought he'd pass out cold from the pain a few times during our stumble from Medical to the Jaunte room. The lighter gravity helped, although the thinner air wiped out whatever advantage we gained. Breathing became twice as hard. The lack of air conditioning left us humid and sweating.

According to Connor, it took us almost an hour to reach the Jaunte room. The area appeared precisely as it did in 2006 with only one perceptible difference. The Jaunte octagon was empty. There was no protective red force field and no redshifted image from the last transport.

Connor took a seat in the front of the Jaunte platform. He held Krissie's black bag in his lap. Slowly and in short precise words, Connor walked me through the process of activating the Jaunte portal. The process amounted to knowing which buttons to push and in what order. The readout displayed German, or whatever German hybrid encompassed the Brüder language. I had no idea what the information displayed on the panel read. "Kevin," Connor whispered from his seat on the Jaunte transport. "Remember...we have to go through...unconscious."

"I know."

Connor achingly looked over to see me. Minus the skips in his breath, he said, "When we get to the other side, we'll either wake up on our own or FCA security will treat us a threat, if any are there. We aren't expected. We may be on our own."

I was nervous now. How much of this was I going to have to accomplish on my own? "Okay. Assuming we get to wherever we're going and no one is there or no one is there who can help and you can't speak, what should I do?"

"FCA Ops are guarding them to the hilt, each Earth station. If not FCA, then die Widerstand. Someone will be there. They'll recognize me and verify my identity via an eye scan. Once I'm conscious, I'll tell them you are under my protection and assisting me in locating our liaison. His name is Jim Marks. They'll know who he is and how to contact him. In the event you are alone, it's up to you to locate him and bring him to me."

"Do we know where he is at this point in 1977?"

"He may be at ES-5, or he may be living on the other coast in Maryland."

Again with the Maryland connection! Some coincidence!

"Interesting," rolled off my lips instead.

The Jaunte computer finished its calculations with an annoying double chirp. It displayed the results on the holographic readout. I read out the German-style words to Connor as best as I could.

"We're going to ES-5." Connor gasped for the breath.

"Area 51?"

"Yes. You're going to have to set it, the transport timer, then get into the transport and lock in before the light show starts."

I walked up to the holographic control panel. "Tell me what to do."

"In the readout, there should be seven choices, tap the one that says 'Unbewusste' then tap the one that says, 'Uhr.'

'Okay. It wants me to enter a number."

"On the keypad, press Drei, null, eingeben." The numbers 00.30 appeared with the question' bestätigen?' The readout gave me two choices. Ja and Nein. Even I knew those meant yes and no.

"I assume you want me to tap ja?"

"Yes. You'll be prompted to start. It'll say beginnen. Once you tap that, you'll have thirty seconds to strap into the Jaunte platform before the light show starts." I tapped the button and limped to the platform. Once in, I pressed the big blue button on the holographic panel, which activated the blue holo-restraint. Connor had already secured himself.

We had fifteen seconds to go.

I looked over at Connor and flashed him a small and nervous smile. "See you on the other side, old fellow."

"You bet your ass," Connor said. He laid back and closed his eyes.

The readout on the Jaunte display changed. It no longer indicated Earth Station 5, or Bodenstation fünf. According to the screen, it now read Bodenstation Eine.

Eine? What does Eine mean? I had no idea what that word translated too.

Or did I?

III

The benefits of studying four years of choir under Karl Kingsley at South Carroll High School included knowledge of the finer details and background of the works we practiced and performed.

One of those pieces of music included Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's 'Eine Wenig Nachtmusik.' The German translates to 'A Little Night Music.' In this particular instance, 'Eine' translates to 'A.'

To graduate, I was required to take at least one class of foreign language. I chose German for no particular reason. One thing I remembered from those classes was how difficult translations could sometimes be, specifically how one accomplishes them. When 'Eine' prefaces an adjective such as 'Wenig, then Eine becomes a personal pronoun, hence the letter 'A. Remove the identifier, and Eine becomes 'One.'

Earth Station One.

IV

If I read the map on the Jaunte readout correctly, ES-1 fell somewhere on the mid-east coast of America.

Connor wasn't waiting for the light show. He was already out cold. His condition made no difference. Were he awake, I'm sure he would have suggested one Earth station would be as good as the next considering our quandary.

The euphoric white noise did its thing. I smiled and laid my head back. When the strobes began, I was out.

V

I woke up first. Our surroundings were exceptionally different from the Jaunte portal at Area 51. Wherever this place was, calling it a dump would be doing it no justice. Dirt, mud, and plant life overran the room. The dark was so powerful, I could barely see anything. The only available light came from the redshifted image within the Jaunte octagon.

I released my Jaunte restraint and opened Krissie's black bag in search of a flashlight or something comparable. A device similar to a penlight sat at the bottom. My mind was once again completely blown when I activated it. It was unlike any flashlight I had ever used or seen. It illuminated the entire room while still focusing an intense beam of light wherever I pointed it. I'd have to ask Connor for one of these after this adventure.

I put my hand on Connor's shoulder and shook. "Connor, wake up. We're through."

I pointed the flashlight away from the Jaunte portal and toward the back of the room. My heart sank. Connor and I would have some serious stairs ahead and a poorly maintained door to open at the top.

The Jaunte interface began to beep. A flashing holographic red button blinked on the holographic readout panel. It said Sicherheit. Sec-huer-height. If you said it fast, it sounded like 'securit.' I assumed it had to be a security measure of some kind. I tapped it. The red force field that protected the Jaunte portal slammed into place. I stepped back to avoid contact.

"Kevin?" Connor managed to say.

I turned around. "Good morning, sunshine. Quick question: Where the fuck are we?"

Connor looked around. I handed him the flashlight. Excusing his continued breaks in speech, he said, "I don't recognize this place. I can't read anything. What did the Jaunte display say before we left?"

"It changed from Earth Station Five to Earth Station One," I said. Connor sat straight up. He stared at me in disbelief with wide eyes. I thought for a moment, he might yell at me for doing something wrong. "It was greenlit, as you explained, so I went for it. Why? What's wrong?"

"Kevin," Connor whispered. "Earth Station One was destroyed...tens of thousands of years ago. There's no way we should be here. The name should never have been displayed in the Jaunte interface."

"Well, it was green."

Connor stared around the run-down room in awe. "Earth Station One was the facility the Brüder used to do their genetic experiments. It's a huge station, supposedly over ten square miles. It was lost after the Ausrottung. Are you sure the readout gave you a green notification for Bodenstation Eine? I've never seen the Jaunte system attempt to connect to it."

"As sure as we're hiding out in 1977."

"Okay. I'll figure this out later. We need to get topside, if there's a way to get topside. Jaunte stations are usually close to a secured exit. I doubt there's any security here. We can breathe, which means the station is still active or air is finding its way in someplace, probably at the exit we want."

"Can you make it up those stairs?"

"Even if it kills me," Connor said with a huge grin. The discovery of Earth Station One seemed to breathe some new life into him. I'm certain Connor would prefer to live long enough to explore it.

"I don't know if I can pull you up all those stairs," I said. "I'm still way sore."

Connor sighed. "We shouldn't do this, but with no one else around, we don't have a choice." Connor picked up Krissie's bag and withdrew the TS-14 injector, adjusting one of the small dials on its side. "Give yourself that dosage. It should make most your pains go away for six hours or so."

I took the injector from Connor. "It'll be more like four hours," I said, pushing it into my jugular.

Thock-Pshhh

"Why do you say that?"

My head was floating in euphoria. The pain was gone, and I felt fine. "Cause...um, my body chemistry absorbs medications faster than most folks. Ask my dentist. He could tell you. God damn, Connor! This is some great shit! What the hell's in it?"

"Krissie could tell you. It's the best painkiller out there, which is why it's used primarily for temporal sickness."

"Well, fuck, brother! Why don't you take a shot of this if it'll make it easier for you to walk?"

"I'm not permitted to use it."

"What? Why?"

"I got addicted to it during my training, not long after my wife died. I abused it whenever I could to make that pain go away. Krissie found out, and we kept it between us. She helped me kick the habit. I can never have that again, the TS-14."

Connor made valid points. To force him to use it would force him to break sobriety. I left the subject go, except, "I won't break your confidence, Detective."

Connor smiled. "I know you won't." I studied his face. What did he imply there? He spoke of me as if we had been trusted allies in the past.

I put the TS-14 injector into Krissie's bag and picked it up. Connor handed me the flashlight, so I could help him to his feet.

Each step for him seemed to be more painful than the last. I, on the other hand, felt fine, giddy, and ready to take on the world. If this kind of euphoria is what I've been missing all those years when I suggested drugs were terrible, then I've certainly been denying myself. In fact, I felt well enough to let Connor piggyback me to move faster. He reluctantly agreed. Connor's weight didn't faze me in the least as I carefully climbed the stairs to the exit of the Jaunte station. I took each step slowly and carefully. Falling down for either one of us might prove fatal even with this ecstatic bandage. Underneath it all, I knew I had some bad injuries too.

"How are we going to find Jim?" I asked as we slowly worked our way up the stairs. I figured there had to be at least fifty steps, maybe more.

"There should be a communicator in Krissie's bag," Connor managed between staggered breaths. "It's standard protocol for medical personnel. Jim is also the best at what he does. It shouldn't take him long to respond. He'll have to come to us to minimize our participation in this time."

"Will he have what you need to make you better? Do you even know what's wrong with you?"

"Yes. He will." Connor paused briefly to catch his breath. "If he doesn't, he'll know where to get what he needs. When set to its higher settings, it can damage internal organs, the Impüls weapon. Think of it like a car accident that crushes the body. When the Brüder designed their weapons, they also designed a way to reverse the damage in the event their own soldiers suffered injury from friendly fire."

"Just like that, eh?" I asked. "Jim will shoot you with the reverse of the Impüls, and you're all better?"

Connor offered a weak laugh. He cringed from pain. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

"Sorry."

"It's not quite that simple. I've had it done before during my training to operate Brüder technology. It'll take some time to reverse, that process. I do need to get it done sooner rather than later."

I didn't like Connor not finishing that sentence. "Or what?"

"Stop," he said sternly. I complied. He looked directly at me when I turned my head. "Or you'll be stuck here in 1977. The paradox that could come from that I don't even want to think about, so let's not let it come to that. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

It took several more minutes to reach the top of the stairway. The steel double doors of the Jaunte station took a bit of effort to open. They were sliding doors that didn't want to push. Connor would be of little no help due to his condition. Even with the pain blocked from the TS-14 medication, that last jump and the fall that followed left me in a weaker state. The sharp pain I felt in my left side whenever I pushed or took a deep breath all but suggested I might have a broken rib too.

I pushed and rocked on the right steel door for quite some time. It was my duty to get Connor some help. After what seems like hours - even though it was barely minutes - the right door began to move. Each successful push knocked down chunks of dirt covering the other side. Eventually, there was enough room to squeeze my body through the two feet of open space into whatever waited on the other side. I used my back and legs to push to the door open further so Connor could easily pass through.

The scene on the other side of Jaunte station doors wasn't very encouraging either. There were no lights. The air was damp and musty, which suggested we were underground. The hallway before us afforded two directions, right or left.

"What do you think?" I asked, pointing the flashlight to the left and then the right.

Connor reached out to touch the wall. He brushed off who knows how many hundreds of years of dirt and grime. "Help me look for some kind of writing."

I assisted in the quest to reach the actual wall. Layer upon layer of dirt fell off in clumps. Connor struck the wall first. Engraving revealed itself. "Die Oberfläche. The exit is to the left."

"What's in the other direction?" I asked.

Connor wiped off more of the engraving. "Unterirdisch. It means 'underground.' If it's anything like the other stations, somewhere over there is a stairwell leading underground."

"Left it is then."

I pointed the flashlight forward. We slowly walked the corridor until we came to an octagon-shaped gate. It looked similar to the Jaunte portal.

"Wait," Connor said. He reached into Krissie's bag, withdrew a small box, and tossed it through the entrance. It fell to the floor on the other side.

"What was that about?"

"This is a security gate. It's inactive. I didn't want to take any chances." I looked at him in disbelief. He smiled weakly. "The exit should be somewhere on the other side." I helped him through the gate and retrieved the box. "Look for a door or a hatch."

In fact, a hatch entrance revealed itself at the end of the hallway. A wall-mounted ladder led upward about fifty feet into a chute to the ceiling. At the end of the hall and on the left was another entrance on an upward incline. It ended about 100 feet away. From there, another inclined section led even higher.

Connor observed both discoveries. "This is a layout I've seen before. This is how the Brüder would enter and exit this place. I think those ramps over there were for loading cargo, which means there is a bigger entrance farther up." Connor then looked inside the climbing tube. He sighed in disappointment. "I don't know what this is. I don't think I can make that climb anyway."

"I'll go," I offered. "Maybe we can figure out something when I get to the top, assuming I can even get the thing open."

Connor nodded and sat down. He propped himself up against the Earth covered wall. I pulled on the ladder several times to ensure it was stable enough to hold my weight. It didn't budge in the slightest, which I found odd. "Connor, what material specifically did the Brüder use to build this station? I can't believe this ladder isn't rusting off the wall."

"It's the same element as Brüder-2's hull. It's not indigenous to Earth. As far as I know, it's not even on the periodic table of elements. We call it 'unobtanium.'"

I laughed at this. "I can't begin to tell you how many times I've heard that word used in science fiction."

Connor was smiling and nodded. "Martin used that word to describe it a long time ago. He's a bit of a science fiction fan."

"I noticed." I then remembered Martin was still at Area 51, in 2006. "Speaking of Martin, we left him behind when Ryan and I were attacked yesterday," I paused, realizing the term 'yesterday' didn't seem accurate. In linear terms, that day would not happen for another twenty-nine years. "I mean, back in 2006. Well, no...not 'back in' 2006, I mean when Ryan and I left 2006."

"I understand," Connor said, saving me from continued rambling. "In a security breach of that magnitude, he knows what to do, Martin does. He'll be fine. I have every confidence in him. Now, get going."

I carefully climbed the ladder to the top of the chute. A large hatch door with no discernable device to open or close it stopped me. "I'm not sure how to open this," I called down. "There's no handle or locking device."

"Shit," was the muffled reply I heard. "It's holographically controlled. With no power, we won't be able to open it. Come on back down." I slid down the ladder and helped Connor back to his feet. He nodded in the direction of the inclined passageway. "We'll have to continue up that way."

We continued slowly and cautiously up the incline. We reached the top after a story of the zigzag ramp system. Yet another seemingly impossible large hatch door above our heads lay in our way.

"Now what?" I asked.

Connor sighed in frustration as he shook his head. "Berechnen offen." Nothing happened. "Berechnen aufschließen." Nothing happened.

I set Connor against the wall so he could sit. I pushed up on the hatch with what strength I had left. It budged ever so slightly. It slid instead of swinging up. I looked at Connor in surprise.

He nodded slightly. "That's it. It slides. Push it out."

I planted my hands firmly against the hatch with every effort I had left in me and pushed to the left. It took several tries to move it even an inch. Dirt poured through the vertical opening. It didn't want to move as it was covered with dirt. Enough of the hatch was now open where I could get my fingers in the opening. I yanked the damn thing open a few inches at a time. With every inch, the hatch moved, another wave of dirt would pour into the hallway. When the hatch was two feet open, I figured it was far enough for me to squeeze through. I wasn't sure yet how I would be able to lift Connor up and through this tiny space. Complete darkness lived on the other side of the hatch.

Cooler air fell through the opening into our musty surroundings. I took a deep breath of the cleaner smelling air. I considered the possibility of our being underwater as I pointed the flashlight through the opening. Doing so revealed a small chamber. It looked to be an earthen tunnel.

"It looks like another room, or maybe a tunnel?" I said.

"Can you climb up there?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Then go." Connor slid to the floor. "Find out where it goes and report back." I gave Connor a worried glance. "It's okay, Kevin. I'll be fine. Go."

With flashlight secured in my back pocket, I jumped up and grabbed the edge of the entrance. My busted rib screamed in protest. I somehow managed to pull myself up into what was a small nook carved in the ground. I brought out the flashlight to get a better look. The light illuminated the entire nook, revealing a large piece of equipment blocking an open exit. It pushed aside with relative ease. I knocked a box on the other side over in the process. Nuts, bolts, and washers spilled across the floor. I stepped out of the alcove and into the room. The scene around me seemed eerily familiar. I carefully panned the flashlight around the room and stopped at the flimsy door on the other side.

My heart rate jumped. Blood and adrenaline rushed through my head in painful bursts. My eyes were wide as the horror of where I was beginning to hit me.

I knew this room. I'd not been here in many, many years.

I turned around to tell Connor of my find. Activity on the other side of the room's door caught my attention instead. The sound of footsteps making the trip down a flight of wooden stairs became audibly clear.

A voice called out. A woman's voice. "Charlie? Are you down there?"

All that hot blood pulsing through my body turned to ice. I froze, figuratively, and literally. My hands and arms went cold. I believe I would have long since fainted had it not been for the desire to who was coming. The footsteps stopped on the other side of the closed door. She began knocking on it. "Are you in there?"

I swallowed with a parched throat. I couldn't move.

The door opened. A hand reached in and flipped the light switch. The weak light of a 75-watt bulb flood the area.

I stood there, still pointing the flashlight straight ahead. The woman who opened the door looked at me. She also froze in place. Her outfit screamed bad 70s garb. Orange bell-bottomed pants with a striped pattern shirt of brown, yellow, and orange. I offered a half-smile as I turned the flashlight off. She took several steps toward me. She never took her eyes off my face. Her jaw was open in astonishment. She peered her eyes as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing was real. She lifted her hand in slow motion to touch my dirty face. She knew who I was.

"This can't be," she whispered. "Kevin? Is that you?"

I sighed. "Hi, mom."

#  Chapter IX: Asymmetry, Part I

" _The quality or state of not being identical on both sides of a central line."_

****

Date: Friday, May 13, 1977

Location: Arthur Avenue House, Eldersburg, Maryland

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

The 1977 version of my mother couldn't stop staring at my face. She examined every detail. "How old are you now?"

"Thirty-five."

Mom laughed despite herself. "You're older than I am, son. How is this possible? Where did you come from?"

I smiled and hitched a thumb toward the alcove behind the busted up refrigerator knowing how unbelievable this was going to sound. "From back there, believe it or not. There are, um...a system of tunnels that run underneath this house."

Mom folded her arms. "No there aren't." She craned her neck around to look anyway. "Are there?"

"This whole thing started a couple days ago in my time, in 2006," I said as I scanned the room for a length of rope. I knew there was one around the basement somewhere from my days as a Cub Scout. "I can't really tell you how this is all possible. They guy I'm with is really strict about his Temporal Directives."

"Somebody's with you?"

"Yeah, and he's hurt pretty bad." I struggled to remember where we kept that old yellow rope. "Is there still rope in the mutt room?"

Mom appeared flabbergasted as if the revelation of something new to her was old for me. "You remember that?"

"Turns out, Mom, I have a fairly eidetic memory."

"A what?"

"Photographic, sort of."

She smiled. "Yes. I always knew that about you."

"Wait here for a sec," I said. "I have to get that rope."

I walked quickly out of the workroom into the basement I'd not seen since I was ten. I walked into the old memories of my childhood. It was as surreal as surreal gets. I passed a shelf of toys that my sister and I played with as kids. I really wanted to stop and touch them again. I hesitated. Doing so would make what was happening even more real. I began to have a nagging sensation that accepting the full reality of where I was might not be such a good thing. Part of me needed to believe this experience was somehow not real. I also think Connor would object. I retrieved the rope instead. I caught a glimpse of the old pool in the backyard through the windowed basement door.

Then it hit me. If my sense of direction was accurate, the first hatch Connor and I were unable to open should be directly underneath the pool pump nook. I had been in both areas from my youth that gave me the creeps to the point of fainting. Yet now, I had felt no apprehension.

Interesting.

I carried the rope back into the workshop and worked my way into the nook behind the old refrigerator. Mom followed cautiously. "Jesus, there is something back there." She peered around the fridge into the entrance seeing the unobtanium tunnel below. "What the hell is that? Who's down there?"

"My colleague, Connor MacKenzie."

"And that's part of the tunnel system?"

"Well, sort of," I said, trying to keep it vague. I unpacked the rope and tossed one end into the hole. "Connor, can you secure yourself to that rope? I should be able to lift you out."

Connor begrudgingly stood up and began the task of harnessing himself to the end of the rope. "Who's...up there...with you?"

I looked away. "You don't want to know."

"Actually, Kevin...I do. Who is it?"

"It's um...my mother," I finally said.

"WHAT?" Connor stopped his effort to tie himself up for a lift. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah. I am," I replied with a hint of annoyance. "The station one exit comes up under the foundation of this childhood home." I looked off and scoffed with irony. "It explains quite a bit from my childhood."

"Jesus jumped. What have I done? This is all my fault...the paradox," Connor said. I think he was beginning to panic. "The damage...to the timeline...if this is...not preordained...could be...catastrophic."

I felt like I needed to take control of this situation. "Finish with that rope, and let's just get this over with."

Connor glared unhappily back. He finished looping the rope around his waist. Lifting him out of the hole was not as difficult as I thought it would be. I helped him out of the workshop and onto a sofa in the basement. He opened Krissie's bag and searched for something. He pulled out the Löschen device used to blank short-term memory.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm going to blank...your mother's memory...so she remembers nothing...of this."

Mom grabbed my arm from behind. "What is he going to do to me?" She sounded scared.

"Nothing," I said with authority. I didn't take my eyes off Connor. "Put that away, Connor. Our priority is to get you well, and mom might be able to help. We can have a discussion about it when all is said and done."

Connor considered my words. "Fine...I'll allow it...for now. But this...isn't over...the conversation."

"Agreed." I turned to mom. "Don't worry about this right now. I promise...nothing bad will happen to you. Do you believe me?"

Mom hesitated and then sighed. "Yes, son. I believe you."

Connor put the Löschen away. He looked bad. I was afraid he was going to pass out at any moment. "Is there anyone else...here besides...you, Mrs. Provance?"

Mom gave Connor a confused look. "Provance is my maiden name, Mr. MacKenzie. My name is Jayne Garrison."

Connor looked at me with confusion. "Kevin...your last name...is Provance. How can...that be?"

Mom turned to me with the same confused look. "You changed your last name? Why would you do that?"

"Oh, boy," I said under my breath. I didn't anticipate this. This is what Ryan would call one of his unknown variables, and it just blew up in my face. "I had my former surname of Garrison changed to Provance in 1997. I had my reasons for doing so."

Connor nodded as if he had just solved a puzzle. "That explains...a lot."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Connor what he meant by that. Mom's disturbed look distracted me. She remained the focus of my concern.

She'd been supportive of my desire to change my surname then. The thirty-four-year-old version of her would have no clue why since she has yet to realize what a prick of misery my father – her current husband – turned out to be.

Connor sighed. With great effort, he wiped his face with his hands. "Okay. First things...first. We need...to make contact...with Jim Marks." Connor reached into the bag and withdrew a communication device. He flipped it open, pressed a series of buttons, and began to talk. "TDI-1... for FCAL-1...please respond."

Nothing happened.

Mom leaned over to whisper to me. "What is that?"

"It's like a cell phone, only smaller."

"What's a cell phone?"

I looked at her with disbelief. "Yeah, that's right. The cell phone hasn't been invented yet." She looked at me like a bewildered child awaiting clarification. "In the years to come, the phone companies create portable phones about the size of the device Connor's holding. It operates on a cellular network. They haven't replaced landlines yet. It's getting there, though."

"Landline?" Mom asked.

"Home telephones," I said. "Cell phones are popular in my time. The teenagers refer to the old telephone as a 'landline.'"

"The old telephone," Mom repeated. "Amazing."

"You have no idea."

"Kevin! Quiet!" Connor said in a bark. "Mrs. Garrison...is there anyone else...here right now...besides you?"

"No. Charlie, my husband, is at work, and the kids are in school. They won't be back until 3:30 or so. Charlie won't be home until 6:30-ish."

"What time...is it now?" Connor asked.

Mom looked at her watch. "Twenty-two after."

Connor looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders. "After what?" Connor asked.

"Ten," Mom replied.

Connor thought about this. "We have a little...over four hours...to find Jim...and get out of here...before we have a serious...paradox situation."

"Jim still hadn't responded?" I asked.

"No...but that doesn't...mean anything," Connor said. "He could be...in the shower...for all I know."

I sat down next to Connor. I motioned toward his communicator. "Can you locate him with that thing?"

"I can locate...his communicator. If he doesn't have it on him – and he should \- all it will tell me...is where he had it last."

Connor punched in some information. Within a few seconds, a map appeared with a glowing holographic blip. Mom watched intensely with folded arms from the side of the couch.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"On the outskirts...of Westminster...off Route 27," Connor said.

I felt jolted by the convenience of it all. "Really? He just happens to be one town over. I am finding it hard to believe that everything going on now seems to revolve around Carroll County, Maryland."

Connor smiled weakly. Ignoring his breaks for breath, he said, "I'm from Westminster, believe it or not, as are Martin and Robert, whom I've not yet told you about. The whole thing we are involved in right now started in Westminster, for all of us. Jim Marks has always lived in Westminster. He was instrumental in each of our lives, Robert, Martin, and I until we all got together."

"How can that be?" I asked. "I might believe some coincidences, but that seems pretty big to me."

Connor sighed. "Jim Marks is a Brüder from die Widerstand. He's very old and very wise. It's been his goal since he arrived from his world to assist our cause anyway he can."

The relationships began to make sense with this reveal. Now I understood how Jim Marks would help Connor. "So, what do we do now?" I asked. "We can't just wait around for Jim to answer the phone, or whatever you call that thing."

"I know," Connor said. "It's important that he comes to us instead of the other way around. That way, we avoid um - any more, uh - timeline contamination." Connor was having a lot of trouble speaking now.

I dropped to my knees next to him and the sofa. "What's the matter?"

"I'm fighting to...not lose...consciousness," Connor whispered. "Kevin, listen to me. If I go unconscious, it's important that you...that you contact Jim...and bring him to me...here. I don't think...I have much time left."

"I understand." I bit my lip in fear of where this was going.

"No...Kevin, listen to me carefully," Connor said, fighting to keep focus. "Do not tell your mother...anything about the future...or more important...your future. I know that might...might be difficult for you...but you must fight the urge...to share information you may not...think means anything. Doing so could...it could have disastrous effects. Since the portal we took...to get here is closed...the future we go back to...it could be radically different. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Connor handed me the communications device. "All you have to do...is press the lower-left green button...to talk. It's already set up...to receive. This is the important part...so listen very carefully. You must identify yourself...as TDI-1 Proxy...codename 'Conundrum.' If you receive a reply...my authorization is...'MacKenzie, Four, Pi, Upsilon, Omega'. Repeat it." I did. "Afterwards...brief Jim on the current...situation and answer...any question he asks honestly...and to the point. Don't exaggerate...or say more than needed. If you don't know an answer...just say so. Jim will know...what to do."

"Okay," I said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Connor said mysteriously. "Lean in closer...to me, I need...to tell you something...very, very important."

I leaned in and put my ear to his lips. He grabbed the temples of my forehead and pushed hard. My head filled with a red light before any chance to push backward came to mind. The force of Connor's action knocked me on my backside. Mom yelped in surprise. I sat back up and crawled over to Connor.

"What the hell did you do to me?" I asked. Connor closed his eyes and became unresponsive. "Connor? Connor!"

Mom knelt over Connor and took his pulse. "He's still alive, Kevin, but his breathing is really erratic. What happened to him? What happened to you?"

I looked at Mom and stood up. "I don't know what he did to me. As for Connor, he saved my life. So I owe it to him to get him the help he needs."

"How did he save your life?"

"Mom, I can't say," I said, biting my lip. The fuzzy red light seemed to float around inside my head. "I'd like to tell you everything that happened, but Connor said that kind of information could be dangerous to you and us. I have to respect that, so nothing bad happens to any of us."

Mom looked a bit disappointed. She nodded anyway. "I understand."

I tried calling Jim on Connor's communicator. There was no reply. I pushed the button I watched Connor press to reveal the location of Jim's communicator. Route 27 before Braddock Road. This placed him well out of Westminster City limits toward Eldersburg, where we were. If I remembered it correctly, the location on the holographic map was one of the driveways off Route 27 that led into the woods. That's where I'd find Jim Marks.

I turned to face Mom. "Besides the Camero, is there any other car here I can use? The old Ford? The Chevette?"

Mom's jaw dropped. "You're leaving? Didn't Connor tell you not to?"

"Yes. I know he did," I said in frustration. "But we don't have a lot of time, and I believe the quickest way to do this is to go to Jim and bring him back here. Connor never said not to."

Mom shook her head. "No. He didn't. However, I get the idea had you said that to him, he'd have said no. The quickest way would be to take Connor to Jim."

"Maybe," I said. "But if something should happen to Connor or me en route, our paradox problem becomes much bigger. Connor needs to stay here."

Mom considered this and finally nodded. "Your father took the truck to work today, so the Chevette's out there. Do you know how to drive a stick?"

I scoffed. "I learned to drive with the Chevette. It was my first car until it broke apart."

"How did tha—"

"Mom, don't ask," I said in warning. "I can't tell you."

"Fine," she snapped. I offered her a hug to show I meant no ill will. She took it with caution. "I can't believe how tall you grew."

I said nothing and pulled back. "I'm going to take the Chevette and see if I can find Jim."

"What if something happens to Connor while you're gone?"

I thought about this for a moment. I walked into the workshop and looked around one of the workbenches. Sure enough, my memory was right on target. Charlie kept a CB radio in here. I only remembered due to the multiple warnings I received as a child never to touch it. I smirked as I turned it on, knowing he'd be displeased if he could see this. I tuned in to channel 13. "If I remember correctly, this old thing still works. I do remember that Charlie has a CB radio in the Chevette. If you need to get a hold of me for emergency reasons, call me on that."

Mom frowned. "It's weird listening to you call your father by his first name. Why don't you call him 'dad' or 'father'?" I didn't answer. She was watching my face. "Your eyes and your expressions say a lot, Kev. Something happened, didn't it? Something bad. That's why you changed your last name to Provance, isn't it?" I shook my head to tell her I couldn't answer those questions. Now I know how Ryan must have felt when he and I first met. Mom was not taking her eyes off mine. I suppose I was giving too much away without saying anything. "Each time I've brought up your father, you look...angry. What did he do to you, Kevin?"

I looked away. I didn't want to tell mom that story even if I had permission to do so. "Mom, you'll find out in time." I let off a small laugh. "So many times, I've wished I could go back in time and tell you not to go into denial over what's coming, to do something about it. Now that I have, I can't. I can't change history, apparently. You'll understand by the time I graduate high school is all I can really say."

Mom stood her ground. She placed her hands on her hips as if she might be offended. "I would never look the other way if your father was doing something bad to you or your sister."

I shook my head. Mom hugged me as I fought off the urge to break down and cry. The thought of Connor and his clinging to life snapped me back into reality. "Do you have a key to the Chevette?"

Mom nodded as she fought back the tears. She went upstairs and returned with the spare Chevette key. "Don't get pulled over," she advised. "You might have a tough time explaining a driver's license from the future."

"A Florida driver's license on top of that," I added. I walked over to the sofa to root through Krissie's bag. I picked out the Impüls and stuffed it in my pocket.

Mom seemed appalled. "You live in Florida?"

"We all do."

"The four of us? We all moved to Florida? When did this happen? Was it to get a new start?"

After you divorce the bastard and married a proper fellow, yes.

"Mom, I can't go into it. You knowing too much about your own future can be dangerous. Even after all I've been through the last few days, I know nothing of mine. And what I do know about the future from my time I don't much like."

"Is that why you look so sad?"

"What do you mean? If anything, I'm stressed...and tired."

"No. That's not it." She held the side of my face with her hand. "It's in your eyes. You look so sad like there isn't a lot left to you."

I sighed. "The last few years for me have been tough. That's all I can say. Take some comfort that you are still alive and very supportive."

Mom smiled then. "That's good to know. I'll always be there for you and your sister."

"Yeah. I know." I looked away again, hoping the questions would stop. I think she wanted to know that her children grew up to be happy adults in a big happy family. I didn't have the heart to tell her it didn't quite work out that way. Her life twenty-nine years from now would be radically different, albeit better. That journey would also be arduous. I think if a thirty-five-year-old version of my son suddenly appeared in my life, I wouldn't want to know what happened to me. I certainly hope I'd never have to deal with that scenario.

"Okay," I said. "Please watch over Connor. Stay in touch with me on the CB, and I'll contact you once I've found Jim Marks."

Mom nodded and watched me go. I climbed up a set of stairs I'd not seen in fifteen years.

II

I stepped outside the house and into the warm spring air of Maryland in 1977. It felt exactly as it did when I was six. It felt like 1977, somehow. Even the air felt cleaner. Purer. I walked down the driveway and passed the old 1949 Fold my father kept under a tarp. He used to proclaim he'd fix it up. That never happened. Behind it sat the 1976 Chevette that would become my first car in 1987. I couldn't get over how new the Chevette looked. It was beaten up, run-down, and in terrible shape when I inherited it. The car sitting before me now was barely a year old.

Driving it was much easier than I remembered. I turned on the CB radio, tuned to channel 13, and decided to run a test. "Break one three for home base. Conundrum calling for a channel test, please respond."

Pause. "I hear you, Kevin," Mom said through the CB speaker. "Can you hear me?"

"Ten-four."

"I don't know CB talk," Mom said. "Is that okay?"

"Copy," I said. "Don't worry about it. I'm leaving now. Break channel if you need me."

"Okay. Be careful." I smiled. That was something she always said to me after I learned to drive. It carried on well into my adult life.

The drive up Arthur Avenue was strange, weird, bizarre, and dreamlike all mixed into some more significant word whose name is still unknown even in 2006. I passed the Freedom Bingo Hall down in the valley. The mercury vapor lights that light the parking lot at night caught my eye. They'd kept me awake for many nights in my youth while the seniors played Bingo. I'd lie in my bed, in my old bedroom, and watching those lights and the activity below. I used to see if I could stay up long enough to watch those lights turn off. I obsessed about such things as a child. Life was so much simpler then. Life was fun, and I felt safe. What more could a child ask for?

Then, of course, the real world would fall into my lap twelve years later, and it all becomes an entirely different story. Those feelings of comfort and safety are long gone. Now all I have to look forward too is stress, work, divorce, court dates, and wondering how to pay the bills each month. I think that's why I continuously dream about living in the Arthur Avenue house of my childhood. It was my safe place when life was good, and I had no worries.

I reached the top of Arthur Avenue and decided to take Route 26 through Eldersburg and straight to Route 27. There I would make a right and continue toward Westminster and eventually the dirt driveway where Jim Marks was supposed to be. It might not have been the shortest route, but it was the simplest, and that would do fine.

I pondered the scene in amazement as I drove down Route 26. In my time of 2006, there was a full-fledged traffic light at this intersection of Oakland Mill Road and Route 26. In 1977, there was none. I'd forgotten about that. The cars that buzzed back and forth were all late model automobiles from the sixties and seventies. I couldn't wrap my head around the reality of where I was. To everyone around me, this was all real and current. To me, it was all almost thirty years old, yet completely new. I wondered, if I was to mingle with other people, would I stand out somehow? I wore only jeans, a white-collar shirt, and a black sports jacket. Yet I had to wonder if there were enough differences between the clothing styles of 2006 and 1977 to stand out.

A space in traffic opened up. I pulled the Chevette onto Route 26 and began the trek toward Eldersburg. The beauty of the landscape without all the development Eldersburg had been subject to over the last thirty years overwhelmed me. I reached the bridge crossing the Liberty reservoir. It was lower and smaller than I remembered. It wouldn't be until the 1980s when the bridge would receive a significant overhaul. I never realized it when I was younger and smaller how intimidating this bridge could be. I see that now as an adult. The road was so small, and there were no guardrails to speak of.

The big shock came when I reached Eldersburg. All the landmarks familiar to me from my childhood and teenage years were gone. They'd not yet been built. The older mom and pop businesses such as the Harvest Inn and the Tangiers Crab House were still here, although much newer in appearance. The Hardees building and the Pizza Hut building, both places I worked in my youth on the opposite side of the road, were still undeveloped land areas.

The entrance to the Carrolltowne Mall was not yet the intersection I remember. There was no McDonald's restaurant across the street. The road leading to the McDonalds entrance was still a dirt path. Also absent were the strip and mini-malls that lined Route 26. Watching the Carrolltowne Mall as I drove past it was an experience in and of itself. I vividly remember the mall as unenclosed as a child. It wasn't until the 80s that the mall became enclosed. But damn if I don't remember the complex being so small. The old FotoHut kiosk in the parking lot brought a smile to my face. Another staple of my childhood that disappeared into the mists of time was now alive and well.

After the mall passed, I drove miles through farmland as far as the eye could see. The business boom of the 1980s had yet to come to Eldersburg. Part of me wanted to stop and purchase a disposable camera to document this trip. How wonderful it was to see Eldersburg again in its youth when it was just a baby. Connor's disapproving voice invaded my tempting thoughts. There should be no contact with anyone. I'm also sure there were no disposable cameras in 1977. The more significant issue would be money. The only bills I had on me had been printed after the year 2000. Money from the future got me into this mess, to begin with. Providing Connor and Ryan with yet another mission to correct someone's ignorance of the timeline didn't seem a wise thing. There was already going to be hell to pay for leaving my mother's house in this time to find Jim Marks.

With that thought, I tried Jim Marks on Connor's communicator. The result bore no fruit. One would think that such an advanced device would have some kind of voice mail feature. I wondered what kind of network these things used since it wasn't a cellular. I'd have to ask Connor about that later.

The next major intersection out of Eldersburg was Route 26 and Route 32. I also forgot the right turn lane onto Route 32 was a curved road off Route 26. This brought a smile to my face as well. Yet another small detail I overlooked when the intersection turned into a traffic lighted and multilane road.

Without forethought, I switched into that right turn lane. I began traveling south on Route 32, an apparent out-of-the-way detour to the outskirts of Westminster.

"What the fuck are you doing, Kev?" I asked myself.

I knew what I was doing. I was heading directly toward Freedom Elementary School, where my five-year-old self attended first grade. Something I needed to accomplish awaited me. Something I remembered.

III

It was gym playtime. Keri Wilk, Jeri Ryan, and I were taking turns climbing across the jungle gym. Keri and Jeri were giggling with each other because my belly button was showing every time I hung upside down from one of the jungle gym bars. I kept asking them to stop because it wasn't funny.

*

I passed the vast empty field where the country would eventually build Liberty High School and the future intersection that would lead to it. It was only a right-hand turn onto Bennett Road right now. Freedom Elementary would be the upcoming entrance on my left. I slowed the car and took that left into the school parking lot as my heart raced. I remembered this happening, only I remembered it differently.

*

As I pulled myself up onto the jungle gym, I saw daddy's car pulling into the parking lot in front of the school. He was driving his new car and not the blue truck he usually drove to work. I pointed to the car to show Keri and Jeri. 'That's my daddy's car,' I told them.

*

I pulled the Chevette into the parking space nearest the playground area, which was still a considerable distance to the playground. Even so, I could see the three children playing on the recently installed jungle gym. I remember that new jungle gym so clearly. It was a big deal back then. The boy at the top of the jungle gym pointed at me.

*

Jeri asked me what my dad was doing at school. I shrugged my shoulders and waved at daddy.

*

In awe, I watched a five-year-old version of myself wave at me. He believed I was his father driving the old (new) Chevette. I lifted my hand without thinking and waved back.

*

I couldn't see daddy's face. He waved back. I waited to see if he came to come to see me. He did not. He drove away.

IV

Coming to my senses, I pushed the Chevette into reverse and quickly drove back toward Route 26 in my effort to find Jim Marks. The reality of where I was and how much trouble I could get into began to set in. It didn't feel good. I felt very alone knowing there was no one I could turn to, especially if something bad were to happen to me. Would I turn to the 1977 version of my mother? The paradox danger there was so great. I wondered if my life back in 2006 would remotely be the same. The mother I knew in my time would've been carrying around the secret of my time travel for nearly thirty years. How does one do something like that? On the other hand, would I ultimately allow Connor to use the Löschen on her, thus blanking this whole experience?

The overwhelming sensation of being alone began to eat away at me. I was consciously aware this might lead to a full-blown panic attack, a condition in which I was all too familiar. Obtaining a quickie prescription for Xanax would prove impossible, assuming Xanax was even a viable product in the late seventies.

I was now three miles out of Eldersburg heading toward Route 27. The panic had not yet subsided. In fact, it was getting worse with the realization that I was indeed in 1977 and lost in a time not my own. All the landmarks lining Route 26 I took for granted over the years were gone. 'Gone' wasn't even the right word to describe what I was seeing. Technically speaking, they weren't gone. They never existed. I expected certain things to be in order, and they weren't. It's like a form of chaos in reverse. The reality I know hasn't happened yet. I am living in the past, but it's technically the present in which I am supposed to be a five-year-old boy. I don't belong here. It doesn't feel right to be here. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be back in my house in Florida, waiting to see my son where everything is right and in order even if life in 2006 sucks.

Sweat began to trickle down my brow. This is it. This is the panic attack that will force me to interact with people in 1977. Will this be something Connor can fix? The pressure of remaining isolated bore down on me to the point where I thought I might snap.

Where was I now? There were no landmarks I knew of to keep my frame of reference.

I'm lost! Where am I?

I pulled the Chevette over to the side of the road, stopped, and pulled the button on the steering column to flash the hazard lights. These actions became necessary as I believed I was losing consciousness. The tunnel vision began. My head began to spin. I grabbed the top of the steering wheel and lowered my head to the horn. I began to scream.

The communicator device in my breast pocket blared out a robotic chirp. I yanked it out and flipped it open.

"Help me!" I said in a gasp. "I'm losing it! I don't know what's happening to me!"

"Who is this? Please identify your self," the voice on the other side said. His accent was notably German.

I completely forgot what I was supposed to say. "Kevin. My name is Kevin. I mean, Conundrum. Is this Jim Marks?"

"How are you accessing this frequency?" The voice asked. "This is a restricted frequency."

(Zis iza vestreeckted vreequenzy)

"I'm here with Connor MacKenzie," I said. My eyes were still squeezed shut, so I didn't have to deal with the tunnel vision. I feared doing so would only make it worse. "He had a bunch of stuff he wanted me to say, uh, TDI-1 Proxy, code name Conundrum. And, um, some Greek letters. Fuck! I can't remember what they are now. Something is wrong with me. I'm going to pass out. I can't think straight."

"Okay, Conundrum. Listen to me very carefully. I believe you are experiencing a mild form of Temporal Psychosis. It will pass. You need to take a deep breath and focus on my voice. Do you understand?"

A _mild_ form?

"Yes," I said through my erratic breathing and his barely comprehensible German accent. I took in a deep breath and held it for a moment. My racing pulse demanded more air. I blew out my breath and attempted to breathe slower. "Is this FCAL-1?"

"It is," Jim replied. "I need you to try and remember what Connor told you, Conundrum. It will help me understand your situation."

"Okay." I began to force control of my breathing. I didn't look up from the floor of the Chevette. "I think it's MacKenzie-four, uh – Pi, Epsilon, no wait, maybe it was Upsilon, then Omega. Is that it?"

"Which is it?" Jim asked. "Epsilon or Upsilon?"

"I don't know, man!" I snapped. "They both sound the same to me!"

"Okay, Conundrum. Hold it together. I know you do not understand what is happening to you, and I am going to help. I am already on my way to your location. Please do not leave the car or drive away. I will be able to find you with the communication device you are using. Are you able to do this for me, Conundrum? Are you able to wait until I arrive?"

I sighed. "Kevin. My name is Kevin," I said. "I don't know how or why I got stuck with the Conundrum name. It used to be my CB handle a long time ago."

"Fair enough, Kevin," Jim said calmly. "You may call me Jim."

"I'll call you savior if you can get me out of this mess," I said. "None of this feels real to me anymore, Jim. I feel like I'm in a bad dream that I can't wake up from."

"I understand what you are feeling," Jim said with assurance. "We all go through it once or twice. Focus on your breathing and the sound of my voice until I get there."

"It's Upsilon," I said. "I remember now cause I thought it sounded like Epsilon when Connor said it."

"Okay." Jim sounded more convinced. "Am I to understand Connor became incapacitated and is hiding here in this time and seeking help from me before he dies? Is that correct, Kevin?"

"Yes. It is," I said in awe. "How did you get all that from those Greek letters?"

The precise German inflection reminded me of Alan Rickman from the movie 'Die Hard.' "It is a complicated code we use when dealing with proxies. It is for the protection of everyone involved. Do not take it personally."

"None taken." I lifted my head to see the countryside. The attack was passing. I felt I might be okay now that I had Jim Marks to help me in Connor's absence.

"Tell me what happened in as few sentences as you are able," Jim said. "The quicker I understand the situation, the quicker I will devise a solution."

I gave Jim the summary of what happened over the last two days, beginning at the Sarasota Square Mall with me ending up on the side of the road freaking out. "Is that good enough, Jim?"

"Yes, Kevin. You did fine. I understand completely. I will be at your location within five minutes. I am driving a tan 1971 Plymouth Duster."

I whistled. "That's an obscure old car."

The CB radio crackled. "Kevin, are you there?" Mom asked.

"Ten-four, home base," I replied. "What's going on?"

"Connor is getting worse," Mom said. She sounded deadly serious. "How close are you to finding this guy?"

"Did you copy that, Jim?" I asked while not keying up the CB mic.

"Ten-four," Jim replied. "Find out what is wrong, please."

I keyed up the CB mic. "What do you mean 'getting worse,' Mom?"

"His breathing stop sometimes for a few seconds, and then it starts again. Sometimes he coughs, and it's started getting bloody."

"Copy that," Jim said.

"He's with you?" Mom asked in surprise. "Why didn't you say so?"

I sighed. "He's not yet. I'm talking to him on Connor's communicator. He should be with me soon, and then we'll be about ten minutes out."

"Okay, Kevin," Mom said, unsure. "Please hurry."

"Ten-four," I said. I hung up the CB mic.

"Here is my plan, Kevin," Jim began. "When I get to you, I want you to lead me to Connor's location as quickly as possible. It is serious enough that we should drive quickly and over the speed limit. If law enforcement pulls us over, allow me to deal with it. Time is running out."

"Copy," I said, feeling helpless.

V

Within minutes, Jim's Dodge pulled up over the hill and slowed down to allow me to take the lead. We drove down Liberty Road through Eldersburg and back toward the Arthur Avenue house. I pushed the Chevette as fast as it would go, which was not very fast. Jim was able to keep up without any difficulty. We returned to my mother's house within five minutes, sans any stops by the police.

In other words, we got lucky.

I can only imagine what Jim would have done to a cop who stopped us. Maybe I didn't want to know what this Brüder-as-a-human was capable of even if he was a fifth column Brüder.

Mom was waiting for us at the side door off the right side of the driveway. Jim parked his Dodge off to the opposite side of the driveway. He quickly made his way into the house without paying either mom or me much attention. I did get my first good look at him. Connor suggested he was very old. He didn't look any older than I did. His facial features were typical German, dirty blonde hair, and blue eyes. He also carried a black bag.

I parked the Chevette precisely as I found it. I looked over at Jim's car as I walked around the Chevette. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of Jim's car. It was eerily familiar. The déjà vu was too much to explain at that moment. It was as if I had literally stood on the edge of this very driveway looking at this very car.

Why?

Mom called out for me. I looked back over my shoulder.

I saw the exact same image in my head of my mother holding my baby sister's hand. In this image, Mom quickly approaches me to move me away from the abandoned car at the end of the road. A tan Dodge.

I gasped. That really happened to me when I was a child. It was the night after that freak thunderstorm woke me up. It couldn't be the same car. Yet I knew in my heart it was. The contradiction with the memory was my age. I was ten when we discovered the Dodge abandoned at the bottom of Arthur Avenue. The year had been 1981, which was four years from now. The timing was all off. Was this part of Connor's theory of preordainment, or was our presence here in 1977 actually a paradox? I needed to get this information to Connor.

I walked back to Mom. She gazed at me with disbelief after Jim breezed right by her and into the basement. I shook my head. "Don't take it personally. He's really concerned about Connor."

"Are you okay? You don't look well."

"The whole time travel thing is a little hard to grasp," I said, admitting my mortality. I walked into the house. "It's getting a little too real for me. Seeing Eldersburg the way it is now...or the way it was. I don't know how to process it."

I proceeded down the stairs into the basement. Mom followed. "The way it was," Mom repeated. "I suppose it's a lot different in the next century."

"You could say that," I said. "I wish there was a way I could go to PJ's Pub before I leave and have their pizza one more time."

"They're closed?"

"Yeah. Sometime in the 90s, I think. Eventually, it becomes an enclosed mall, and everything changes."

Mom said nothing. I walked over to Jim, who was using a device I didn't recognize. He used it to take readings from an unconscious Connor.

Jim looked up. He addressed both Mom and I. "Have you given him any kind of medicine? Given him anything to drink?"

"No," Mom answered. I shook my head in agreement.

Jim picked up the device I used on myself to ease the trauma of time travel. "What about this? Did he use this on himself?"

"No," I said. "Connor had me use it on myself when we arrived to avoid getting sick again."

"Very well." Jim reached into his bag for a similar device. He gave Connor the injection.

"You got sick?" Mom asked in a whisper.

I chuckled softly. "Yeah. That's one way of putting it. Time travel isn't a pleasant experience. My first time was horrible. This last time wasn't as bad with that injection. It takes away a lot of the pain."

Mom put her hand on my upper arm in comfort. "It's so weird to hear you talk like an adult," Mom said. "You express yourself well."

I looked over and smiled. "Thanks."

Jim stood up. "I need to make room. Is it okay to push this sofa back?"

"Yes, of course," Mom replied.

As Connor lay on the couch, Jim pushed it toward to back of the basement about ten feet from where it sat. This left a wide-open space in the middle of the floor. He brought a spherical device out of his bag and set it down onto the floor in the area he'd created. He gave the sphere a gentle push down. The top half of the sphere opened into five sections revealing a small tube protruding from the center. The inside of the orb appeared to be the same type of unobtanium mercury-like substance as Brüder-2's exterior. Jim withdrew a glass rod from his bag. It looked exactly like the HoloLog rod Ryan took off The Corporation agents. Jim was prepared to push the rod into the center tube of the opened sphere. He stopped to look up at us.

"This may take you by surprise," he said. "Do not fear. This is what I need to do to fix the injuries Connor has sustained."

Mom nodded as she gripped my upper arm tighter. She peeked around from behind me. Jim dropped the rod in and stood back.

What happened next would have given Asimov, Clarke, or Phillip K. Dick a waking wet dream.

A rotor inside the sphere began to spin. It sent out what I can only describe as colored lights off the sphere's mirrors. An entire series of holographic panels and bed assembly formed right there in the middle of the basement out of thin air. The sphere was obviously a holographic projector of sorts. It hummed quietly beneath the bed assembly. My jaw was open as I stared in awe. I could only assume Mom's reaction was ten times as powerful as mine was.

"What the hell is all this?" Mom whispered.

"I...I don't know," I whispered in equal measure.

Jim gently picked Connor up off the sofa and laid him on top of the bed assembly. "It is a portable holographic medical facility," Jim said. "It will save the life of Connor."

"Is this how things work in the future?" Mom asked.

"No," I said. "This technology is thousands of years old."

Jim continued to strap Connor into the bed. "Thousands would be an exaggeration. We have adapted much of the original Brüder technology into the devices we use today."

"What is Brüder?" Mom asked.

Jim looked over toward her and then me. He shook his head in disapproval. What could I say? Jim was a Brüder, although he looked entirely human.

"I think, Mom, the question is 'who are the Brüder', and I don't think it's anything I can discuss at this point."

Jim looked up from one of the control panels. "That would be for the best. Perhaps you should accompany your mother into another room so I may work."

I tugged at mom's arm to move upstairs. "Can you save him?" I asked.

Jim did not look up from his work. "Yes."

I followed Mom up the stairs and into the kitchen of my childhood. I marveled at the gaudy 70s brown and tan decor. I sat in a chair that I'd not seen since I was in elementary school.

"Mom, you realize that you're going to have to keep everything you've seen here to yourself," I said. "You can't tell anyone. Not even your closest friends, Charlie, me, no one."

Mom looked unsure. "I don't know if I can do that, Kev. Not that I'd do it on purpose. Keeping a secret this big would be tough for anybody."

"Believe you me, I understand that," I said. "Maybe we need to think about having Connor blank your short term memory, so you don't remember any of this."

Mom sat down in the seat across from me. She lit up a Kool menthol cigarette, not looking at all thrilled. "I don't think I want him using that thing on me."

"I understand your skepticism," I said. "I don't remember it, but I'm certain that device was used on me before when I was younger."

Mom looked alarmed. "What? When was this?"

"It was right after I graduated high school. It seems I stumbled, or will stumble upon something related to the facility Connor and I came out of. I only remember bits and pieces of that day. It feels more like a dream to me. I think if Connor blanks this day for you, you'll wake up feeling as if everything that's happened here was nothing more than a fading dream. Eventually, you'll forget even that."

Mom sighed and looked at me as if for guidance. "I don't know, Kev. What do you think I should do?"

"You've never said anything about any of this to me growing up. Maybe the Mom I know agreed to it because if what's happening now has happened for me, then you either don't remember or managed to keep the biggest secret there is." I took her hand in mine. "I wouldn't let Connor do anything to you that I thought would be harmful."

Mom said nothing. She dragged on her cigarette while seeming to consider her options. "Maybe it would be better for all of us if I didn't remember what's happening here."

I smiled. "I promise. It'll be okay."

"Could I ask you something since I won't remember any of this?"

"Why not?"

"Are you married? Do I have grandchildren?"

I laughed at this. As a parent, this question might be the first thing I'd ask my son were I to meet an older version of him. "I was married. It didn't work out."

"Oh, Kev. I'm sorry,"

"Don't be. It was necessary for your grandson to be born. His name is Spencer, and he's six." I reached for my wallet and pulled out his picture.

Mom stared at it in awe. "Oh, my God. He looks just like you. I mean the you I know right now."

"I know. It's uncanny. We sometimes refer to him as 'little Kevin.'"

"What about your sister? Does she have kids?" I sighed and looked away. "What? What is it? Does something happen to her?"

"No, no, nothing like that. She and I don't really talk, so I'm not privy to what she does. She has two sons."

"You and your sister don't talk? Why not? What in the hell happens to our family, Kevin? First, you say you and your father have no relationship, and now you tell me that you and your sister are estranged? Something bad happens, doesn't it?"

"Mom, it doesn't matter. My telling you about everything that happens will just upset you. Why would you want that? There isn't anything you can do to stop it, especially if Connor is right about this whole time travel thing. What happens...happens. If you try to interfere with it, the consequences apparently can be very, very bad."

"I don't understand what that means," Mom said.

"I don't either," I said. "Connor has a series of directives concerning time travel to prevent such things like paradoxes from happening. Connor isn't even sure if what's happening now is preordained, or if we're changing things right now that will affect my future. If we mess things up now, then the place I end up going back to may not be the place I left. I don't know if I could live with that, in a world where Spencer didn't exist. So until I can get back to the 2006 I know, I'll do whatever it takes to save Connor and do whatever it is he asks of me."

Mom nodded. "Do Charlie and I get divorced?"

I sighed deliberately. "Mom! Didn't you hear me? Why do you want to know about these negative things?"

"I won't remember them anyway. Please, just tell me this one thing. I won't ask about anything else."

I paused. "Yes."

"Honestly, I'm not at all surprised to hear this."

I nodded. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"Do I get remarried?"

Well, so much for Mom not asking me about anything else that pertains to the future. "Yes, and he's a good man. He's very good to you and us."

Mom smiled. "I'm glad to hear something good comes from out of the ashes."

"All you've been asking about are the not so happy things. There are many good things too. You embrace the role of a grandparent with no resistance and flourish. Spencer adores you and Phil."

"Phil? Is he my next husband?" I covered my mouth, knowing I'd said too much. Mom nodded in understanding. "What becomes of your fath--, Charlie?"

"I really don't know. Nor do I really care. And neither will you."

Mom stood firmly. I knew what was coming. "What happened with him, Kevin?"

"Seriously, you'll find out in due time," I said, dodging the question again. Mom didn't break her stare. She stood with her arms folded. A stance I'd come to recognize over the years. Her actions indicated she was grave, and I was going to have to confess something.

"Please tell me."

I sighed. "Charlie is a very selfish man."

Mom rolled her eyes and offered a partial smile. "That's not much of a secret, Kev."

"Yeah, but it took on a whole different level after you two were divorced. Charlie eventually found a woman who would put up with him. She didn't much care for me."

"Why? Did you like her?"

"No," I said flatly. "She's as self-absorbed as Charlie is. I suspect she didn't like me because Charlie didn't like me. He wanted her to move into the house we were living in at the time, and she wouldn't. Well, at least not until I moved out."

"How old were you then?"

"Twenty. I had a whole set of my own problems at the time from years of his abuse. It left me with the mentality of a sixteen-year-old. I had no money, no job, no self-esteem, and no place to go. I was trapped."

"I don't understand. Where was I? Why didn't you stay with me?"

I looked away. "That's a whole different story I don't even really understand to this day. You were in your own world with your own issues. It was a time of change for all of us. Sometimes change is hard."

"Then what happened? Charlie threw you out, and you had no place to go?"

"If it had only been that simple. This wasn't just some incident that happened out of the blue. It was years of abuse and rejection from Charlie that fucked me up. Charlie was a very angry person back then. I took the brunt of that anger. I also took a good bit of anger that was meant for you. One day he snapped, and I think he meant to kill me. Or at the very least was looking for an excuse to do so."

Mom covered her mouth in shock. "I can't believe that, Kevin."

"Are you sure you want to know what happened now?"

Mom paused. She finally nodded her head in short and unsure movements.

VI

I began to speak of things I have never spoken of before.

# Chapter X: Malevolence

" _Having, showing, or arising from intense, often vicious ill will, spite, or hatred."_

****

Date: Friday, June 13, 1986

Location: Parent's house, Woodbine, Maryland

Age: 15

****

I

I needed a ruler. I was drawing a Nintendo Legend of Zelda level map and couldn't find one. I knew my father kept one in the tattered briefcase he took on various out-of-town business trips. Since he wasn't home for me to ask permission to use it, I figured I would just use it now and put it back when I was done. He'd be none the wiser.

I tracked down the briefcase in the utility room, which doubled as his workspace and opened it. The top's inner liner slid off. Letters in opened envelopes spilled onto the floor. Knowing all too well I would catch holy hell if I didn't cover my tracks, I attempted to pick up the assortment of letters, patch up the briefcase, and leave everything in its previous state. The briefcase no longer wanted to hold the lid liner in place with the letters behind it. I became curious as to why my father would want to hide such things since there was plenty of room in the actual briefcase.

I read one of the letters. Upon reading the first paragraph, I immediately wished I had minded my own business and skipped the temptation to be nosy. The words I read painted a rather adult description of what some woman named Lynn desired from my father. She wanted him just as it had been during their last time together. The return address on the envelope was Dayton, Ohio.

I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn't believe my father would cheat on my mother. This is a man whose love and respect I craved. My insides went cold. My stomach sank. The realization my father was an adulterer was probably my first foray into genuine disappointment. Dad spent a lot of time on the road driving a big rig to various parts of the country on behalf of the company for which he worked. Dayton, Ohio, had become a frequent destination in recent months. It always stood out to me, that location. He was in Dayton when he missed my fourteenth birthday. I stood there feeling real pain. He potentially blew off my birthday to fuck some slut in another state.

I struggled with the decision to take this newfound information to Mom. She should know. She deserved to know. After a lot of thought and pacing throughout the house, I decided that I'd show her.

"I already knew about this, Kev. It's over. It has been for a long time," Mom said dismissively when I shared with her what I had discovered.

I was stunned. "What? And you're okay with it?"

"I am now. Honestly, I thought your father had thrown all that stuff away. Where did you find it?"

"In his briefcase. I needed a ruler to draw my Zelda map. When I opened it, all these letters came pouring out."

Mom stopped reading her book and looked off toward the utility room where the briefcase sat on a cluttered desk. "Okay, Kev. Don't tell your father about any of this. I'll handle it."

Mother's nonchalant attitude was curious. "Was this the only one?"

"Only one what? The only time your father has been with another woman? No."

I felt my eyes bug out as my jaw fell. "What? How many were there?"

"One that I know of."

"That you know of? Mom! What the hell?"

"It doesn't...didn't have anything to do with you, Kev. Your father and I went through a rough patch back when we lived at Arthur Avenue."

"It was that far back?" I was hurt and confused. "How old was I?"

Mom stopped to think. "It was when Charlie took you and your sister to the skating rink on Fridays. Ten, maybe?"

"He had a girlfriend back when he spent all that time at Sportsman's Hall?"

Mom realized her verbal faux pas and attempt to cover her slip. "It was a long time ago. It's over and done with. Don't worry about it."

I looked off into the family room through the paned windows separating the two rooms. I remembered those Friday nights. I also remembered mom and dad having a massive fight after one of those weekends. They shouted at each other loud enough for my sister and me to hear them from the neighbor's house where they'd sent us that morning.

I looked back at mom. She'd already returned to her book. "That's what that big fight was all about at Arthur Avenue when I asked if you were getting a divorce from all that fighting."

Mom sighed. "Yes. That was one of the issues your father and I had at the time."

I began to process this new information. I was ten years old when I learned how to roller skate at Sportsman's Hall Skating Rink in Upperco, Maryland. Charlie would take my sister and me there on Friday nights and stash us in the beginner's rink. A solid concrete wall separated the main rink from the beginner rink. He would disappear into the main arena for most of the session. At the same time, my sister and I stumbled around on our own in the smaller beginner's rink. This became a regular event until I learned to skate well enough to venture out of the beginner's rink and into the main arena. At some point after, I watched Charlie couple skate with another woman. This shocked me. Not only because he was with another woman whom I'd never met, but also because she wasn't my mother. At that age, the concept of adultery is a foreign one. At least it should be. I ended up asking him why he was 'not skating with mommy.' His excuse amounted to his merely being friends with the woman, and that mommy wouldn't mind. I should also probably not mention it to her.

"She was the girl I saw Dad skating with, right?"

"Yes, dear. Her name was Ilene. She was Harry's sister-in-law."

It suddenly became evident. Harry Moorfoot owned the skating rink. He and Charlie always seemed friendly beyond the typical patron/proprietor relationship. I also didn't keep Charlie's secret after that night. Soon after I confessed his extracurricular activities with Ilene, my highly anticipated trips to the skating rink ended abruptly. Charlie would go by himself instead.

"So, Dad only took us to the skating rink so he could see this other woman?"

Mom sighed. She put down her book. "Yes, I suppose there's some truth to that, but your father does love you in his own way. I'm sure he enjoyed his time with you too."

Her words did not temper my anger. I could feel my face turning red. "Bullcrap! What time with me? He put us into the beginner's rink and left us there. We didn't see him again until it was time to go!"

"He did?"

I was irritated now. "Yes! Week after week. When I finally got good enough to get out and into the main rink, I must have become a problem for him. That would've been about the time he stopped taking us."

Mom thought about it. "That sounds about right."

The thought of my sister and me as nothing more than Charlie's excuse to go off and screw his girlfriend behind my mother's back troubled me. Harry lived at the rink in an apartment behind the rink building. This gave Charlie and Ilene a quick and close place to enjoy each other's company. That explained why Charlie and Harry got on so well.

Tears welled up. I felt a lot of pain. Mom noticed. "What's wrong, Kev?"

"I feel used and betrayed," I said through sniffles. "Why didn't you ever tell me about any of this?"

Mom sighed. "First, I want you to know its okay to feel this way. Second, what your father did was incredibly selfish. You have to understand that it wasn't about you. He didn't do it to hurt you. You were just a little boy at the time and didn't need to know what was going on between your father and me. It's not something parents share with their children. I told myself if you ever found out about what your father did that I'd tell you the truth. And here we are."

I looked at her bitterly. "But I am hurt. Dad didn't do nice things for us out of love or because he wanted to. He did it to go see Ilene. We were just his excuse. He used me to have his own way." Mom said nothing. I knew when she paused this way, it meant she didn't have an answer and was going to cover it up with a stock answer about how it was not my fault and how Charlie loves me in his own way. I stopped her before she had the opportunity. "One of my best and favorite memories from childhood was going to Sportsman's Hall on Fridays and learning to skate. Now it's tarnished. I won't be able to remember them anymore without knowing why I was really there. It wasn't about Dad wanting to teach us to skate; it was about his having sex with another woman and cheating on you. I will never forgive him for that. Never! What kind of father uses his own children that way? He's an asshole!"

Mom hugged me. She let my curse slide. "I agree with you. Sometimes your father can be a big asshole."

II

Mom told me years later she didn't know about Lynn from Dayton, Ohio, on the day I presented her with the information from Charlie's briefcase. She was as surprised as I was. She explained the lie was necessary, so I wouldn't be upset, even at cost to her self. This disclosure on top of the actual affair added to the anger I harbored at Charlie. The man was a pig. All he cared about was having sex with the first willing receptacle to have him. I understood now. He had no problem stepping on people he claimed to love to further whatever agenda he had for himself.

In essence, I began to hate my father for who he was.

III

The following are statements my biological father said to me many times during my teenage years.

" _You'll never amount to anything."_

" _You can't do anything right."_

" _You are your mother's favorite."_

" _Your mother loves you more than she does me."_

" _If it weren't for you, I'd have more money."_

" _Your mother doesn't put out for me."_

" _You're lazy."_

" _You're a slob."_

I could go on. The man didn't think very highly of me. I never truly understood why. I often wondered if this is how an unloved and unwanted stepchild felt. In turn, I often wondered if the man I grew up calling 'daddy' was, in fact, my real father. Mom said he was during the many times I pressed her about the possibility that some other man might be the true paterfamilias. Unfortunately, there was no other man. These conversations would usually end the same way with Mom suggesting that for all his faults, my father loved me in his own way.

She would retract her claim in the aftermath of the events from March 13, 1992.

IV

My parents divorced in 1990 after mom asked Charlie to leave the house. She declared the marriage over. It was no real mystery why. For all the petty bullshit that went on, his multiple affairs ultimately sealed his fate.

I was glad to see him go. Post high school, I didn't much like him as a person. Mostly due to the way he treated me and the way he treated mom. In fact, I sometimes believe the only person he honestly had any interest in was my sister, and not for the reasons a father should love his daughter. I'm not sure if anyone witnessed what I did. The way he looked at her and watched her was disturbing. His gazes were not looks of pride or love. They were covetous. Looking back, I think mom ejected Charlie from the house just in time, before he could cross any lines.

After Charlie left, he went to live in a small camper on one of the job sites he managed and began drinking excessively. He wasted no time in finding a rebound. She'd been an unsuspecting single mother with one teenage daughter. He latched onto them for dear life. In the process, he all but forgot his own children. We rarely heard from him. He showed up once for my birthday and once for my sister's birthday. He took us out to eat at PJ's Pub and paid each of us off with a crisp, new one hundred dollar bill. He would return to his new life immediately afterward. I found out in the years that followed that mom actually had to call him and remind him of our birthdays and suggested - if not insisted - that he might want to do something with us. I don't know if my feelings were hurt. I no longer had a father. Perhaps it was because he tried to buy me off with dinner and money to make up for the year he ignored me. There was now a noticeable distance between us. A distance no bridge could span.

During the first year Charlie was absent from our lives in 1990, Mom found a well-paying job and did her best to maintain the big old farmhouse in which we all lived. I tried to do the college thing at the time while doing my best to keep the acre and a half yard maintained. Between mom's job, the size of the house, and the work it needed, none of us could keep it properly maintained. A year later, in 1991 when my parent's divorce was final, Charlie bought her out of her half of the house and took it over. He made it clear on many occasions he wanted that house for his own.

The exchange between mother and father's living arrangements would occur the week after my sister graduated high school. She would go to Ocean City, Maryland, for Senior Week with her friends while I would go with mine. Upon our return, Charlie had moved in while Mom moved out and into an apartment in Eldersburg.

I'd expressed several times to mom my concern about the living arrangement with Charlie. It would never work out. All he cared about was his self and whomever he was fucking. I would tell mom that Charlie didn't love me and that living in that house with him would be disastrous. She would then say, as she always did, that he loved me in his own way, and everything would work out. Mom then advised my sister and me that she couldn't afford to house us in her apartment. If we wanted to live with her, then we would need to get full-time jobs and contribute. It was something I said I would give serious consideration after I returned from Senior week. Sadly, that consideration never happened. Wald's death and the aftermath would bring about the end of life as I'd known it for so many years. What was to come would be one of the worst years of my life to date.

My sister and I weren't back from Ocean City a single day when Charlie sat us down and laid out the new laws we were to operate under if we were to live in his house. Some were reasonable. Some were not. He seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that I'd just lost one of my best friends and more interested in what my sister and I could do for him while living in his house, a direct quote.

By 1992, Charlie quit his full-time job in an attempt to start his own business with his current girlfriend. For weeks, they didn't do much except to turn the family room into an office supply storage area. The exception to that clutter were two desks they set up for themselves complete with Charlie's latest obsession; a brand new 386 IBM clone. No one could go anywhere near that prized possession. Charlie and his girlfriend were the sole exceptions. I asked him on several occasions if I could use the word processor to work on various papers that needed typing. He told me, 'No! Under NO circumstances are you to go anywhere near that computer.' Additionally, he informed me that I 'might do something stupid and fuck it up.'

Selfish prick.

Fuck him and his fucking computer. If anyone were destined to screw it up, it'd be Charlie. He likes to think he's so fucking smart and special because he owns a computer. Good for him. I often hoped he'd fry the fucking thing. Besides, I'm sure if he managed to blow it up, he'd find some way to blame the whole thing on me and give him yet another excuse to slap me around some more.

V

Friday, March 13, 1992

Charlie's house, Woodbine, Maryland

I woke up early again, panting and sweating from another nightmare about Wald and the tragedy in Ocean City. A recurring dream with Wald standing on the pier dressed in jeans, a black sports coat, and a white-collar shirt as he holds a slice of shrimp pizza as if he's going to eat it, but never does. Wald also suggests many times over that he's not actually dead. He asks me if I am a stranger who comes as a friend, and then I wake up with the ringing of Christina Buchanan's voice in my head, asking me if I want her.

Wald had been dead for eight months now. It took the first two of them for me to admit that aloud versus the possibility of him still missing in Ocean City. That breakthrough came in the form of a girl I'd met and fallen madly in love with. Her name is Becca Saccarelli. She was dating Andy Taylor when we met. In my grief or denial of it, she and I quickly developed a relationship. I connected with her in ways I didn't understand and didn't question. Taylor eventually found out. The remains of the Card Player's Circle crumbled into dust.

Becca and I were together for one short month. In that time, she looked into me and past all the bullshit. She pulled out the part of me in denial and forced me to confront it. Unfortunately, everything went straight to hell the morning after she and I made love for the first time. She was only sixteen, and her parents hated me. They found out she and I were sexually active the day after it happened. They didn't take the revelation well and gave Becca an ultimatum. She could continue to see me and be kicked out of the house after high school. This included the loss of her college funding. Or she could be rid of me and keep the status quo.

It's not that we didn't try to outwit her parents. We tried.

Enter Mike Daniels.

Becca's mother only spoke to me once. It was an interrogation over the morning Becca and I made love. She suggested I stay away for a while. Within days, it was a forced breakup. Becca's parents had never met me. They didn't know what I looked like or what kind of car I drove. They only knew my voice. I came up with a plan to add a New York accent to my voice and become someone else. Through a series of events in which Becca's mother and I would unexpectedly come face to face, Becca quickly gave me the moniker of Mike. I came up with the Daniels surname. No particular reason why. It just popped into my head.

The charade worked for a little while. I pretended to be a student at Becca's high school too. Then Becca got into an accident in her P.E. class. She ended up with a plastic cast. Her mother picked up her missed schoolwork, which included going into her locker for books. Becca kept my senior photo taped inside of the locker door. I'd signed that photo with my real name and not Mike Daniels. Her mother read the back of the picture.

Her parents went ballistic. They took everything away from her. The next day, I received a rather violent beating from Charlie over the phone bill. Specifically, all the long distances charges accumulated from all the calls I'd made to Damascus, Maryland, to Becca over that month.

That's when the mind-induced aberrations of Wald began. He told me I needed to find a way to see Becca one more time and that I'd have to let her go. "Bigger things were happening," he said. "Bigger things were coming."

The next day Becca called me from school, and I asked her if we could sneak out later that night because I needed to see her. I'd begun cooking up another idea.

She agreed. That night, we met in an old and unused barn behind her house. She got to see first hand the damage my father had done to me, a bruised face, a black eye, and some broken ribs. We found a place in the hay to cuddle. I asked her that night to run away with me. I explained that even though she'd be away at college next year, her parents could still find out she was seeing me. They could easily cut off her college funding at any time, which would turn a wait until she began college into four or more years. She knew her parents would never let this go. I was also ready to leave because I was done with my father and his beatings. She and I, we could run away and start over. We were so madly in love and couldn't bear the thought of being separated.

She agreed to go. We'd leave within a week and head for Summerville, South Carolina, a place she loved. The mind-induced vision of Wald kept intruding. He would tell me to make the moment last, for it'd be the last. I'd have to let her go. Bigger things were happening; bigger things were coming.

Eventually, the time came for Becca to return to her house. I walked her to the edge of her yard. She was so happy and so excited to begin our new life away from Maryland.

She turned to me before she walked into the house. The light from the moon gave her soul capturing green eyes their own glow. She smiled then and blew me a kiss. I caught it with my hand and placed it over my heart. She waved goodbye.

That was the last time I ever saw Becca Saccarelli.

That image of her is all I have left now.

It haunts me still.

Why did I never see Becca again? Well, something terrible fell upon her. I still can't talk about it.

One more vision of Wald appeared to me in the aftermath of that summer. He told me that Becca had played her part in my story. She helped me get over the hump of denying his death for so long. She'd helped me let go, and now it was time for me to move forward. He would allude to the incident at the Liberty Reservoir, the one I couldn't remember as a big reason why.

Bigger things were happening, blah, blah, blah...

I told Wald I never wanted to see him again.

The entire experience of losing Becca left me devastated. On top of losing my best friend that summer, I lost the girl who meant more to me than any before her. One doesn't merely break the kind of connection Becca and I had and walk away unscathed. I stopped caring about a great many things after Becca was gone. There didn't seem to be much point to anything. It set me on a course of self-destruction I had yet to appreciate fully.

The Mike Daniels persona took on a life of its own after that summer. The person I'd always been, he was a weak little boy who let people walk all over him, mainly at the hands of my father. When I was Mike, with the New York accent and the attitude, I became someone else. Mike had the confidence Kevin never had. He wouldn't take shit off anyone. Mike kept me sane during the worst of my father's beratings and beatings. I know now that if I'd not had the Mike persona to help me through, I'd have gone crazy, perhaps up to and including suicide.

No matter where I went or whom I met, I was Mike Daniels. It got so bad that I began introducing myself to people with that very name.

Then one morning, the Mike persona took over and gave Charlie a taste of his own medicine.

Everything changed after that.

VI

It was a little past eight in the morning and freezing fucking cold. One of Charlie's stupid rules was to keep the thermostat set to sixty-eight degrees at all times. Any deviation from that number would earn one a reprimand. Anyone living in his house should compensate by wearing multiple layers of clothing. I was dressed in a pair of ripped shorts and a tie-dye t-shirt. I'd worry about clean clothes after a shower.

My first concern focused on Charlie's presence. Would he be home, or would he be away? It was a daily gamble. My relationship with him for the longest time was a textbook case of the son who, time and again, went out of his way to find new and different ways to earn his father's love and approval. The result was always the same. Failure. In the end, I couldn't do anything right, no matter how hard I tried. That relationship slowly began to change. I began to harbor severe anger and resentment toward my father.

Every so often, I'd try to remember instances of Charlie telling me he was proud he was of me. I could remember none. That type of praise only ever came from my mother.

VII

I carefully walked out of my room so the floorboards of the century-old farmhouse wouldn't creak with each step. My sister's bedroom faced the top of the stairwell. Activity bristled on the other side of her closed door. Either she was getting ready for the day or entertaining company. This would be a bonus for me as Charlie had a propensity to behave himself if my sister and or her friends were around.

I tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs. Charlie was home this morning. I could hear him fucking around on his precious computer. I think he deluded himself into believing he was accomplishing something useful. He was, in fact, entranced in another game of solitaire. I stood there and rolled my eyes to no one in particular. He and his girlfriend would talk for hours about how they would be millionaires within a year.

It's worth noting they failed miserably and quit altogether within months of launching.

Charlie's girlfriend was markedly absent this morning. She was probably with her kids at her home in Westminster. Jan and her kids were a completely different issue. Charlie liked to spend time with them, but not us. Mom forced me into therapy over the whole Mike Daniels persona with the understanding Charlie would attend sessions as needed. He never showed up. Instead, he would go to Jan's son's therapy right down the hall from mine. That part hurt me the most. Charlie was willing to take time to go to her son's treatment, but not mine. But wait...it gets better! Jan's son required therapy due to an abusive father. Charlie wanted to be there for him while telling Jan he couldn't believe a father could act in such a terrible way. I do think that was the point in which I gave up on Charlie. Utterly, completely, and forever. Everything between he and I that followed was I doing nothing more than going through the motions.

I slid into the kitchen while doing my best to remain inconspicuous. A three-window wall separated the kitchen and the family room. The end windows were open.

Charlie didn't seem to notice me. I was grateful for small favors. Perhaps I'd get through the morning without having to bear some form of his wrath for simply breathing his air. I was convinced that if he could find a way to charge me for doing so, he would.

Breakfast was on my mind. If you want to call it that. When it came to food and meals, Megan and I were not to touch any of the food Charlie bought for himself or Jan. We received an allowance of twenty-five dollars to purchase our own food for the week and live off that. My sister had so many friends in which to mooch regular meals, food was never a problem for her. I quickly learned how to stretch that money to last all week. I bought basic foodstuffs such as bread, eggs, milk, and so on.

On infrequent occasions, I would attempt to take some of Charlie's precious food. Sometimes I'd get so hungry that I didn't know what else to do. He must have kept military-style inventory on everything. I learned very quickly he would notice even the littlest of things missing. Such violations would earn me a reprimand. A slap here, a punch there, and occasionally a whack with the bungee strap. I freely admit I no longer had any respect for the man. This was an enormous problem for him. Charlie was under the impression that simply because he'd gotten my mother pregnant and showed up in my life when it suited him, it somehow entitled him to some form of instant respect. I've always believed respect is an attribute earned and not given. I also made this clear to him on several occasions. It usually ended in my blood spilled. I learned to cover up the bruises so my friends wouldn't see them. I suspect they knew but had the good sense not to discuss it with me. I probably would've denied it anyway.

There was enough milk, eggs, and bread left to make a couple of slices of French toast sans syrup. The only syrup in the house was Charlie's 'Knott's Berry Farm' blueberry syrup. It was so good. It was also unavailable to anyone who was not Charlie or his squeeze. In the past, I'd attempted to sneak a little bit of it here and there when he wasn't looking. Eventually, and unbeknownst to me, he caught onto my syrup embezzlement. He began marking the level of syrup on the bottle. One morning he took me aside and accused me of stealing his precious blueberry syrup. I denied it, of course. I knew the consumption of any food item purchased by him without prior permission meant a beating. He then displayed the marked lines on the bottle where the syrup level should be and where it actually was and noted the apparent discrepancy. The gig was up. My days of enjoying even the smallest amount of flavor with my French toast were over. I confessed citing there was not enough money in my shopping budget for any kind of syrup at all. This, of course, was not his problem. It led me to make some quip about the whole process not being fair. Further words would ensue. The confrontation ended with Charlie pushing me around or slapping me, always followed by his mantra, "I am your father, you will respect me!"

No syrup meant butter would have to suffice. I cautiously broke the silence to ask for permission to use the butter. Charlie acknowledged me with a nod and dismissed me with the flick of his hand. There were no encouraging words such as 'thank you for asking my permission, you saved yourself from a major chewing out and possibly a good slap to start your day.'

And there you have the ugly dance that became my life for the last eight months. I lost a lot of weight in that time. I was six foot two and, at my worst, weighed about 160 lbs. Everyone noticed. That is, everyone but Charlie. I wondered if this was his way to either get us out of his house or outright kill us. Every night I would observe him stuff his face with good food all while knowing his own flesh and blood children were hungry.

In silence, I began mixing the eggs and milk while the frying pan began to heat up. I opened the butter dish to lob a chunk into the pan. It came up empty. A quick check of the refrigerator revealed no backup bars. This left me with frozen butter from the freezer. Peeling the wrapper off the frozen butter stick was going to be a bitch. Instead, I put the frozen stick of butter into the butter dish, cut off a small slice, and unrolled the slab of butter directly into the pan. I then threw the strip of wrapper away.

The butter began to melt. Hunger pangs spread throughout my empty stomach.

Charlie walked into the kitchen. He looked over my shoulder from behind. "Is there any reason you didn't unwrap the butter?" I didn't respond. "Now it's going to thaw in the wrapper, and it'll be a big fucking mess."

I lowered my head. "I haven't gotten to it yet," I said quietly

"What?" He snapped. "I can't hear you!"

"I said, 'I haven't gotten to it yet.' There was no butter in the fridge, so I had to get one out of the freezer. It was easier to cut off a small slice with the wrapper still on. I'll take the wrapper off when I'm done."

He pushed me from behind. The force slammed me into the stove. The edge of the searing hot frying pan burned a mark into my right arm. I yanked it back, giving no indication he'd hurt me.

I felt my face prune up, my eyes squint, and my eyebrows lower. Mike Daniels was here.

"No! You'll do it now!" He walked out of the kitchen. "When I come back, I want to see that butter unwrapped the right way."

The right way? Was there a set of instructions somewhere documenting the proper steps to unwrap a stick of butter? If so, I'd not received a copy. That would somehow be my fault too.

Something inside me snapped. I felt the angry Mike part of me manifest itself. I took the spatula, slammed it into the frying pan, and whipped around. "Why you always looking for something to get in my face about? Huh?" I shouted back. My voice was now in full New York accent. "I'm sick and fuckin' tired of it! No matter how hard I try, I can't do a fuckin' thing right!"

Charlie charged into the kitchen, and chest bumped me into the edge of the sink. He wasted no time getting up in my face. I cringed when it became evident he'd not yet brushed his teeth for the morning. "While you are living in my house, you will follow my rules and do things my way! If you have a problem with that, you can get the fuck out!"

For the first time in my life, I fought back. I forcefully pushed him in the chest with both hands. It sent Charlie stumbling backward and out of my personal space. The look on his face was priceless. Complete shock. I smirked while pressing my lips tightly together. I savored those few milliseconds before his appearance morphed into rage. Surmising that Charlie didn't expect me to take a stand, I fully expected to take a complete ass-kicking right then and there. Instead, he walked away and went upstairs.

I slouched against the kitchen counter. My heart raced a mile a minute as adrenalin screamed through my veins. Why did he just walk away? Did my standing up to him finally gain me some respect? Would there finally be a balance of power in the house that would prevent further confrontations of this kind?

I was wrong to be hopeful.

From upstairs, I could hear my sister saying something to Charlie. She didn't sound happy. She was audibly in tow as he stomped down the stairs. He stopped, said something to her, and continued his march downstairs alone. Those heavy foot stomps headed toward the kitchen. I frowned. These were not the sounds of someone interested in peace. These were sounds of someone who meant business, and business was booming.

For a moment, I could have sworn I saw the reflection of the Grim Reaper in the family room window as Charlie approached. I knew then this was all about to go seriously wrong. I scanned the kitchen. There'd be no escape.

I stood tall to face him. Before I knew what happened, he picked me up by the throat and slammed me into the cabinets above the kitchen counter.

"I'm sick and tired of you not showing me respect," he said firmly. "I'm your father; you will respect me!"

I reached up with both hands. My scrawny fingers attempted to loosen Charlie's hold on my neck. "Fuck you," I hissed through gasps for air.

"No. Fuck you!" He reached for something behind him as he held me against the cabinets. I expected a leather strap or a bungee cord to appear from behind his back. Either would hurt like hell and not leave a mark. I never expected to have the business end of a .38 Special rammed into the open space of my mouth. The bitter taste of blood and gun oil filled my senses. "You feelin' a little more respectful now, you piece of shit?" He looked straight into my eyes. What I saw staring back were two dead pools of black with no qualms about pulling the trigger. There was no love, no life, no nothing. I was scared but would be damned to hell before letting him see it. I glared back with all the hate and anger I could muster without answering. "Just so you know I'm serious..."

He pulled the trigger.

The deafening roar that should have preceded the end of my life didn't come. My eyes were as wide open as they would go. I screamed with the barrel of a gun still stuck in my mouth.

Charlie pulled the gun out. Blood mixed drool fell onto my shirt and the floor. He let go of my throat and let me drop to the floor. I wasted no time in jumping to my feet in the event I needed to defend myself. He grabbed the tail end of my shirt and wiped the bloody drool off his gun. "The next time you disrespect me, Kevin, the chamber won't be empty. Tell your mother about any of this, and I'll kill you both."

He walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where my sister waited. I vaguely remember her yelling at him to 'knock the shit off' and that she was tired of all the fighting. I marveled for a moment over how my sister could get away with that kind of disrespect, yet I could not. Charlie talked to her as they walked upstairs. I was sure he was telling her he was sorry and probably giving her some more money or a gift to come later. That's how it worked in Charlie's house. I would get the abuse, and she'd get the love. Every time I took a hit or a slap, he would give her little presents or cash. Since Charlie believed I was my mother's favorite, he would make my sister his favorite. She would yell and scream at him to stop what he was doing. In turn, he'd buy her off and away she would go not be heard from again until the next confrontation.

My hands were shaking. I felt cold as if blood might be draining from my body. With no shoes, no wallet, no coat, and wearing only ripped jeans and a blood-stained shirt, I grabbed the spare key to my car from the kitchen corkboard and took off for Myer's house. He lived only a few miles away.

I don't recall the drive there. I also must have choked down a half a pack of cigarettes in ten minutes. I do remember exceeding the forty miles per hour speed limit to get to Myer's house as quickly as possible. I intended to call the police and finally put an end to this terror.

Myer was not awake when I knocked on his parent's front door. His father was. I had a good rapport with Myer's parents, so they were sympathetic when I showed up on their doorstep, barely dressed with blood smeared all over my shirt. With Myer now awake, I recounted the last hour and asked if I could use their phone to call the police.

Mr. Myer granted permission.

A Trooper from the Maryland State Police arrived within twenty minutes. I again recounted the events of the morning. The problem arose when he drove to Charlie's house to get his side of the story. The fucker denied everything. He insisted that I'd assaulted him. The Trooper confided that he didn't believe Charlie based on the damage to my mouth and the blood on my shirt. We were, however, dealing with an 'I said, he said' situation with no witnesses. My sister was also mysteriously absent from the house. I theorized Charlie sent her on her way, believing I might get the police involved. Although she didn't see anything, she did hear it, and that might have been enough.

The Trooper agreed to accompany me back to Charlie's house so I could pick up some real clothes and figure out where I would go from there.

Charlie was goofing off on his damned computer when we arrived. He paid no attention to either of us. I packed up a few day's worths of clothes and accouchements to stay at Myer's house until I could contact my mother.

The Trooper asked if I wanted to press charges for assault and battery. I didn't know what that entailed. He explained he would arrest Charlie and put him in jail until a judge could hear the case. At that point, he'd either be arraigned or not. If so, bail would be set, and he'd walk out on his own recognizance until trial. I needed time to think about it and the chance to talk to Mom, to whom I'd have to lie. The Trooper said he understood and gave me his card with the case number on the back. He also assured me he'd documented everything should I want to move forward. I offered to shake his hand when he proceeded to leave. He gave me a hug instead and wished me luck. I could also call him anytime if I needed to talk.

Myer and I contemplated what I should do next. He offered to let me spend the night while I decided what to tell Mom. I didn't want to tell her the truth, citing the threat Charlie made. Myer disagreed. He believed Charlie's warning to be empty. We spent the day hanging out at Cranberry Mall and doing absolutely nothing. I was far from my usual chatty and obnoxious self. I didn't say much at all.

Myer was empathetic concerning my dilemma. He offered his ear should I want to talk. I didn't have it in me to think about having that gun in my mouth and the grotesque sound of the firing pin when Charlie pulled the trigger. It falls under one of those sounds you don't ever want to hear.

I went to bed on the floor of Myer's bedroom that night no closer to a decision about what to do next. I couldn't go back to live at Charlie's house, and I couldn't tell Mom about what happened. I hoped a good night's sleep might provide for a clearer head.

I ended up getting neither.

VIII

" _I want you to hold on to this for me," Wald said. He hands me a badly cared for 9mm pistol. I take the gun, release its clip, and pull the slide back to ensure a chamber without a bullet. This is standard protocol for handling a firearm when receiving it from another._

" _What for?" I inspect the gun. It needs an intense cleaning, badly._

" _Because I have no place to hide it, and you know how to handle a gun," Wald says. I don't know about the first part of his claim, but he is spot on about the second. I learned at an early age to properly handle and care for firearms._

" _Hide it? Why would you need to hide a gun? It isn't stolen or wanted in some crime, is it?" I expect Wald to come back with some smart-ass quip. Instead, he appears dead serious._

" _Manyette gave it to me. Richard has been talking about suicide recently, and Manyette said he would feel better with the gun out of the house."_

I nod, understanding the problem now. Manyette's father, Richard, served his country in the Korean War in his twenties. I never got the whole story about what exactly happened to him overseas. The experience left him with a life long affliction known as post-traumatic stress disorder. Back then, soldiers referred to it as 'shell shock.' The Richard I'd come to know is a hard-working man with a great sense of humor. He's a lot of fun to hang out with when the Card Player's Circle convenes at Manyette's house on the weekends. Sometimes we'd hear Richard screaming in his sleep during our games. Manyette confided in me Richard's case of PTSD. He would suffer from bouts of depression and occasionally suicidal thoughts.

" _Okay," I say, agreeing to Wald's request. "I'll keep it until Manyette wants it back." Wald watches me wrap the gun up in some shop towels I find in the garage. I stow the gun carefully underneath the spare tire well in the trunk of my car._

" _Things are not as they appear," Wald advises._

I look up from the trunk of the car toward Wald. "Do what?"

Wald stands on the Ocean City pier wearing the black sports coat and white shirt combination. He holds up a slice of shrimp pizza in his left hand and prepares to take a bite. "You heard me."

" _Not this dream again," I mumble. "Don't you ever get tired of dressing up in clothes I normally wear? Are you trying to be me?"_

" _No. I am you."_

" _I thought you were a stranger who comes as a friend? How can you be both?"_

" _I know what you're thinking about," Wald says. He ignores my query. "Don't do it."_

" _You don't know what you're talking about. You haven't lived my life."_

" _Not true. I am you. I know what you're thinking about doing." Wald points at the trunk of my car. The spare tire in the trunk of the car is gone. An unseen wind blows open the rags holding Richard's gun. "Don't do it. It's not a way out."_

I stare at the gun. It seemed to have a distinguished glow about it. "I'm not thinking about killing myself," I say a little offended.

" _It's not us I'm worried about. You don't have to kill yourself to end your life."_

I slam the trunk of the car closed. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

" _Honor thy father," Wald says. When I turn to face him, I am looking at Charlie. I scream._

(Do you want me, Kev?)

(I want you, Christina. I want to make love to you.)

IX

I jerked awake. It took me a few moments to realize I was still at Myer's house and lying on the floor next to his bed. The digital clock on the dresser growled an angry red 3:14 AM. I laid my head back down on the big fluffy pillow Myer's mom gave me for the impromptu sleepover.

There's a gun in my car, I thought. That part of the dream was real. Wald asked me to hide that gun for him two years ago. I'd all but forgotten about it. Manyette never asked for it back, and Wald died before he could take it back.

I sighed. I knew what I had to do. I would never be free. What could I do? Go back and live with Charlie, knowing I'd be his personal bitch and under his thumb until God knows when? Or tell Mom what happened knowing she'd confront Charlie about what happened and risk him following through on his threat to kill her because I talked? What else was there to do?

The answer was now evident to me. Create my own option that would result in freedom for all of us.

I quietly gathered my clothes and snuck out of Myer's room and house. The night was crystal clear but bitterly cold, much like my thought processes. True enough, the gun remained neatly socked away in the bottom of my car's trunk. I loaded the clip and pulled the slide back to load the chamber. I wondered if it'd even fire. The gun had gone years without proper cleaning. Pulling the slide took a bit of effort.

I sat in the driver's seat of my car and smoked a cigarette as the engine warmed up. The temperature outside was easily below freezing. I rubbed my hands together to create warmth while waiting for the heater to kick in. I didn't have a proper coat. I only had a black sports jacket.

"Don't do it, Kev," Wald said. I looked over at the passenger seat to see my old friend sitting there. He rested his head in his hand with his arm propped up against the window. This is much how he looked the last night I saw Becca Saccarelli last September. The visions of Wald began shortly after Becca's parents forced us apart. He began to appear during the time I worked painstakingly to find ways to keep her and me together, which including running away together. Wald warned me that bigger things were happening, bigger things were coming, and that I'd have to let her go after seeing her one more time. He'd been right about one part of his declaration. I had to let Becca go. I didn't have a choice. Her parents whisked her away the day after she stood in her backyard, blew me a kiss, and waved goodbye. The bigger things happening and coming part, however, had yet to make its reveal. The visions of Wald also mysteriously ended after that night. I managed to convince myself in the months since then it was all stress-related and probably didn't happen as remembered.

With Wald once again making a phantom appearance in my car and my life, I knew I wasn't making it all up in my head.

"Fuck you." I nodded in his direction. "I know I'm awake, and I don't believe in ghosts."

"I'm not a ghost, big guy. Why are you out here? Are you really going to do this?"

"I don't have a choice." I looked away and out the windshield.

"You always have a choice."

"When did you become a fucking philosopher? Huh? You'd be helping me if you weren't dead. You know what a dick my father is."

"Yeah. I know. There are far worse things you could do to him than this, you know."

"Yeah? Like what?" I asked, looking over at a now-empty seat. I blinked.

Fuck this.

I backed the car out of the driveway. I decided I'd wait no more and began the drive to Charlie's house. A little more than halfway into the journey, the volume on the tape player dropped out, thus denying me Queen's Greatest Hits. I twisted the volume knob back and forth, hoping to remedy the situation.

"Turn around and go back," Wald said. I glanced over. My old friend had returned to annoy me further.

"What the fuck is it with you?" I asked. "You invade my dreams dressed like me going on about strangers and friends and how nothing is as it appears, and now I have to listen to you tell me how to deal with my problems? I miss you, brother. Fuck knows I do. Every fucking day. But c'mon, man. Leave me alone."

"What a conundrum for you." Wald flashed his trademark smirk as he took a shot at my CB handle. "You can't do what you're thinking about doing."

"Why not? Who's gonna know?"

"You will." I looked back over to give him a smirk of my own. He disappeared again without the courtesy of a 'see ya.' The volume on the tape player restored itself. I stepped on the gas pedal and pushed the speed past sixty. I needed to get night this over with.

X

I cut the engine when I reached Charlie's house and drifted into the garage driveway. Fortunately, Charlie slept in a room on the other side of the house. Even so, I took no chances. I carefully disembarked my car, stuffed the gun in the waistband of my pants, and pulled my shirt over it.

Getting in and out of the house would be child's play. Even if Charlie had gone to the lengths of locking all the doors, I knew one of the windows to my room had no lock. I removed it years ago to make the process of sneaking in and out easier. My room was on the second floor. I'd climb the tree next to the garage and walk across the family room roof to the window. I'd taken said steps several times in my past. It was a process I knew well. Since Woodbine, Maryland is an assemblage of farms and farmhouses, nosey neighbors would be of no concern. The only variable that gave me pause was the number of guns in the house. Charlie collected them and owned a wide assortment ranging from an M-1 rifle to several flavors of six-shooters. He was also an accomplished target shooter. In the 70s, he won several competitions for long-distance target shooting. The element of surprise would be on my side. It was all I required.

I sat down on the roof next to the unlocked window of my room and closed my eyes. I blew breath into my cupped hands to keep them relatively warm.

"Thinking is good, dude," Wald said. "You should think about getting back in your car and going back to Myer's house."

I smiled smugly without opening my eyes. Wald was sitting next to me. "I think you should pack my balls."

"Interesting thought. I'll have to pass."

I reached into my sports jacket and brought out a half-empty box of Marlboro Light cigarettes. "Smoke?"

"You want him to suffer, don't you?" Wald asked, ignoring my offer of a cigarette. And why not? He wasn't here, after all. The Wald I knew would have taken a free smoke in a heartbeat.

"Yes." I lit the cigarette and took a drag. I gave the cigarette a look of disgust as I blew out the smoke. I never cared for cigarettes and smoking. I only began smoking post-high school to piss off my ex-girlfriend Christina Buchanan in a wasted effort to get her attention. A pretty weak reason overall. That said, nicotine in stressful times offered relief. It's mostly why I continued to smoke.

"What you're thinking about doing won't cause that suffering. I think you know this."

He had a point. Still, suffering versus freedom? My choice was still clear. "This isn't about suffering; this is about peace of mind."

"That's the biggest pile of bullshit I have ever seen you shovel, dude."

I scoffed. "What do you know? You're dead!"

"I am you," Wald insisted.

"Don't start with that shit again. This isn't a dream, and you're not here."

"Walk away, Kev. Walk away now. You know that's what this is all about. You know that Charlie's girlfriend doesn't want to move in until you leave. Why not just give him what he wants and move on."

I dragged on the dwindling cigarette. "Because it's highly unsatisfying, that's why. Charlie gets what he wants and gets away with what he did to me."

"You're not seeing the bigger picture, big guy. Does he get what he wants now? Yes. What about in ten or twenty years when he's old and has nothing to show for his life? He's going to look back and have regrets."

I looked at Wald. He flashed his evil smile, the one he typically offers when he was about to verbally cut someone up. "How do you know? You don't know my father. He's spent his life being such a selfish fuck...cheating on my mother every chance he got. All he cares about is his self, and getting his little dick wet. I doubt very highly he's looked back over the last twenty years of his life and had regrets. If he did, it's only because he screwed up and lost something he wanted."

"Exactly."

"He doesn't want me. I don't think he ever did." Wald was gone. "Fuck this." I flicked the cigarette onto the lawn and began the process of sneaking into the house.

XI

It must have taken at least ten minutes to get into my room through the lockless window. Deathly quiet filled the house. One could have heard a mouse fart. I was sure each creak or groan of the window or my putting weight on the floor would give me away. Walking across the length of my room was another challenge. The expanse of about twenty feet or more of carefully shifting my weight kept the noise at a minimum. I looked anxiously out the doorway of my room and into the hallway to check the status of my sister's room. Her room was dark, and the door open. She wasn't here.

I withdrew the gun from my pants and set my aiming stance. I continued to walk steadily across the hall toward Charlie's room. His door remained half-open, just enough to hear his bulldozer like snoring.

I pushed his door open with my left hand while pointing the gun straight ahead with my right. I couldn't help but wonder in the eternal span of seconds why was I wasn't scared? If nothing else, I was alarmingly calm.

"Last chance," Wald whispered from behind. "You can still walk away." I shook my head. My aim was perfect. The miserable bastard lay sprawled across the bed, half-covered by sheets and a blanket. Each breath in was a snort that seemed to shake the room.

All I had to do was pull the trigger, and my misery would be over.

Yet I couldn't.

Every time I believed the strength and will to apply pressure to the trigger was there, it waned just as quickly. The situation was now do or die. Charlie would sense I was in the room soon, and a confrontation would be inevitable.

I don't know exactly how long I stood there, aiming the gun at his stinking carcass. It must have been at least ten minutes or more. Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard the creaking of footsteps making their way up the stairwell.

"Kev?" Myer asked.

I turned my head ever so slightly to make eye contact. Myer was carefully making his way up the stairwell. "You're not real," I whispered.

"Kev, put the gun down." Myer finished with his careful ascent up the stairs.

Charlie stopped snoring. I looked back at him as he shifted position on the bed. I looked back at Myer. "Get out of here!" I hissed.

"You don't want to do this," Myer whispered as he reached out for me. The question of whether or not Myer was real was about to be answered.

"Kevin?" Charlie asked in a groggy state. "What are you doing?"

I reasserted my aiming stance in a snap and held the gun so that Charlie's fat head lay directly in the aiming notch. "Shut up!"

Charlie propped himself up. "Are you going to kill me?"

"You stuck a fucking gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger! Then you threatened to kill my mother and me? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Myer walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Put the gun down, Kev."

"No," I insisted, realizing Myer was truly here. "If I do, this fuck will kill me." I turned my attention to the small man lying in front of me. "Don't have much to say now, do you?"

"Put the gun down, son," Charlie said softly.

"Son?" I was appalled he would dare to use that word, in that tone. "Did you just call me, son? When have I ever been your son, you fat fuck? Was I your son this morning when you had a gun in my mouth? Fuck YOU _!_ "

"Maybe I took it too far..."

"Fucking coward," I said, interrupting him. "You can't even apologize, can you? Show me some respect, Charlie! Come on!"

He said nothing. Myer tugged at my arm. "C'mon, man. Let's go."

I looked at Myer by shifting my stance so I could see both men. "No! Not yet." I walked to Charlie's dresser and opened the third drawer where he kept his .38 Special. The same gun he stuck in my mouth. Charlie watched me do it with fear in his eyes, knowing the .38 was the only gun he kept in his room. I pulled the gun out, removed the clip, and pulled the slide back. A bullet ejected onto the floor. "I guess you were serious after all, huh, Chuck? You meant to kill me the next time I didn't 'show you respect,' didn't you?"

Charlie sat up. "Do you even know how much trouble you're in?"

I threw my head back and laughed. "Yeah, I'm clearly in so much trouble. What are you going to do? Beat me? Slap me? Send me to my room without dinner? Go to hell, fat man! You no longer have power over me."

I dissembled the .38 Special and tossed the parts all over the open hallway. I kept the clip.

"You might get out of here tonight, Kevin," Charlie said as if he were offering me advice. "Someday, you'll have to come back to get your stuff...and then we'll talk."

I looked at Myer in shock. "Did he just threaten me?" I looked back at Charlie. "Did you just threaten me, you piece of shit?"

"Call it whatever you want."

I pointed the gun back up to his head. "Go on, motherfucker! Make another threat!" He said nothing. "In fact, Chuck, open wide."

"No," he said flatly.

"Yes! I want to play a game. This gun here? It's not been fired in a long time. In fact, I don't know if it'll fire at all. It could blow up in my hand! Who knows? Therefore, we'll let fate decide your outcome. You put the barrel of this gun in your mouth, and this time I'll pull the trigger. If it misfires, you live. If it fires, you die. If it blows up in my hand, then I die. So c'mon! You have a two in three chance of living."

Charlie looked at Myer. "Did something happen to Kevin after he left?"

Myer jerked his head back. He blinked once in surprise. "Uh, I don't know, Charlie," he said with sarcasm. "If my father put a gun in my mouth and dry fired it, I might take it personally too. Why don't you cut your losses and let Kevin go? You'll never have to hear from him again."

"Sounds good to me," the sweating old coward said.

"Yeah, I bet it does," I hissed. "If you want to be a little pussy and not play my game, then fine. But you and I will come to an agreement. Neither one of us will speak of this day, to anyone, ever. I won't tell Mom or my sister about what you did, and you won't tell your bitch, and whomever you call friends about what you did. I'll drop my police report, and you won't file one. You'll wait a few days and write a letter asking me to leave the house, which will allow me to move my stuff out and keep Mom from asking too many questions. When it's all said and done, we will never have to see or hear from each other, ever again. Myer here? He knows everything and is witness to this agreement." Myer nodded.

"Agreed," Charlie spat with no hesitation.

"Listen to me very carefully, old man," I continued. "When I say 'no one,' I mean NO ONE! If I come to find out you've spoken about any of what's happened today, I will come back when you least expect it and finish this once and for all."

"I understand, Kevin. Just get out."

I positioned myself to walk out of the room. "I hate you, Charlie. You were right about one thing. I have absolutely no respect for you. You spent my childhood staying away from your family cause you were too busy fucking all your girlfriends on the side." I watched Charlie's eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah, I know all about them. I found your letters from Lynn in your briefcase some years ago and gave them to Mom. That was the final straw for her, you know. That's why she kicked your drunken, cheating ass out. She saw your true colors that day.

"I also know about Ilene and how you used my sister and me as an excuse to sneak off to the skating rink so you could bang her in Harry's apartment, fucking pig. You were never a real father. I know if Mom had not reminded you to spend time with your children, we would have never seen you for our birthdays because all you cared about was whatever wet hole you were shoving your cock into.

"So if in ten or twenty years from now you think you're interested in what has become of your offspring, don't even think about finding us or contacting us. You will go to your grave without ever seeing what became of us. If we have children of our own, you will never see them or know them. Mark my words carefully, Charlie. When you finally do die? I will find your grave and piss all over it. That'll be the last respect you ever get from me."

Charlie said nothing as I walked backward out of his room and toward the stairwell. The gun always pointed in his direction. He followed at a distance watching us go until we were outside, in our cars, and driving away.

XII

My CB radio crackled during the drive back to Myer's house. "Conundrum?" Myer asked.

"Go ahead," I replied into the CB mic.

"What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know. Something fucked up has been going on all night, man. I don't know how to explain it. Ever since Wald died, I've had recurring dreams about him. I don't understand what he's trying to tell me." Myer didn't reply. "Did you copy, Pills?" 'Pills' was short for Myer's CB handle, Pillsbury Dough Boy.

"Yeah, I heard you. I had a dream about Wald that woke me up a little bit ago. Only he reminded me of you cause he was wearing your shirt and sports jacket."

I felt my blood run cold. "Continue."

"He told me you were going to do something stupid and that I needed to wake up and stop you. He said to go to your father's house and go upstairs, and I'd see for myself." Pause. "Then, I woke up. Turns out he was right, I guess."

"Well, brother, I've been talking to him all night. He's been insisting all night to turn away and let it go."

"You were awake when this happened? You actually saw Wald?"

"Ten-four," I said. "I can't explain it. He was no ghost. This, I know for sure."

Myer keyed up. "Let's get back to my house and figure this thing out tomorrow. I'm tired."

"Ten-four. I'll see you there in a few minutes." I tossed the CB mic to the passenger floor.

I drove in silence until Wald decided he needed to have the last word. "You did the right thing, Kev." Yet another sign he really wasn't Wald. Typically, I was 'Garrison,' not 'Kev.'

I might have to do something about that soon and change my surname to my mother's maiden name of Provance. The irony of such an act hit me. As the sole living heir to the Garrison name, Charlie once told me that if I didn't have a son, then the Garrison surname would die with me. Now it would die with Charlie. He would know why and have only himself to blame. Respect is a two-way street.

Maybe Wald was right. Perhaps I didn't see the bigger picture. I looked over at him as he sat in the passenger seat. He smiled a good smile.

"Okay, Wald. Answer me this. If you are dead and you aren't a ghost, then what exactly are you? A figment of my subconscious? That's what you said to me last September." I paused. "That was a tough time, losing you, then Becca."

"My body was never found," Wald said.

"As far as I know, it's never turned up."

Wald leaned over. "You might have to consider the possibility that I'm not dead, Kev."

"What? After everything I did to get over that hump? The same hump you insisted I get over? I don't understand. I held out hope for you for the longest time. Then Becca Saccarelli helped me move on."

'Taylor's girlfriend," Wald said in his smarmy way.

"Ex-girlfriend, at the time," I said, defending myself over that issue yet again. "They were broke up when she and I slept together."

Wald scoffed. "Semantics, Kev."

I gave up. "Whatever. Wherever you are, I miss you. You were one of the best friends I ever had." I paused. "Do you know where you are? Can you tell me where that place is?"

"I don't know where I am, big guy."

I began to reply but stopped knowing the passenger seat was once again empty. I shook my head. Wald suggested because his body never reappeared that he might still be alive but lost somehow. What was I supposed to do with that information?

Bigger things are happening, his phantom voice said once again. Bigger things are coming.

I ignored it. I'd heard this drivel before.

Myer and I returned to his parent's house. I placed the gun back in its original hiding place in my car's trunk. Back inside the house and in my makeshift bed, I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

It was the first peaceful sleep I'd had in a long, long time. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of my life.

#  Chapter XI: Asymmetry, part II

" _The quality or state of not being identical on both sides of a central line."_

****

Date: Friday, May 13, 1977

Location: Arthur Avenue House, Eldersburg, Maryland

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

Mom sat on the couch as she stared at the floor. She used the tips of her fingers to wipe away the tears slowly welling up in her eyes.

I continued. "The next day, I went to your apartment and told you Charlie and I had gotten into a spat and that I needed a place to stay until he cooled off. It was more of the same as far as you knew. The day after that, Megan showed up with the letter from Charlie in which he demanded I pack up my stuff and move out. He gave a much different story, which was complete bullshit. He claimed I'd threatened to kill him and went on about how he couldn't risk me living in his house with that threat over his head. He gave me that weekend to pack up and leave while he stayed at his girlfriend's house. Phil was pretty much living with you by then. So between the two of us and Myer, we packed up everything I owned and moved it into your spare bedroom. Charlie and I haven't spoken since."

"What about your sister? Did she stay with Charlie after that?"

I rubbed my eyes, suddenly realizing the red haze filling my peripheral vision was all but gone. "No. I think Meg was uncomfortable being the only other person living at that house. She didn't move all her stuff at that time, but she rarely went back. Within a few months, she and I got serious about working full time. By the end of that summer, the four of us worked out a plan to move into a bigger house, albeit a rental one. Life began to get easier. The whole Mike Daniels ugliness began to subside on its own. The next summer in 1993, you and Phil got married. Then we moved to Florida. The rest is history." I paused. "Future history, I guess."

"I'm so sorry," Mom whispered. "I won't let this happen to you."

I sat down next to her. "You can't change these things, Mom. If you try, life as I know it will change too. You have to understand something. Other events in my life happened because of what Charlie did. Those events led to my meeting the girl who I would eventually marry. My son - your grandson - is the result of that union. If you interfere with what happens, what I believe is supposed to happen, then my life will turn out differently. I don't know how this whole timeline continuity thing really works, but if I go back to 2006 and there's no Spencer? I don't know if I will be able to live the rest of my life with that loss."

Mom was speechless. She had to know I was right. "I don't know what to say, Kev."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you any of this. I told you it wasn't anything you wanted to hear."

"I wish I hadn't pushed you to tell me." Mom continued to stare at the floor. "I can't go around pretending everything is okay with your father knowing how our life turns out. I don't want to."

Now I was speechless. What does one say to that?

Connor saved me the trouble. "You won't have to," he said, startling the both of us. He and Jim stood off to the side of the dining room and around the corner from where Mom and I sat.

I feared I was in some kind of trouble for disobeying his wishes. "How much of that did you hear?"

"I heard enough," he said with sympathy. He looked at Mom, smiled, and then back to me. "You realize now we have no choice but to wipe her short term memory, your mother's."

I nodded. "Yes. I know. I've already encouraged her to agree to the procedure." I studied Connor more closely. The black detection ring on his right hand glowed red. When did that begin? The last I remembered, it was black with no glow at all. "How are you doing?"

"Turns out, I'll live, thanks to you and Jim." Connor nodded in Jim's direction.

I looked at Connor's ring again. "What did you do to me before you passed out?"

Connor sighed. He glanced at Jim, who shifted uncomfortably. "I transferred it to you when I thought I was dying, my ability to temporally displace. That ability would have been lost forever had I not done so, and died."

"Temporal what?" Mom asked.

"Time travel," I said, never looking away from Connor. "It sure does explain some things. I'm seeing and understanding complex mathematical equations in my head. I bombed at algebra in high school."

Connor nodded. "That's normal. It's part of what it does, that ability. It's like a computer program for the brain, running in the background. Opening a portal to another point in space-time requires precise mathematical calculations across nine dimensions so that when you come out the other side, you're not floating in space or buried inside the planet." Connor paused. I blinked in confusion and shook my head. "The Earth is not a stationary object. Remember when we arrived here and fell to the floor about six feet?" I nodded. "In a controlled displacement situation, a team of scientists double checks it, the arithmetic. I can do it without the backup in a pinch, but the end result can sometimes be off-target by some small amount. That's why we fell when we arrived here."

The thought of having this remarkable ability and the responsibility associated with it inside of me made me more than uncomfortable. Now I understood why Jim appeared so rigid. "So...you maybe want to take it back now?" I asked.

"It's not that simple," Connor said. "It doesn't work that way. I can't just take it back. You have to give it back to me."

"Okay. So tell me what to do. I don't want this thing in my head anymore. It belongs to you."

Connor looked troubled. "I can't explain it to you, what to do. You have to know what to do. There are two things we can do here. The first is to 'program' you with that knowledge, which I'd rather not do since only one chosen being is supposed to carry that knowledge at any one time."

"Understood," I said.

"The second is to use the original source of the element to transfer it back to me. In the end, we'd need to the original source for either solution." Connor taped at the glowing red ring on his finger. "It looks something like this only bigger and far more reliable, as it's Brüder in origin."

"So, what's the problem then?" I asked. "Can you get to it here in 1977?"

"I hope so," Connor replied. "When Jim chose Martin, Robert, and I to guard the original Brüder rings, we agreed to hide them at ES-5 in the year 1910."

I studied Jim. He nodded slightly. "Are you some kind of leader where you're from?" I asked.

"Not at all," Jim said. "I am an advisor, similar to the role of a holy man in human culture."

Connor continued. "The catch is, we hid the rings separately, each of us responsible for another's ring. In the event of a security breach, we'd be unable to reveal the hiding place of our own specific ability."

My hopes quickly dashed. "Oh, well, that's fucking great then. How are we supposed to find the damned thing?"

"I have several theories," Jim said. "We must finish up here first and then proceed to Earth Station 5."

Mom placed her hand on my arm. "Can you do what needs to be done, Kev?"

I shook my head as Connor answered. "He can't, Mrs. Garrison. I'll be the one performing the procedure."

"It's okay, Mom. I trust him." Mom nodded apprehensively.

Connor sat next to my mother on her opposite side. "You'll go to sleep for about ten minutes," he said. "The device we use is called a Löschen. It emits a beam of light into your left eye, which leads to the brain. With it, they'll degrade, the memories of what has happened here over the last few hours. When you wake up, you won't remember any of what has happened. Any memory that might have been committed to long term memory will seem like a dream and will fade quickly." Connor turned to Jim. "Would you get me a glass of water, please?"

Jim handed Connor a bottle of pills. He disappeared into the kitchen.

Connor opened the bottle and handed one small red pill to Mom. "This is our protocol for inducing sleep. It works very fast. Within seconds. It's very safe."

Mom looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. "It's okay."

"Will you tell me about this day, when you get back to your time?" Mom asked.

"No. I won't be able to," I said with sadness. "It's all still up in the air, how much I'll remember when this is all said and done. There are things about my future I know that I don't want to know."

Connor knelt down on the floor. "Would you lie down on the sofa, please, Mrs. Garrison?"

"Please, call me Jayne, for whatever it's worth now." Mom complied with Connor's request. Jim reappeared and handed Mom a glass of water. I stepped out of the way to give Connor room to work. Mom quickly shifted her glance to me. She looked panicked. "Please, Kev. Stay. Would you hold my hand until this is finished?"

I knelt down at the head of the sofa and took her hand. "You'll be okay, Mom. I've seen things here today that I remember from my childhood, so I do believe this has all happened before. I'll be okay."

Mom took the pill and swallowed it with water. She gave my hand a squeeze. "It's been a privilege meeting you as an adult, Kevie-bird. I'm so proud that you turned out to be the man you are. I...I love you." Her grip on my hand relaxed as she drifted off to sleep.

Tears streamed down my face as I leaned over to kiss Mom on her forehead. "I love you too, Mom." Connor withdrew the Löschen from out of the black medical bag. He gently opened Mom's left eye. I reached out and took his hand. "Promise me, Connor. Promise me she'll be alright."

Connor stopped. He offered me a warm grin. "Jim personally taught me how to use this device. Besides Krissie, there's no one better at this than I am. I promise you, Kevin, your mom will be just fine."

I released Connor's hand. He aimed the Löschen into Mom's left eye and pressed an unseen button. A beam of white light locked onto the pupil. Connor carefully positioned himself over the other end of the Löschen and pressed another button. A narrow red beam of light locked into Connor's left eye. The procedure began. His pupil flickered from side to side as if he was watching several different things. The Löschen began to make intermittent beeps, each sustaining into the next. The noise reminded me of an old camera flash attachment that needs to recharge after each use.

"Someone is here." Jim looked out the curtained bay window. I turned to look with him. Except for Jim's Dodge parked off to the left side of the road, the street was empty

"I don't see anyone." I turned back to watch Connor work.

"What do you mean, Jim?" Connor asked.

"Strangers," Jim whispered.

This time Connor stopped his work. He looked at Jim. "As friends?"

"No. I do not think so.

I looked back out the bay window. The day outside, which had been sunny and bright, had quickly become overcast and windy. Dark storm clouds rapidly worked their way in. I understood what was happening.

Connor returned to his work. "How long do we have?"

"Impossible to say," Jim said flatly. He continued to search out the bay window. He wasn't looking for them; he was feeling them. The Corporation, or someone involved with them.

"I'm going to need at least two more minutes here," Connor advised.

"I do not think we have that much time," Jim said.

"Is this The Corporation again?" I asked anxiously. Jim looked back and nodded. "How in the hell do they keep finding us? First, in 2006 at my home in Florida. Then in 2095 in the moon of all places, and now in 1977 at my mother's house? They're always one step ahead. I don't get it."

Connor answered. "That, Kevin, is an excellent question. One I will get to the bottom of soon enough. The truth is, I have no idea. Believe me when I tell you it bothers me more than you realize. I think there might be a mole in the FCA. Nothing else makes sense."

Connor's theory warranted Jim's complete attention. He turned around and looked down at Connor. "That is a serious allegation, Connor."

"Don't I know it, old friend," Connor said. The frequency of the Löschen's beeps became more frequent. "It's that 2025 quarter they want, every time. The rest of us are moot. They're not afraid to kill to get it."

"What is so special about this quarter?" Jim asked. "I understand it needs to go back to where it came. I cannot see any reason The Corporation would have any interest in it. Even if the compromise of the coin in time were their fault, they would not become this obsessive over it."

"Concur," Connor said.

Jim turned to me. "May I see the quarter, Kevin?" I looked at Connor for approval. He gave it with a nod without looking in my direction. I cautiously handed the quarter to Jim. For reasons I couldn't explain, I had become protective of this quarter. Much the same way Frodo was of The One Ring. Jim thoroughly inspected the coin.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Jim withdrew a device from his black bag. It looked similar to an eye inspection instrument one might see in a doctor's office. He used it to inspect the quarter more closely. "This explains it," he said while rotating the quarter in his fingers. "There appears to be a series of microscopic inscriptions around the edges. It is not a language or encryption I recognize." Jim paused. "It is a form of code."

"That's what The Corporation wants," I mused. "That's why they care so much about getting their fucking 'anomaly' back, right? Whatever information is on this quarter, they want, bad."

Connor didn't look up from the light beam. "Seems that way. Contact them, Jim. See what they want."

Jim returned the quarter to me. He withdrew his communicator, flipped it open, and tapped at a series of holographic buttons. "Brüder ship, please respond."

"Who is this?" The communicator snapped in reply.

Connor stopped working and looked up. "They didn't use the security protocol." Then he looked at me. "They're definitely not with us."

"This is Jim Marks, FCA #89912101. Identify yourself."

"So, it's the traitor," was the reply. The voice came across sour. "You'll make a fine prisoner, Markaurdus."

"Daniel Wilson," Jim said. "I do not suppose I need to ask who sent you."

"I think you know where my orders come from," Dan said, clearly irritated. "We want the anomaly."

I nodded my head in frustration. That damned quarter. Connor returned to his work with Mom.

"To what end?" Jim asked.

"Markaurdus, you of all Brüder should know information behind orders is on a need to know basis," Dan said with notable sarcasm. "My mission is to retrieve the anomaly using any means necessary and return it to its owner."

Jim spoke to us in the room. "He is most likely telling the truth."

"Which ship are they using?" I asked. "There are only supposed to be two left. One is missing, and the other is wrecked, right?"

Connor sighed. "Bruder-1 is safe, far away from this country. Bruder-2 should be at ES-5 under heavy guard. However, in this time, Bruder-3 is still in use and under control of The Corporation."

That didn't jive with what Ryan had told me. "But Ryan said it was destroyed a long time ago."

"You are not thinking in four dimensions," Jim said. "Ryan Capcoseve was born in the twenty-first century. From his perspective, 1991 is, in fact, a long time ago, nearly a century. The ship I am communicating with is Bruder-3."

Then something else clicked in my ever-confused brain. "Brüder-3 went missing in 1991?"

"Yes," Jim replied. "It disappeared from service and sight in June of 1991. The ship has not been seen since."

Cold shivers floated over my body. June of 1991 was the month Wald disappeared in Ocean City. I had a powerful feeling the two were connected and that it was no coincidence.

Something else didn't make sense. "How do you know all these things, Jim? You're living here in the 70s, yet you have knowledge of events that haven't happened yet."

For the first time, I watched a slight grin creep across Jim's face. "Your reputation is well deserved."

Jim's answer confused me. "What?"

Connor jumped in. "Jim knows everything I know. I know you'll not understand this right now, but in the mid-twenty-first century with the blessing of the original die Widerstand members, Jim became our liaison beginning in 1910."

I couldn't help but look at Jim in disbelief. "Exactly how old are you anyway?"

"In Earth time, I am 3,879 years old," Jim replied without a flinch. "The concept of time and space works differently where I am from." I heard what Jim said, but my mind couldn't wrap itself around his reveal.

Our Corporation friends interrupted my new case of surrealism. They had to be much closer now based on the worsening weather. The voice from Jim's communicator broke the conversation. "Markaurdus, are you willing to surrender the anomaly?"

Jim didn't answer. He spoke to Connor. "There is something encoded on Kevin's quarter they want. The fact that The Corporation has gone to such lengths to retrieve it suggests that whatever this information is, it would have negative consequences for the FCA."

"Agreed."

Jim addressed the communicator. "I am sorry, Daniel. I will not comply."

There was no further communication from the Brüder ship. Connor continued to work. Beads of sweat spilled down the sides of his face.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"We have Earth Station One," Jim said. "My people believe it to be destroyed." He paused with what I believed to be a slight look of irritation. "As did I until this afternoon. We proceed there and use the Jaunte to travel to Earth Station Five. We will be better armed and protected there."

"What about my mother?" I asked slightly panicked. Nobody answered. Now I was petrified. Was The Corporation kidnapping Mom part of this timeline, or was it going to create a paradox? I had to believe whatever we decided would be the right action. I turned my attention to Jim. "Will they kidnap her as a hostage in an attempt to get their precious quarter?"

"Possible?" Jim asked. "Yes. Probable? No. When The Corporation wishes to eliminate someone, an agent will isolate the soul of that individual and trap it inside his or her mind or steal it outright. That individual then becomes comatose."

"What?" I asked, not believing what I was hearing. "Soul?"

Jim held up his hand. "Unfortunately, we do not have time for a metaphysics lesson. What we need to do is—"

Dan's voice from Jim's communicator cut him off. "Are you still there, Markaurdus?"

"I am."

"I'd like to propose a face-to-face meeting," Dan said. Connor scoffed. Jim frowned at the request. "I realize we might have some trust issues, so I offer to come to you. Alone."

"I don't like this," Connor said, still working. "The Corporation doesn't negotiate."

"Indeed," Jim said. He pressed the equivalent of the 'talk' button on the communicator. "Alone and unarmed."

"Of course," Dan said lightheartedly, almost mockingly.

"Agreed."

The wind outside picked up considerably. The noise of machinery warming up began far off. Goosebumps raised on my arms. The sound was the same from the thunderstorm in Ocean City right before the lightning strike took my friend Wald off the pier. I dashed for the bay window and threw the curtain aside. All I saw were dark storm clouds and the beginning of rain.

"What is that?" I asked. "I think a lightning strike is coming."

"Yes," Jim replied calmly. "It is the crudely designed transport program aboard Bruder-3."

As predicted, lightning stuck the wheat field about a half-mile from the house. The flash and noise from the event caused me to cringe. The wind died down some but didn't dissipate as it had in Ocean City. Bruder-3 was hiding up there inside those storm clouds.

Jim's words brought clarity. I understood now what happened that night in June of 1991. That freak thunderstorm in Ocean City, the sound of the Brüder ship transporter activating, the lightning strike that hit the Ocean City pier, and Wald's disappearance into thin air. I wasn't crazy after all. I knew through and through I watched Wald disappear that night. Nobody believed me. The Bruder-3 transporter took Wald that night. It's why Ocean City Search and Rescue never found his body. It's also how Wald's body reappeared fifteen years later as Martin's host body.

What did The Corporation do with him over the last fifteen years in my timeline? How did he become a prisoner and end up as part of the FCA? Moreover, why was Martin using him as a host? If Martin indeed did have the 'displacement' ability to move his soul from body to body, then where was Wald's soul? Jim said The Corporation 'captures souls' or traps them inside the mind. Which applied to Wald?

"Kevin?" Connor asked. "Are you listening?"

I turned around to face him. "Sorry, I was thinking about Wald. I think The Corporation kidnapped him in 1991."

"Yes. I also suspect as much," Connor said. "It's one of the many things I need to figure out, the why of it. Until then, listen to me very carefully. This Corporation agent doesn't know you're carrying my temporal displacement ability or that Earth Station One exists. Say nothing of either. In fact, let Jim and I do all of it, the talking."

I held my hands up to signal I was hands-off in this dialog. "You got it."

Connor stopped to remove his displacement detector ring. He handed it to me. "Hold onto this for me, please. We don't want to give anything away. Do you have an Impüls?"

I patted the outside pocket of my sports jacket. "Yes. It's yours. I picked it up after we escaped in 2095."

"Good. Keep it hidden. Don't use it unless either of us does first."

I looked back out the bay window toward the empty wheat field further down the dirt road that branched off the end of Arthur Avenue. It was a long private driveway to the homes settled father back in. A man dressed in a black suit slowly walked up the dirt road and toward this house.

"Here he comes," I said with dread. Jim stepped forward toward the front door. He motioned me back.

"How much longer?" Jim asked Connor.

"That'll have to do." Connor turned to me. "I induced her for a longer sleep, your mom. It should help bury any memory remnants I might have missed. We don't have time for me to recheck them all." I tightened my lips with concern. "She'll be fine. Help me move her into her bedroom."

I assisted Connor. We laid her on the bed and closed the door to her bedroom. Connor slapped me on the shoulder as we walked into the living room. "Trust me; your mother will be just fine. She'll wake up in an hour or so, thinking she took a nap."

"I believe you. Thank you for taking care of her."

Connor grinned and slapped my shoulder again. "Think nothing of it."

Jim opened the front door for Dan. He stood on the front steps with his arms extended out. The wind caused his suit jacket to flap. Jim carefully and thoroughly patted Dan down for weapons. Satisfied, he allowed this stranger entry into my childhood home.

Dan walked into the living room. He quickly surveyed the three of us. Another one of those 'super déjà vu' moments came to me again. Although I was sure I'd never met this man, I recognized him. I'd seen him somewhere before.

Unfortunately, Connor's request to keep quiet ultimately left my head. "I know you," I said to this well-dressed man.

He looked me up and down and shrugged. "I've never met you before. I do have 'one of those faces,' though."

Jim looked back at me. "Kevin, meet the human turncoat we know as 'Daniel.'" Jim turned back. "Daniel, meet Kevin."

Dan offered his hand. Instinctively I declined. He clumsily withdrew and twittered his fingers. He turned to Jim with a smirk across his face. "Interesting choice of words, Markaurdus. Turncoat."

Jim remained expressionless. "'If the shoe fits,' as you like to say. My reason for abandoning the original Brüder mission was to help save your race from extinction. What is your excuse?"

"It's better to be the right hand of the devil than in his path," Dan said with the hint of a giggle. He struck me as a cocky little pissant.

Dan directed his attention toward Connor. "Connor MacKenzie, the only known human to carry temporal displacement! My how you've aged! How long has it been since we last saw each other?"

"Not long enough," Connor said carelessly.

Dan threw his head back and howled in laughter. "You haven't changed a single iota, Detective MacKenzie." Dan turned his attention to Jim. "Of course, it's only been about three years since Connor and I met. I guess he was in his early thirties." Dan turned back to Connor. "But now? My, my. How old are you now?"

"Classified." Smugness began to emanate from Connor's responses.

Dan brushed off the comment. He shook his head in amusement. "When I think about what you could do for us? You should seriously think about joining the good guys."

"Good guys?" Connor asked. "What was your price to become an agent of genocide?"

Dan chuckled in his obnoxious way. "Connor, Connor, Connor. You completely misunderstand The Corporation. The Brüder want to understand us, how we've evolved. Not kill us."

Connor took a firm stance. "That, sir, is a big stinking pile of bullshit. We've seen the future, you and I. We know what The Corporation does and the hell they bring to our planet. Our planet, Dan."

Dan seemed genuinely taken aback. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Connor. I suppose all that business in 2082 was a little disconcerting at first, with that ugly red sky, but the society The Corporation built from the ashes of the Last War? It's Utopia!"

"You would believe that, wouldn't you?" Connor said sourly. "When The Corporation is done with you, they'll turn on you too. Mark my words."

"What exactly happens that's so bad, Detective? I mean, after we parted ways in Cincinnati?" Dan asked. I couldn't tell if Dan was making a genuine inquiry or if he was continuing his exercise in obnoxious prickery.

Jim stepped in between the two. "I am sorry, Daniel," Jim said. "Our Temporal Directives prohibit the sharing of that information."

Dan scoffed. "Sure, Markaurdus. Whatever you say. Who's full of shit now?"

"Think whatever you like," Jim said. "Why did you come?"

"My superiors would like me to find out what it will take for you to surrender the anomaly."

Jim took a step toward Dan. He towered over Dan by at least a foot as Dan was a much shorter person. "You wasted a trip, little man. All I will give you is the same answer as before. I will not surrender the anomaly."

"C'mon, Markaurdus. Everyone has their price," Dan said in a taunt. "What if I told you all would be forgiven if you cooperate?"

"Not interested," Jim said without hesitation. "The Corporation has nothing I want."

"Are you sure about that?" Dan asked. A smirk passed across his smug face. "I understand you have family on Oberen. It must be hard for you knowing they're over three thousand light-years away, completely cut off from you. They know you're a traitor. They no longer speak your name. When they do, it's in shame."

Jim's expression didn't change. He wasn't letting Dan into his head. "You are speaking of things of which you have no understanding. If you have nothing productive to offer, then you should leave."

Dan shifted his attention to me. "Who exactly are you anyway?" I didn't reply. It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand Dan was fishing for information. I wouldn't give him any. "Nothing to say, young squire?"

Connor attempted to take the attention off me. "You're stalling. Why?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dan said, feigning offense. "I'm here to negotiate for the anomaly."

"There's nothing to negotiate," Connor said. "This meeting is over. You can leave."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Dan said. There was too much confidence in his voice. He knew something we didn't. He believed to have an advantage over us. I cautiously slid my hand into my right pocket and pulled out Connor's displacement detection ring. It glowed dull green. We weren't alone. Dan had unseen reinforcements.

I stepped toward Connor, and behind Jim, so I'd be partially out of Dan's view. I slipped the ring on my pinky finger and wiggled it so Connor would see.

Dan noticed my movement and pointed at me. "Hey! What are you doing there?"

Connor glanced over. His eyes shifting to the ring I held against my hip and out of Dan's view. Connor put his hand on Jim's shoulder and spoke, "Braun-Benachrichtigung."

Jim turned back, "hier, Jetzt?"

Connor nodded, "ja, Sie glaube, es war besser."

Dan threw up his hands and shook his head in frustration. "Hold on! Wait a minute. I don't speak Bruderesse, or German, or whatever it's called now. What are you saying?"

Jim maintained his rock-solid composure. "We know you have visually displaced men here. As The Corporation does not have these abilities, I assume you found the price of some of my FCA colleagues to do your work."

Dan grinned. A real shit-eating grin you'd just want to slap. "Very good, Markaurdus. You're right."

Jim looked mildly perturbed. No easy feat. "You gave your word you would come alone. It would appear that your word means absolutely nothing."

Dan giggled. "Like I care what you think about me. I do what I have to do to get what I want, and right now, I want the anomaly. So please, hand it over before it gets ugly."

Connor stepped in to diffuse the situation. "It's not here. We hid it in another time where you Corporation goons won't ever find it."

Dan's usually cocky face changed to one of intense disappointment. "Don't lie to me, MacKenzie. My orders are to return to my ship with the anomaly. Do you really think I'm going back empty-handed?"

Jim let out a deliberate chuckle. He quickly squelched it. "I suppose your superiors will be rid of you sooner than you thought, Daniel."

Dan's face pruned into anger. "We're always tracking you, Markaurdus! When you leave that little hole you live in? We watch you, and if necessary, follow you. We also picked up bits and pieces of the conversation you had with Conundrum, so I do know the anomaly is indeed here. If I have to, I will tear this house apart to find it. If you make me do that, I will have all of you killed." Dan paused. "Well, once we relieve Connor of the temporal displacement element, that is."

"That will never happen," Connor said with a smirk.

"We shall see." Dan clapped his hands. "Gentlemen!"

Four visually displaced men appeared behind us in one bright flash of green. Three pointed Impüls weapons at our backs while the fourth secured Connor in full nelson hold so he couldn't move. Another agent attached a collar device around Connor's neck and locked it in place.

Jim's demeanor never changed. He continued to stare down the shorter Dan. "What do you hope to accomplish here?"

Dan paced around the front of the room with fingers on his chin as he contemplated the question. "Well, Markaurdus, that device my associate placed on Detective MacKenzie's neck will prevent him from displacing. Just because The Corporation doesn't have temporal displacement doesn't mean we don't know how to stop it."

What was I supposed to do here? My first instinct was to run as fast as I could, hide, and trust in Connor and Jim to rescue me. That would mean leaving my sleeping mother behind and vulnerable to Dan and his minions. The alternative was to let Dan capture me with FutureQuarter and Connor's displacement ability. I had to believe that both of those in the hands of The Corporation would be exceedingly bad.

Whatever you do, it will be the right thing, I thought. This has already happened, and Mom lived through it.

Dan stood close to the front door. Conceivably, I could rush him. The force would send us both through the screen door and into the lawn. I could take Dan hostage using the element of surprise with the Impüls I hid in my jacket pocket.

Yes! That's it! I thought wildly. The front screen door!

I couldn't say when the date was or even how old I was when I first remembered seeing the front screen door in the basement mutt room. I only recall it ending up down there one day for no apparent reason. Mom said the wind from an afternoon thunderstorm blew it off its hinges. The damage to it was too significant to repair, and we'd eventually get a new one.

I knew now what I had to do. I would have to trust in Connor and Jim to take care of the rest.

I returned to my original spot in the room to the left of Jim. This caught Dan's attention again. He pointed in my direction. "You! Stop moving around!"

I sprinted forward and threw myself into Dan. The force knocked us both into the screen door. It tore off its already flimsy hinges. The door clumsily fell off to the side as Dan and I forcefully fell into the wet grass. Dan took the brunt of the fall with my superior weight and height crushing him. The result knocked the wind out of him.

I heard the low-end buzz of an Impüls discharge. The rush of the pulse buzzed over us. Dan writhed in the grass, gasping for breath, and drenched from the pouring rain. I pulled the Impüls out of my jacket pocket as one of the Corporation agents appeared in the front doorway. I didn't give him the chance to fire. Out of pure reaction, I aimed the alien weapon at him and fired. The agent dropped where he stood.

I quickly stood up and dropped on my knees behind Dan. He remained incapacitated from our tumble. I placed Dan in a chokehold with the Impüls pressed against the side of his head. He was now my human shield.

I heard several discharges of Impüls fire from inside the house. There was no way for me to determine who had the upper hand.

I forced Dan to his feet and began dragging him toward the road. "C'mon, you!" I hissed in his ear. "We're getting out of here." Dan attempted to reply. He couldn't yet catch his breath. I looked over my left shoulder at Jim's car. It was maybe fifty feet away.

Another figure appeared in the doorway of the house. The black suit gave him away as a Corporation agent. He aimed his weapon in our direction but didn't fire. Dan waved frantically. "Shoot!" he gurgled through short breaths. The agent fired. The pulse missed us by mere inches. It hit the rear end of Jim's Dodge. The force sent the back end of the car skidding across the shoulder of the road.

I tightened my arm's grip on Dan's throat and yanked him upward. He would block any potential Impüls fire the agent might try to take. Dan struggled. He left me no choice but to drag his ass to the driver's side door of the Dodge. The heavy rain and wind made this a difficult task.

"Get in the fucking car," I snapped. I wiped the rain off my face. Another Impüls burst flew overhead. It missed the car and took out a honeysuckle bush further down the road. Dan's breathing became heavier as he began to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him. I pointed the Impüls toward him. He glared at me with anger as he opened the door and shuffled across the driver's side into the passenger seat.

The eerie sound of machinery warming up overhead filled the air. I glanced across the hood of the car and realized I was closer to the empty field where Dan arrived than I wanted to be. Somewhere above, the Bruder-3 transporter system began to spin up. Was it to send reinforcements or to take me and or Dan aboard? I wasn't going to hang around to find out.

I continued to point the Impüls at Dan as I slid into the car and slammed the door shut. The keys dangling from the ignition jingled.

"Oh, thank you, Jim!" I turned the key to start the car. Another Impüls blast connected with the passenger side of the vehicle. The impact caused the car to lift slightly on an angle and ultimately back down on its tires. The force caused Dan to smash his head into the passenger door window. His body went limp. I turned the key again. The car's starter finally did its job as the engine roared to life. I pulled the automatic transmission lever on the steering column into drive, stomped on the gas pedal, and turned the steering wheel violently to the right. The Dodge fishtailed around a full one hundred eighty degrees. I was now in a position to begin the getaway toward the top of Arthur Avenue and out of the neighborhood.

The read end of the car didn't feel entirely stable from the Impüls hits. All I could do was hope the car would hold long enough to take me away from this place.

I looked out the driver's side window as I passed the house. An agent on the front lawn pointed his weapon in my direction. I feared at this close range that an additional Impüls hit might flip the car over and onto its roof.

That blast never came. I looked over my shoulder as I sped away. The agent fell to the ground. I smiled, knowing we might get out of this mess yet.

I reached the top of Arthur Avenue and took a right toward Route 26 without stopping. The weak power of the Dodge's windshield wipers didn't do much to combat the rain that pounded down on top of us. Dan's limp body rolled with each curve in the road. I could now see the hit to his head caused more damage than I thought. He was bleeding from an unseen gash. He was in bad shape, considering the amount of blood on him and the passenger side door.

I stopped at the Route 26 intersection. A severely injured passenger in the car was too much baggage. I considered leaving Dan on the side of the road. The screaming sound of the Brüder transport system crept upon us. Bruder-3 followed somewhere up in those dark storm clouds. I needed to keep moving.

I looked around. Route 26 was empty. Where does one hide from an advanced hovering ship cloaked in a natural phenomenon, a ship that could swallow one up in a single lightning strike? To this question, I had no answer. To complicate matters, where would such a place be in a time where one doesn't belong?

I needed to get somewhere public. Somewhere with lots of people around while avoiding interaction with any of them. Nothing came to mind. Where to go?

Where to go?

II

When to go?

III

The dull red haze lingering around my peripheral vision faded to white. Bright white. Complex mathematical equations once again buzzed through my head. They stole my focus. I had no control over what was happening inside my head. I understood the equations and their results but couldn't tell you why or why I had them. They seemed to revolve around a universal point in the space-time continuum that translated to Earth time June 13, 1991. The day The Corporation kidnapped Wald in Ocean City. I'd been thinking about that day having recently understood the mystery surrounding Wald's disappearance. The question of space-time differences between the present day in 1977 and that day in 1991 were resolving themselves. The alignment of these two points in time and space were merging. They were not necessarily merging into each other, but rather on top of each other. A bridge between the two points formed. I could feel it, this 'bridge.' It manifested itself in my mind into an object I could release. This bridge would become the displacement portal.

"What the hell's happening here?" Dan asked. I heard him. I knew he was sitting next to me. Yet he was as far away as a dot of light on the opposite end of a tunnel. "What are you doing?"

I couldn't answer. I was staring into an opening in my mind's eye. Everything in front of me was now in two frames. The now in one frame and the other now in the other. It was the worst case of double vision I could recall. The two frames - the two nows - began to come together. I knew when the two frames became one, I would be able to cross into the other now.

I would be able to cross into June 13, 1991.

"You have temporal displacement!" Dan screeched. "You have to stop! We'll both be killed!"

"I can't," I heard myself utter. The white light filling my world and the white object forming around the two nows were rapidly coming together to make one now between two points in time.

"Not here," Dan said with authority. The sound of his voice was distant as if he spoke to me from across a stadium. I couldn't move. I felt Dan step on my foot in a faraway place that was reality. It sent the Dodge across Route 26 onto the unused Old Liberty Road on the other side. The car veered to the right. We careened straight down the old and not maintained road that would quickly dead-end into the Liberty reservoir.

It was all out of my control now. Whatever was happening to me would have to see itself through to the end. The Dodge skidded to a halt, probably because Dan stepped on the brake.

I felt the white object with the frames of two time periods move out of my mind and into my space-time in 1977. A bright white light emanated inside the Dodge and between Dan and me. It was as if a small shining star sat between us in the car.

It was, in fact, a temporal displacement portal to 1991.

The size of the portal grew exponentially. It ultimately enveloped the entire vehicle. The sensation of stretching across the coil of time took me completely.

Then it was over.

#  Chapter XII: Continuum

" _A set of elements such that between any two of them, there is a third element."_

****

Date: Thursday, June 13, 1991

Location: Old Liberty Road, Eldersburg, Maryland

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

The car fell approximately four feet through the air. It crashed to the ground.

I rolled around the cockpit.

Residual flashes of bright light flashed within the automobile. The portal that carried the car and us in it fourteen years into the future didn't close. Instead, it pulsated. My sense of time was in complete upheaval. My surroundings now appeared to be early evening instead of the previous mid-afternoon landscape.

I heard the sound of an aircraft above me, tearing through the air at low altitude. I stretched my neck in an attempt to look up and out the driver's side window. Pulses of white light from the fluctuating portal followed my line of sight as I looked up into the sky. The flashes cut through extended branches from the trees surrounding the reservoir. Those fallen branches disappeared into thin air. I looked away from the tree line and up toward the sound of incoming aircraft. An atmospheric disturbance similar to the distortion one might see from heat rising off a hot surface collided into one of the outward moving flashes that followed where I observed. The unseen craft disappeared into the flash. The sound of the invisible aircraft ceased, leaving silence.

It occurred to me then; if I opened the displacement object, then I'd also need to close it. I reached out with both hands thinking I might somehow recall the object I released from my mind. As if on autopilot, a series of additional equations in my head absorbed the displacement object. The two images from different points in space-time came back into focus. Only this time, one was now in 1991, and the other was the other now whose location in the space-time continuum I didn't immediately recognize.

I felt something else inside that object. A presence. A furious presence in space-time resolving to Earth year 2095. I could understand nothing else. No, I take that back, I realized one more thing. Whatever that entity of evil was, it scared the living soul out my body.

II

Without warning, and far beyond my control, the car and I slipped into that other now sending us stretching across the sixth dimension.

#  Chapter XIII: Recovery

" _The act, process, duration, or an instance of recovering."_

****

Date: Unknown

Location: Old Liberty Road, Eldersburg, Maryland

Age: 35 (current)

****

I

The Dodge didn't drop out of thin air this time. It landed much harder with the force of an explosion from underneath. Fading evening twilight fell across the reservoir. Also, falling across the reservoir was debris from underneath the car. I had no idea when I was except to say it was significantly later in the evening than it had been only seconds ago.

The sound of crashing branches littered the evening calm. It dawned on me then. Those were the remains of tree branches from 1991 caught in the portal flashes.

Far off in the distance, I heard what I believed to be the sound of an impact. Whatever had been flying through the air when it collided with the portal flash also made the trip.

The physical ailments of temporal displacement were slowly catching up to me. I sighed, realizing the treatment was in a black bag at my mother's house on Arthur Avenue in 1977.

"I feel sick," Dan whispered.

I jerked in my seat as I quickly looked at him. "Oh, shit! You're here! With me." Dan ignored my observation. He opened the car door and blew chunks all over Old Liberty Road. I felt sick too but not to the point of vomiting. Either I was getting used to the temporal displacement or the medicine Connor gave me an hour or so ago was still working.

Well, an hour by my time index.

Regardless of the reason, I remained grateful for my diminished symptoms. Dan, on the other hand, had passed out. He hung out the door of the car, still soaking wet from the thunderstorm we left in 1977.

I opened the driver's side door and fell knees first onto the rough concrete of Old Liberty Road. Nausea attacked me in waves. It became a clear and important goal to pull myself together, so I didn't suffer from another panic attack or another episode of temporal psychosis. I allowed myself to fall onto my side so I could curl up into a fetal position until the sickness passed.

The Dodge sat in a crater, which I guessed to be about a foot deep. Chunks of concrete and heavy dust littered the reservoir end of Old Liberty Road. This didn't make sense to me at first. I know it was chaotic getting to this point, but I think I would have remembered the car falling this deep into a crater.

Two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time, I thought, answering my own dilemma. It stood to reason when we arrived, or when the portal opened, it existed beneath the surface of the road. Anything in that space would have been forced away to make room. There had been no explosion underneath the Dodge. An entire section of Old Liberty Road blew apart when we entered this space in time. Even in my sickened state, I found the concept fascinating. I struggled to remember this particular crater in all my various travels in and around the reservoir. Nothing came immediately to mind, although that meant very little. Public usage of Old Liberty road discontinued in 1953 when Baltimore County built the Liberty Dam that created the reservoir. Decades of deterioration plagued the remaining sections of the road, which were now boat ramps leading into the water.

Still lying on my side, I reached into my pocket for the communicator I still carried. I hoped someone, anyone, might be listening. To my disappointment, nothing happened when I flipped it open. The holographic interface didn't magically appear. It was a dead piece of equipment. I tossed it into the car as I sat up.

The night was chilly. The wet clothes I still worse exacerbated the chill. A quick visual reconnoiter of the area told me it was well past summer and most likely past autumn too. The trees were almost bare of leaves. My current environment suggested the month to be October or November. It was the story the sky and horizon told that brought me relief. They were clear as a bell. Missing clouds meant no Brüder ships lurking about.

I sat up on my knees as the temporal sickness diminished. I withdrew my wallet and FutureQuarter from out of my back pocket. I was now responsible for a broken alien communicator, Connor's temporal displacement ability, and the 2025 quarter. The damn thing was far further lost in time than before. Fearing for the quarter's safety, I slipped it into a hidden pouch in the fold of my wallet and returned it into my rear pocket.

I located the Impüls jammed in the space between the driver's seat and the body of the car. I grabbed it quickly and stuffed it into my sports jacket pocket. I wasn't going to take any chances even with Dan all but incapacitated from temporal sickness.

Finally, I pushed the dead communicator underneath the driver's seat to keep it out of sight. It didn't seem necessary to keep it on my person until I had a clear idea of where in time I now was. It was bad enough carrying the Impüls weapon around with me.

I stood and walked around the Dodge to inspect the damage. The car looked fine on the outside. It was no more beat up than it had been before this trip. Dan, however, was a mess. I knelt down in front of him to see if he was alive or conscious. His pulse was rapid, although his breathing was shallow. It was apparent he needed some kind of medical attention.

"Dan," I said, hoping for a reply. He hung unresponsively out the door. His elegant black suit now covered in bloody vomit.

Oh yeah, Dan-O, I remember my first time too. Dan was going to be out cold for the next day or so.

The communicator he kept in his pocket beeped intermittently. I pushed him back into the Dodge and pulled the communicator out of his pocket. It flipped open just as my broken one did. A holographic map of the surrounding area appeared on the interface. A blinking red dot appeared over the area on the opposite side of Old Liberty Road and across the reservoir. The new Liberty Road (or Route 26) spanned two large sections of the reservoir. Understanding that, the other side of Old Liberty Road would dead-end into the other side of the reservoir. Somewhere on the other end of that body of water was the source of this transmission.

I tapped cautiously at the blinking red dot. A holographic screen opened and displayed text. To my relief, the readout was in English, unlike those other communicators whose readouts were in German.

The outputted message read:

COM LOCKOUT.

AUTOMATED DISTRESS CALL.

PILOT UNRESPONSIVE.

HOLOGRAPHIC CORE DAMAGED.

SHIP SELF DESTRUCT IN T-56 MINUTES.

One of the Brüder ships collided with the time portal flash in 1991. It brought her here whenever we were. I stood up and looked toward the other side of the reservoir. Jim said the last anyone heard from Bruder-3 was in June of 1991. It disappeared into thin air.

"Oh, my God," I whispered, realizing the gravity of the situation. Did my inexperienced time jump accidentally swallow up the missing Brüder ship from 1991 and bring it to wherever we are now? For good or bad, her disappearance could very well have been my doing. Now she was on the verge of self-destructing. I had no clue what kind of an event that would be. Chances were her remains – if any - would be unidentifiable. If anyone found them, they could easily be mistaken for piles of old scrap.

I thought about this for a minute. Was that pile of unidentifiable junk I discovered in 1989 and was never able to find a second time the wreckage of Bruder-3? I smiled, knowing if my theory was correct, everything Connor and I had done up to this point was predestined. I'd made the right choices so far. A shimmer of hope warmed my body. I began to believe I might get out of this mess after all.

The time readout on the communicator still indicated the date was one in 1977. I lifted the device and spoke into it. Here is where watching all those hours of Star Trek might save me.

I spoke into the device. "Computer." It chirped a single sound. I felt this might be a favorable response for me to continue. "Sync time?"

The device replied with a nasty buzz. It didn't like my command. "Sync clock?"

The communicator chirped a few more times. It displayed a new interface. Configuration settings by the look of it. A holographic 'SYNC' button flashed red. I tapped it and waited.

LOCATING ECHO COM...FOUND

ECHO COM 3...CONNECTED

FREQ 1.1013 EHz

SYNC...COMPLETE

DATE: NOV 13, 1981

TIME: 6:16 PM EST

COM LOCKOUT IN PROGRESS.

I frowned. How in the hell did I end up in 1981?

I shook Dan's shoulder. "Dan? You awake? C'mon, buddy. Up and at 'em." He remained unresponsive. He needed help, plain and simple. I couldn't in good conscience leave him here to die, even if he deserved to. The closest first-aid facility I could recall amounted to a walk-in clinic at the rear of Carrolltowne Mall. I only remembered this as it was next to the orthodontist's office, where I spent many a day having my braces painfully tweaked and adjusted during the early eighties.

I pushed Dan into the car and slammed his door shut. To my amazement, the Dodge started after only a few tries. I pulled out of the crater, turned around, and drove to the top of Old Liberty Road. The car protested some as I rejoined traffic on Route 26. It appeared the vehicle would cooperate even as it shook violently at higher speeds. For good measure, I turned on the car's heater in an attempt to help dry our wet clothes.

II

The trip to Carrolltowne Mall took a little over ten minutes. The drive wasn't as tricky as the one I partook in 1977. It was darker outside now. It made the landscape uniform. Some landmarks that had been missing from my last trip were now in place.

A drive around the side of the mall revealed it was still unenclosed. At some point in the eighties – I don't remember when specifically - the mall underwent a renovation. Some brilliant know-it-all believed the mall might be better enclosed. All that really accomplished was to take away its open-air charm. I couldn't help but smile at the A&P grocery store. A brand name I hadn't seen since SuperFresh took it over in the later eighties.

I parked the car as close to the walk-in clinic as I could get. I considered my plan of action as I sat. First, I'd need to appear detached from the situation. When I bring Dan into the clinic, it would be under the guise that I found him in his current state. I would then need to make a prompt exit, perhaps citing I had family waiting elsewhere. Then there was the matter of identification. If Dan had any, I needed to get rid of it. I couldn't imagine there was a missing person's report on the man, considering his employer.

I felt Dan's pockets for a wallet, eventually finding one inside his inner jacket pocket. It contained a standard laminated Maryland driver's license of the 1976 era identifying him as Daniel Wilson. He also carried money. Two fives, a ten, and three ones all dated before 1981. At last, I had some era-appropriate cash I could use without contaminating the timeline.

I slid Dan's wallet under the seat with the busted communicator. Within a few minutes, the parking lot was clear of pedestrians. This pause allowed me to remove Dan from the car and carry him anonymously into the clinic.

The process turned out to be a lot easier than I thought. I was in and out of the clinic within minutes. One of the on-staff physicians suggested I needed to stick around in case the police needed my statement. Apparently, reporting these types of incidents to the local police was protocol. I declined, citing my need to return to my family. I gave them a phony phone number and left.

My next thought would give Connor a heart attack was he privy to it. Here I am at Carrolltowne Mall in its prime with one of my favorite childhood restaurants – no longer in business in my time – at my disposal. I'm talking about PJ's Pub. I also had no idea when I last ate. The thought of a slice or two of PJ's shrimp pizza made my stomach forget about persisting nausea. It grumbled in hunger. If everything I'd done so far fit into history as I knew it, a quick bite to eat at a restaurant I would never see again shouldn't create a paradox.

Besides, I had to eat.

I walked briskly down the sidewalk toward a junction that would take me to the center of the mall. From there, I would find PJ's Pub. No one noticed as I made my way inward. Why would they? I was just another adult engrossed in his shopping experience. Who would possibly suspect I was twenty-five years from the future and breaking all kinds of Temporal Directives and Protocols along the way.

I made the turn at the junction into the heart of the mall thinking about how delicious a slice of PJ's shrimp pizza would be. I could see the old stone water fountain at the center. Sitting on the edge of the basin was a boy, I guessed to be about ten years old. He kicked his legs in boredom. My pace slowed. For a moment, I could have sworn I was looking at my son, Spencer. The tousled bright blonde hair hanging down over his ears, his small skinny frame, and that face, I would recognize that face anywhere. He was a dead ringer for my little boy. My heart ached to see Spencer again. After a few more steps in, I came to a complete stop. The memory of this day from my childhood came flooding back. No, it came bursting back.

How could I have forgotten this?

I'd experienced recurring dreams about something close to this over the years but not the actual memory. A missing piece inside my head that I didn't know was gone suddenly returned.

I approached the boy. He turned to look at me with big blue eyes. I was looking into the eyes of myself from twenty-five years ago. The memory of this day played in my head in real-time as I was living it now.

"Hi, little man," I said to him. A nickname I'd given Spencer and used with him often.

"Hi." He was a little apprehensive. He studied my face. I knew what he was feeling. He was surprised to see someone who looked like one of his older cousins.

"What's your name?" I asked, knowing the reply.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," he informed me while asserting the fact that he was a big boy and could handle himself.

"Yes. That's very good advice," I said with a warm smile. "Although you don't know me, I know your parents. I'm an old friend." He nods at me thinking he might actually know me from one of our many family picnics over the years. "You don't have anything to worry about, buddy. I'm not here to hurt you or take you anywhere, or scare you. In fact, I can only talk to you for a minute or two."

"What about?" He asked with genuine interest.

I knew what I needed to do now. Not only did the memory of this day suddenly reappear, but the events that followed did as well. Those were important. I was going to give my younger self FutureQuarter to hold onto. He'd hide in my 'special hiding place.' I knew that within a few days, my more youthful self will forget all about it. He'll forget about it as my family of 1981 is in the process of moving to our new house in Woodbine. I know FutureQuarter will remain hidden. I know The Corporation won't find it. If they had, this current chase across time wouldn't be happening.

Besides, if you can't trust yourself, whom can you trust?

"I was hoping you might do me a favor," I said. "I have a very special coin I want you to hold on to for me. Do you have a secret place in your house where you hide your treasures?"

He nodded. He was thinking that such a place had been necessary since his little sister was always taking his things. It was in the basement of the house on Arthur Avenue, a cavity of space under the stairwell covered by a loose board.

I reached into my back pocket for my wallet and withdrew FutureQuarter from it. I held it up for my younger self to see. "This is a magic quarter," I told him. "It's very special because there's no other quarter like it."

He takes the quarter and looks at it with the innocent curiosity of a child. "Why?"

"It was made in another time," I said. "It was made in the future, a long, long time from now."

He looked at the year stamped on the back, remembering Mom once told him the year money gets made is stamped on it.

"Cool! How did you get it?"

"Well, little man, that's a long story. I'll tell you what. You hide this quarter for me in your special hiding place for a little while, and when I come back to visit you and your Mom, I promise to tell you all about it. Okay?"

"When will that be?"

"I'm not sure. It could be a few weeks, or it could be a few months, but I can promise you that I will come back for it. Can you do this for me?"

Younger me smiles. "Yes. I can."

"Thank you." I stood up to walk away. "One more thing, Kev. You must keep this quarter a secret. If you tell anyone about it, especially your mom or dad, they might take it away. It's very, very important to keep it a secret."

"Okay," he said a little unsure. I knew he wouldn't tell anyone. "How did you know my name?"

I glanced over at PJ's. Mom was getting ready to leave the restaurant. "I've known you a long time, buddy." I looked back at him. "Since the day you were born, in fact. Someday we'll see each other again, and you'll understand why."

He grinned again and nodded. I did the same and quietly walked back the way I came in. Alas, a trip to PJ's Pub was not to be. I glanced over my shoulder as I turned the corner en route back to the car. Mom and my sister joined little me at the fountain so we could toss pennies into it. They were making wishes for each penny thrown. I remembered putting FutureQuarter into my pocket for safekeeping while using the pennies mom gave us. I even recall my first wish. I wanted the man who had trusted me with his special quarter to come back and tell me about the future. It wasn't something my father would ever do for me, trust me with something special. Little me knew that as well.

In the end, I got my wish.

III

It was time now to set another goal. As I climbed into the Dodge, I decided my new goal be to locate Connor and or Jim. With the current situation stable - for lack of a better word - I was able to give my present situation more thought.

Where would Connor go if inadvertently (and accidentally) stranded in 1977? Assuming he and Jim survived the confrontation with the Corporation agents, they would have ES-1 and the Jaunte system to FCA-1. Knowing Connor's devotion to his Temporal Directives involving non-interference with timelines he isn't part of, logic dictated he would be at one or the other. The only way to get into ES-1 that I knew of was to go through one of the entrances via my childhood house on Arthur Avenue. The only working entrance was inside the house itself. The other was DOA. Getting inside that house in the middle of the night with everyone asleep wouldn't be very difficult, knowing it as well as I do.

I flipped open the communicator to see the time.

6:46 PM.

It would be six or seven hours until I could make a discrete and safe entrance into the house on Arthur Avenue.

Another message from the downed Brüder ship displayed itself. There were 26 minutes left before the self-destruct.

I was about to start the car and drive back to the crash site of the Brüder ship when I saw them, The Corporation 'men in black'. Three of them approached the walk-in clinic, where I left Dan. The last agent stopped in mid-walk to scan the parking lot. I froze. I knew him. He was the man chasing the runaway kid who collided with me next to the Photon arena in Ocean City the night Wald disappeared. The same man who stopped and stared back at me. That event hasn't happened yet for him. He wouldn't recognize me now. He finished his scan of the parking lot and joined his comrades in the clinic.

I wondered in awe how quickly The Corporation arrived. How could they possibly know Dan was here so fast? It didn't matter now. I left with haste and began my drive on Route 26 toward the second bridge over the reservoir. According to the locator in Dan's communicator, the ship crashed in a section of woods off the far end. My drive was expeditious. I had a little less than half an hour to get there before the self-destruct.

I flipped open the communicator as I drove and tapped the red dot on the holographic map comprising was the ship's location. I ignored the unchanged status report and pressed over the 'transmit' button. "Brüder ship, are you receiving this message? Please respond."

As I expected, there was no reply.

"I repeat. Brüder ship, if anyone is receiving me, please respond."

Nothing.

I was about to close the communicator when a voice spoke from it. "Is somebody out there?"

"Yes!" I said in excitement. "Who is this? Are you hurt?"

"My name's Victor. I'm okay, for the most part. I think the Brüder pilot is dead, I don't know. And the other guy here, I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Are you human?"

"Yes? Are you?"

It was a fair question. "Yes. I am. My name's Kevin."

There was a brief pause in Victor's reply. "Are you with the FCA?"

Victor's question piqued my curiosity. He was involved somehow. "Not officially. I've been working with some of them on a different matter."

"Do you know Connor MacKenzie?"

My heart rate jumped. "Yes! I do! I'm trying to find him right now. We became...separated."

With desperation, Victor asked, "Please, will you come get me and take me with you? He's the only one who can help me."

"Help you how?"

"The Corporation kidnapped me two years ago. They've been holding me hostage because they want to trade me for something very valuable to them. I guess it's taken two years for them to put this deal in motion."

"Who is 'them'?" I asked.

"Honestly, I don't know. I've only met one of them and the Brüder who's been holding me. They called him an IA. I have no idea what that means."

I was now driving across the first bridge over the reservoir. "Do you know what they want to trade you for?"

"A quarter," he said. "This is all over a quarter."

I felt the blood drain from the upper half of my body. I felt cold and numb and thought I might faint. I pulled over and off the road when I reached the end of the bridge.

"Does The Corporation have this quarter?" I whispered through winded breaths.

"No. They never got it. The IA guy who originally had it was supposed to give it to The Corporation in exchange for me. I panicked and stole the quarter and then ran away with it. I was going to go into hiding until I could locate someone from the FCA to help me. I never made it. I dropped the damned quarter while I was running before they recaptured me. They locked me in a cell inside this ship with some other guy they captured. They were in the process of taking us back to their headquarters. We, um...I tried to gain control over the ship and ended up crashing it."

"Where are you now?"

"Stuck inside this damned ship!" Victor said in frustration. "I don't know how to get it open, and if I'm reading this console right, the ship is going to self destruct in about eleven minutes."

I stomped on the gas pedal to get to the other side of the second bridge. "Victor, don't say anything else. I'll be there in a few minutes. Hold on, okay, buddy?"

"Okay." Victor didn't sound very enthused. "Please hurry."

I drove as fast as the Dodge would allow. I reached my destination in under a minute. The first thing I did when I left the car was flip open the communicator to determine where I had to go. I had ten minutes to venture through the woods surrounding Liberty reservoir in the dark to find a downed spacecraft. I could find no evidence of a crash from the road in the form of broken trees or trails of smoke rising from within the woods.

I used the holographic light from the communicator to help light the way. I had to be able to see where I was going while following the best path I could find on foot to the red dot on the display. I remembered that cool little flashlight Connor used when we arrived at ES-1 and how it illuminated the entire room. I wish I had it now.

Six minutes left until self-destruct, and I still wasn't there. If I were to believe the red dot on the communicator's holographic map, I was getting closer. I'd already fallen down five times and collided with three trees in the process.

I spoke into the communicator. "Victor, are you there?" There was no reply. "Victor, its Kevin. Talk to me, brother."

Something was wrong.

I had no idea how far into the woods I was now. The noise from Route 26 was all but gone. I stopped running so I could hear more clearly. The sound of a high-pitched alarm firing at second intervals echoed off in the distance. I ran in that direction as fast as I could without colliding into any more trees or stumbling over.

I thought I might miss the ship entirely and didn't know why. It was probably because I was expecting something like Bruder-2. I found myself looking for something small, compact, and with a 'to the point' kind of design.

The craft I discovered instead was much larger, perhaps the size of a 50-foot yacht and half-rammed into the ground before me. I could only see half of the ship. The body style was close to that of Bruder-2, only a hell of a lot bigger. A doorway inside revealed itself toward the front of the protruding ship. The source of the squawking alarm came from within.

The communicator duly informed me I had three minutes left until the self-destruct event. In sci-fi stories, a self-destruct typically meant a great explosion to destroy the craft. This gave me literally no time to look inside of the downed ship.

I climbed up the wing and stood within the entrance. All I could see inside was the same black shell devoid of holography. If the holographic core of the ship were, in fact, damaged, then nothing would work.

"Victor!" I looked around as my voice quickly echoed back. There were no walls to separate the vast interior of the ship. All I saw was an immense dark space with some kind of flashing device at the rear of the ship's hull. That would be my first destination.

The malfunctioning device looked very similar to the holographic generator Jim used to help Connor. The difference here was shape and size. It wasn't round, but cylindrical and built in sections. Each section seemed to act as its own device to read the holographic glass rod. There were twelve of them with at least three attempting to do their job. The machinery within the active sections spun around in an attempt to read the HoloLog within. A single red button on top of the device labeled auswerfen pulsated weakly. I had no idea what that meant but pushed it anyway, hoping the holographic storage device would eject, and the auto-destruct would cancel. The device slowed down and stopped. It pushed the glass rod out of the top. I picked it up and examined it. It didn't look broken to me with the swirls of different colored light contained within. I recalled Ryan suggesting they were indestructible.

I slipped the rod into my back pocket and proceeded to leave. There was nothing else for me here. I could only assume Victor discovered a way out and ran for his life. With approximately two minutes left until self-destruct, it was time for me to do the same. I dashed for the opened space in which I entered the craft only to trip over something en route. The block sent me crashing to the floor. I swore loudly.

I stumbled over an unmistakable body. I turned the communicator so its light would illuminate a face.

For me to claim surprises like these seem to come one after another would not be an exaggeration. One might go as far as to suggest I was getting used to them. No amount of preparation could have ever equipped me for this one.

The body I tripped over belonged O'Bryan VonWald, still seventeen years old, and still dressed in the clothes he wore the day he disappeared in Ocean City. I never expected the other person Victor spoke of to be my long lost friend. Wald was unconscious and unresponsive. Knowing I had very little time, I picked him up, tossed him over my shoulder, and ran for dear life. The communicator chirped a one-minute warning.

I jumped out of the ship and onto the wing with Wald over my shoulder. We slid to the ground. I ran in the first direction I saw as fast as I could go. It wouldn't be very far. Between carrying Wald's limp body over my shoulder and the unseen debris of the woods, we both came crashing down onto the ground. The impact compounded the wounds of all the other falls I had taken over the last twenty-four hours. I didn't have the strength to get back up this time. The communicator flew off in another direction during the fall. Although I couldn't see it, I could hear it. There were only seconds before it would all be over. The safest place now was flat against the ground as I could get. I covered my head with my arms and expected the worse.

There was a great flash followed by a pulse similar to the Brüder Impüls weapons. There was no explosion, no fireball, and no crashing debris. The worst case of vertigo I ever felt set in, however. It caused me to lose consciousness.

IV

I had no sense of time when I came to except to say it was still night and bitter cold.

The first thing I saw was Wald. He was lying face down in the leaves. I crawled over, shook him, and asked if he could hear me. He remained unresponsive. I checked his pulse to ensure he was still alive. It was steady but slow.

Finding the communicator was no chore as it was still open. The holographic display poured light onto the ground. It displayed a single message:

CONNECTION LOST.

COM LOCKOUT IN EFFECT.

To my surprise, the time was now 11:14 PM. I'd been out for a little over four hours.

I walked back to the Brüder ship, where it had once been entrenched into the ground. It, too, was easy to locate. The remains of the ship crackled and sparkled as if I had walked upon a large pile of dying sparklers. The once grand ship was now a pile of undistinguishable junk. The entire hull collapsed in on itself. It left me wondering how the indestructible material Connor called Unobtanium succumbed so quickly, leaving only heaps of unidentifiable remains.

As I stood before the ruins, I realized the site was the one I discovered in my exploration of the woods surrounding Liberty reservoir in 1989. The week my old girlfriend, Christina Buchanan, broke up with me before going to Ocean City.

I hoped Victor got out in time. I had to believe he would have said something to me if he found escape on his own. This left the possibility of the Brüder pilot regaining consciousness and taking Victor while leaving Wald behind. If this were true, where could they possibly go?

I loudly called out for Victor. All I heard in reply was my own echo disappearing after the third or fourth iteration. If Victor got away or his Brüder host took him away, he was on his own. I had my own problems to consider. What do I do for Wald? I couldn't take him to any hospital in this time as I had done with Dan. Wald was one of my dearest friends I wouldn't leave him stranded here left to his own devices. Dan, on the other hand, was of no concern to me. I saved his life, and that would be enough. He was bound to be just fine with the arrival of those Corporation agents after I left the mall.

Carrying Wald back to the Dodge took a lot longer than I anticipated. Had it not been for the passing traffic on Route 26, I would have been stuck in the woods surrounding Liberty Reservoir in my own version of The Blair Witch Project. I secured Wald in the front seat of the Dodge and checked the communicator for the current time. It was minutes until midnight. I studied the information currently displayed by the communicator. I wasn't sure how to navigate through these holographic menus. The communicator interface was vastly different from the familiar Windows or Macintosh interfaces to which I was accustomed. I couldn't find an easy way to check for Connor or Jim's frequency.

"Computer," I said. The device happily chirped. "Display channels." The communicator made the ugly sounding chirp it did when it didn't like a given command. "Display frequencies?"

Success. A holographic list of available frequencies floated over the back panel of the device. Pushing up or down at that list displayed additional frequencies. Unfortunately, there were too many to try.

"Computer." Chirp. "Locate Connor MacKenzie."

The bad chirp virtually spat at me.

I sighed. "Computer, scan frequencies." A spinning symbol filled the area signifying work in progress. It displayed two in use EHz frequencies.

EHz?

An abbreviation for Exahertz, EHz, represents a frequency higher than any other currently in use. Twentieth-century broadcasting technology has yet to exceed the 300-gigahertz range.

If I had to guess, one frequency belonged to The Corporation and the other to the FCA. I attempted to eavesdrop on both. Neither was on the air. I didn't want to broadcast until I knew which one belonged to the FCA. I closed it and put it back into my breast pocket.

The Dodge was kind enough to start for me once again. I drove cautiously back to the Arthur Avenue house and parked the Dodge off the side of the road and opposite the house.

I collected Dan's wallet and the broken communicator and placed them inside the inner pockets of my sport's jacket. These weren't items that needed discovery by some wondering person. I carried Wald to the backyard and down to the pump house side of the pool. One of the scattered lawn chairs became his new place of rest. I planned to get into ES-1 through the basement, find Connor, and retrieve Wald through the entry by the pool pump. I didn't want to take Wald into the house in his condition. Doing so would also make my job that much more difficult.

As I predicted, getting into the house was a piece of cake. We never locked the basement door. I stole inside through the mutt room. The basement was utterly dark and deathly quiet. An occasional creak or groan from the settling house broke the silence. They caused me to freeze in my tracks.

The basement looked completely different from the one I left earlier this afternoon. A half a day for me was four years for everyone else. The ceiling was originally nothing more than the support beams and upstairs floorboards. Now an erection of supports that held Styrofoam rectangles and florescent lights replaced it. It looked like a cheap office. I remembered this, of course. I only forgot the date of completion for this work. 1979, I think.

I looked directly at the door to my father's workroom. It was dark, and the door closed. By 1981, he would have kept a motorcycle in there. One he was working on to my mother's chagrin. It became a significant cause of disagreement between the two until she insisted he sell it. He did at some point before we moved.

I made my way to the door of the workroom with the stealth-like moves of a fox and let myself in. Someone else was in here with a little flashlight, and a Penthouse magazine strewed across his lap.

Charlie, my father, jumped out of his chair. He took a defensive posture. "Who the fuck are you?"

I froze. The childhood fear of what this man could do to me in this situation no longer controlled me. Charlie didn't approach. I was bigger than he was now. I now hold the title of intimidator.

I smiled. "Hi, Charlie. Recognize me?"

"Joey?" He mistook me for my older cousin as he and I look very similar.

"Try again," I said, overly friendly.

"I don't know. You look like what my son Kevin might look like as an adult."

"Bingo!" I jeered. "You even get a prize, Charlie." I grabbed him by the grungy open collar work shirt he typically wore, picked him up, and threw him into his motorcycle. The force of the impact knocked them both over. He never saw it coming. And why not? He was sitting on his chair, pants down, and masturbating to a Penthouse magazine.

The man writhing on the floor quickly pulled his pants up. He fell off the side of the motorcycle in the process. He stood up but didn't approach.

"How can you be Kevin? He's only ten years old!"

"I would love to explain it to you, Chuck," I said, toned with sarcasm. "The problem is you'd have to be intelligent to understand it, which you are not."

"Are you calling me stupid?" He asked with surprise. At least he understood the insult. Mother would say the same thing to him when they would get into spats.

"Uh, yes. I am. The things you did to me as a child, and the things you'll do to me as an adult are unspeakable! You're a shitty father!"

"I am not! I love you and your sister."

That weak declaration made me angry. I didn't want to show it. Instead, I laughed in his face. "You and I, we're both adults now, Charlie. You think you're man enough to take a shot at me now?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

I fingered my chin in contemplation. "Oh, I get it. You only pick on those weaker than you. That's the only way you can walk away victorious. Fucking pussy coward."

Charlie stepped forward this time. He raised his fists to assert himself. "You're not my son. What do you want with me?"

"Nothing. I'm not here for you. You being here was not a variable I counted on. You should be in bed." I paused, remembering the endless complaints about the lack of sex. "But that's right. Mom doesn't put out for you. I can't remember how many times you made me listen to your complaining about everything mom didn't do for you. That's why you're down here pulling on your prick with all these magazines. Mom started turning you down flat because of your messing around with Ilene at the skating rink, didn't she?"

Charlie's eyes widened at the mention of Ilene. "Who are you really? Are you her new boyfriend?"

I threw my head back and laughed harder this time. I'd forgotten Mom and two children were asleep upstairs. I pushed him into one of his workbenches and watched him fall off balance and onto the floor. Charlie stood up with fists raised in defense. Before he could make some remark about the situation, I smashed him in the nose with the palm of my hand. He yelped out and fell to his knees. I stepped over and kicked him repeatedly. Finally, I picked up his barely-fighting-back limp body and threw it on top of the motorcycle. Gauging the look on his face, Charlie wasn't experiencing feelings of joy and happiness. I knelt down and threw the hardest punch I could manage into his face, followed by several more.

"Kevin! Stop it!" Mom shouted. I turned around to face her. She looked a lot older than four years should have been. She stepped forward to touch my face. "It was real," she whispered. "Almost four years ago, I dreamt I met you as an adult. You told me about all these bad things about Charlie and what he did to our family. But it wasn't a dream, was it? It's all true, isn't it?"

I sighed. I suppose Connor's work was more incomplete than he'd hoped. "Yes, Mom. It's all true. It happened in 1977. Four years ago for you, but maybe six or seven hours for me."

I never knew my mother could widen her eyes to that of a deer caught in headlights. "Really? That's all?" She looked off. "I remember now. The black sports jacket you were wearing, it's the same one. You're all filthy now. What happened?"

"There was a bit of an altercation after Connor tried to blank your memory," I said. "I panicked and accidentally jumped my way here."

Mom gently hugged me. She ignored the beaten and bloodied Charlie still limp on the floor. "What are you doing back?"

"I have to get back into the tunnels underneath the house. Do you remember any of what I told you about Wald? He was my friend who was killed in Ocean City?" She cautiously nodded. "He's not dead after all, but something's wrong with him. He's with me, and he needs Connor's help. Do you remember Connor?"

Mom nodded. "The Irish guy who can time travel, right?"

"Yeah. That's him. Connor's been stuck here since that day in 1977 when he was hurt. My theory is he's hiding in those tunnels underground." I hitched a thumb behind me. "That's where I'm trying to go, through the entrance in the nook behind that old fridge. At least until I discovered porn boy here spanking himself."

"No surprise there," Mom whispered under her breath.

Charlie groaned. He attempted to right himself. "Who the hell are you?" He managed to ask.

"I told you who I was, asshole!" I yanked the Impüls out from underneath my shirt. I aimed it directly at his chest. "I'm the son you try to kill ten years from now."

"Kevin! No!" Mom reached out for my arm. "You can't kill him."

"I'm not going to kill him," I said as I switched the Impüls intensity to one of the lower settings. "But I can't have him following me either."

I fired the Impüls. A low-intensity burst of electromagnetic energy rippled into Charlie's chest. A bright light surrounded him with the low bass hum. His body jerked in spasms for a few seconds then fell silent. I checked his pulse. It was strong and steady.

"Is he okay?" Mom asked.

I nodded. "He'll be fine. But this situation presents a much larger problem I didn't anticipate."

"Our memory of this incident."

"Exactly."

A loud roll of thunder crashed outside. I could now hear the sound of the increasing wind. The night, which had been peaceful and quiet only minutes ago, was now a coming thunderstorm. It meant only one thing.

The fucking Corporation.

I flipped open the communicator to check the status of the two EHz frequencies. According to the readout, one was active but scrambled. I tapped at the frequency entry anyway. A prompt for a decryption sequence halted me. Someone was out there approaching fast, doing their best to avoid detection.

"Kevin? What's the matter? You look scared out of your wits."

"They're coming," I said in a whisper.

"Who is?"

"The bad guys." I turned to face Mom. "Listen, no matter what happens here, you don't need to worry about me. I'll be okay. The Corporation - the bad guys – they're not going to hurt me. They want something from me that I've hidden very carefully. I have trust in Connor that he's going to rescue me in the event The Corporation captures me. What you need to do is make sure nothing happens to me. That is, little me sleeping upstairs. Can you do that for me? Please?"

"I will." Mom gently hugged me. "What about us? What's going to happen to Charlie and me? Are we supposed to have memories of this day?"

"I don't know." I gave the issue some thought. "I do remember this night, I think. I vaguely remember hearing voices in the basement as a child and the storm outside. I don't believe this is a paradox. Somehow, this is going to resolve itself. I just don't know how."

Mom said nothing and watched as I carefully made my way to the old refrigerator blocking the nook. This time the creepy feeling of evil and death I experienced so many times in my youth was present. I was scared to go back there.

Why now? What not in 1977?

"You can't do it, can you?" Mom asked. I shook my head. "I tried to as well over the last few years. I was curious about what I thought was a dream. Trying to go back in there leaves me feeling sick and scared."

I nodded. "I had that experience too, growing up here. The same thing happens with the pool pump."

"I know," Mom said with a small smile. "You've complained to me about it many times. I told you --"

"-- that it's all in my head," I said with a grin, finishing her sentence. "I remember that too. Only I don't think it is...or ever was."

"Me neither."

I turned my attention back to the area behind the old fridge. There was no evidence that a hatch was back there. It looked to be the same earthen ground it always was. Connor and Jim must have covered their tracks.

I took a deliberate step directly into the nook closer to where the covered hatch should be. My head filled with noise, like someone taking a guitar with the distortion turned all the way up and banging it against the wall. The force threw me back into the workroom. I grabbed my head in pain as I attempted to shake off the feeling of nausea and impending doom.

"I can't do it," I gasped. I took several steps away from the fridge. "I feel like it'll kill me."

The sound of pouring rain filled the silence as thunder rolled back and forth. Somewhere out there, the 1981 embodiment of Brüder-3 was hiding...and waiting. What else could it be?

Hard rain drenched an unconscious Wald down by the pool. I couldn't leave him there is this kind of weather and exposure. Brüder-3 could snatch him up at any time.

"What are you going to do?" Mom asked.

"Wald is outside in one of the pool chairs. I need to get him in here before The Corporation takes him."

"Then go get him." Mom pushed me out of the workroom door. "We'll figure out what to do afterward."

I knew I wouldn't be able to do this. Staying here any longer than necessary put everyone in danger. I looked out the basement door. Wald's retrieval wasn't going to be an easy task. My work would require haste as every second outdoors was a second exposed to the Brüder ship. I leaped out the basement door and into the wind. It blew hard enough to make the impact of rain on the skin a painful thing.

Halfway to the pool, I could see Wald and the lawn chair. The hurricane-strength wind knocked them both over. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by the inevitable crash of thunder. The force of the wind knocked me down into the wet grass and mud. I slid the rest of the distance to Wald and pulled him into the pool pump area. The feeling of sickness and dread began to creep into my body but not to the heightened degrees I experienced in the basement.

The chaos of the storm was fantastic. These were hurricane level conditions in progress. The very same conditions Brüder-2 could create. Something was different with this storm. It somehow contained a higher intensity. Much more so than the previous storms that surrounded Brüder-3. This storm was more organized and not so sloppy. I looked up out of the pool pump house. Somewhere in the loud sound of the wind and rain was the screaming of an engine. It wasn't the harsh sound of the Brüder-3 transporter system. This system was different, smoother somehow.

"We gotta go, Wald," I said under my breath. I stood in front of Wald with my back to him. With all my might, I pulled him up onto my back to piggyback his limp body. I stepped out of the pool pump nook bent over as to cut into the winds that tried relentlessly to push us back. I wasn't ten steps into working my way back toward the basement door when the intensity of the wind increased if that was even possible.

I thought if I looked up, I might see the cone of a tornado. I was scared out of my mind. Pure adrenaline kept me going. It felt as if the wind was no longer pushing at us. It was now pulling us, sucking us back toward the gate of the pool.

"WE'RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT!" I shouted as loud as I could toward the house. I had no traction on the muddy grass. The wind pushed (or pulled, I couldn't tell) Wald and me into the fence of the pool deck. We flipped over onto the other side. I grabbed onto Wald for dear life as I didn't want the wind to take him away. The gale tossed us both into the pool as if we were nothing more than hapless leaves. Bitter cold water enveloped me. I discovered that standing in almost six feet of water nearly makes one impervious to wind.

I held onto Wald with one arm to keep him above water. I thrust my middle finger into the air with the other toward the unseen Brüder ship. "FUCK YOU!" I screamed at it. "YOU'LL HAVE TO KILL ME FIRST!"

A concentrated beam of light covered me from a quarter mile up in the air. I covered my eyes with my free arm. I allowed myself to see right into the circle of intense white light from the bottom of the ship.

I held onto Wald. If they were going to take one of us, then they'd get both. Live together, die alone.

The world around us filled entirely with white light as the wind pushed back and forth. It was so intense. I had to close my eyes.

The pulling began. The same pulling sensation I felt during temporal displacement. I felt unconsciousness enveloping me as tunnel vision began. I clutched onto Wald as hard as I could.

The end came with a surge of energy. There was no pain. A strike of lightning hit the pool. My tunnel vision of white slowly speckled to black. Now devoid of energy and seconds away from fainting, I had no choice but to release Wald. He didn't fall. Wald was in the beam of light with me.

Then it was over. The noise, the wind, the light, it was all gone. I passed out.

I was their prisoner.

TO BE CONTINUED...

###

Well, now. That was an adventure. Singed a bit, were you?

This adventure is just beginning folks. This is but one book of three that formerly comprised one enormous book that exceeded 250,000 words. To put that into perspective, the average longer novel averages between 75,000 and 100,000 words. Several folks in the editorial realm suggested breaking this tale up into smaller bits. Unknown authors don't get the same leeway as establish authors when it comes to word count and novel size. So, here were so. This is the first of three in what I've come to call the first phase of the Displaced series. The second phase - that is, parts 4, 5, and 6 - already clocks in at nearly 500,000 words...so, yeah, I'm gonna have to work on that.

You still with me? Cool. Here is a little gratuitous information about phase one if Displaced. It began a long, long time ago in 2008 as a series of blog posts. I think they're still out there somewhere. Do a search for a group on Facebook called '2025', you might find it yet. They were, like this tale, written in the first person using myself as the protagonist. My goal was to tell this tale with enough detail and science so that one might stop and take the time to ask me, 'did all this really happen?' After a few months, the blog post style of writing became more 'novel style.' Sometime in 2009, I decided to scrap the blog project and do the whole thing over as a proper novel, which is why this novel sounds like it's the story of my life.

And in a way, it is.

Many of the scenes are this novel are based on things that actually happened, although I'll leave it to you to decide which are true with a certain amount of dramatization added for flavor. I mixed those in with a generous dose of fiction and ended up with a not-so-half-bad tale. I've based several characters in this book on actual people from my teenage years. You'll meet them again in much more detail when I publish phase two of this series, including the tale of Becca Saccarelli. They're all essential, and it's all going somewhere. I promise.

After all, I'm not a writer for 'Lost.' I know exactly where this story is heading and how it ends. There's no making it up as I go along. 'Lost' may have been one of the reasons I began writing the original series of blog posts that was '2025'. Maybe.

Interesting note, the mythology of The Brüder, Connor MacKenzie, Robert Evans, Martin Wexler, Jim Marks, Daniel Wilson, the FCA, and The Corporation all began as a series of short stories I wrote during my second year of college in late 1990. This includes the displacement elements known as the Brüder Trinity. Temporal, Spiritual, and Visual. Those stories became my 'story bible' that established the mythology you are now receiving in bits and pieces as we go. I suspect that when all three phases of Displaced are complete, I'll go back, revise those stories, and tell them as a prequel. Assuming I live that long. It's taken eleven years just to get to this point, and I still have phase two to tidy up and phase three to write.

Anyways, I've rambled enough. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for reading my novel, and I hope you continue your journey through time with the FCA in future books. There'll be plenty of them. If you enjoyed this tale, might I impose upon you to take a moment and leave a review at the outlet from which you downloaded this work? That's how we unknowns get love...and street cred. Which is important. I'd love to do this full time. Perhaps as head writer and executive producer when some entertainment venue makes this story into a series?

Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?

See ya soon!

Love and light,

\- Kevin Provance

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kevin Provance was born and raised in Carroll County, Maryland, the setting for most of his novels and short stories. He began writing short story fiction in 7th grade, focusing primarily on science fiction, the paranormal, the metaphysical, and good old-fashioned suspense. Maryland college literary art publications have featured several of Kevin's short stories, including an early cut of "Prisoner of the Game," then called "Murder." Kevin also drew a short-lived political comic strip titled "Batdog & Canary," featured in the Carroll County Times' 'Neighborhoods' magazine, circa the early nineties.

Kevin moved to Sarasota, Florida, in 1993, where he has since completed several unpublished novels while working as the owner, lead programmer, and webmaster for TPA Software. With the advent of self-publishing eBooks on the Internet, Kevin is pleased to bring to light the writing of his youth and new works to come. He now resides in Summerville, South Carolina.

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CONNECT WITH ME ONLINE

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Blog: http://www.kevinprovance.com

