[Wealth of Time 01.0] Wealth of Time

by Andre Gonzalez

  “Anything in particular you wanted to see in the library?” Jessica asked, more relaxed.

  “Nothing in particular. I’m just a believer that you can judge a lot about a school by its library, and I must say it’s impressive.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Briar.”

  Martin peeked at his watch, wanting it to appear that he had somewhere else to be. “I really should get going, though. I’ve got some errands to run this afternoon, but I really appreciate you taking the time to show me around.”

  Jessica smiled, looking comfortable again. “It was my pleasure. I hope your family decides to join our community here.”

  Martin shook the girl’s hand before they parted ways. He informed her he would find his way out of the school no problem, then deliberately took the longer route that passed through the freshman hallway.

  22

  Chapter 22

  Martin thought of the high school as a historical landmark even though nothing had yet happened within its walls, aside from adolescent drama and education. He took a final pass through the freshman hallway in hopes of bumping into one of the boys, but the swarm of students when the lunch bell rang made it impossible.

  The past flexed its muscles by toying with his mind. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had nearly fainted or died—he wasn’t sure exactly what it was—and felt a stressful tension lingering in his chest.

  Martin returned to his car and grabbed his notebook. He noted the resistance the past had pushed on him, comparing the sensation to possibly a stroke or heart attack. He mentioned the cold presence that lingered in the entryway and cafeteria. The past gave him no choice but to acknowledge its authority. Everything Calvin had told him was true, and he would need to tread carefully going forward. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t see one of the boys today.

  Martin threw his notebook aside and inhaled deeply, his stomach gurgling anxiously.

  This is bigger than you. You’re messing with the wrong history. Go home and don’t ever come back.

  His subconscious had provided sound advice since he arrived in 1996, but he ignored it, believing there had to be a way to stop the shooting without getting himself killed.

  After a ten-minute debate on what to do next, Martin fired up his engine and drove home. It had been at least a decade—in 2018’s standards—since the Denver highways were clear of traffic in the middle of the day, and he enjoyed every second of driving 70 miles per hour on I-25. He powered on the radio and let the youthful sounds of the Spice Girls distract his mind. Izzy had loved the Spice Girls, and he remembered her dancing around the house with a hairbrush in hand as her imaginary microphone, singing her lungs out to every one of their hits.

  “I can go back every day and try to find them on their way home. Can’t go in to the school again, I’ll become too suspicious.”

  This would require heavy detective work, but he had nothing better to do with his time. He’d like to follow Izzy home a few times a week to see her, but would have to treat that action with kid gloves to avoid being caught by her or an observant resident in the neighborhood.

  The day had taken an emotional toll on Martin—it wasn’t every day one encountered a supernatural force while traveling back in time. When he arrived back to his apartment, he snuck by Vinny’s office, and went up to his unit for a glass of whiskey and to take a nap. Sonya would be over later for a dinner date, and he’d need his energy if she wanted another piece of Martin Briar for dessert.

  * * *

  Martin prepared dinner that night. They had been going out too often and wanted to save money, so they agreed to alternate cooking dinner at home throughout the week, and would eat out on the weekends.

  Sonya arrived promptly at six as Martin put the finishing touches on the taco bar he had set up on the kitchen counter. She walked in to a margarita that lit up her face.

  “It smells delicious!” she said, sitting on his couch with her drink and taking a deep inhale.

  “Why, thank you. You look delicious,” Martin crooned as he kissed the top of her head. Sonya never stopped showing off her toned legs, and he never stopped looking.

  They caught up on each other’s days, Martin lying about another long day at the post office, keeping the haunted high school in the back of his mind. He had gotten into the habit of telling these lies so much that he started to believe them. Every time the topic of work came up, he remembered, somewhere in 2018, he was asleep in Chris’s office, waiting to be woken up to go in to work. The thought gave him the empty feeling you have on the final day of a long vacation.

  With the table set, they sat down for dinner, Martin diving immediately into the juicy tacos he had spent the last hour preparing. After a couple of bites, he noticed Sonya poking around at her food, not having taken a bite yet. She maintained a smile, but Martin could see through it.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  She looked at him, her hazel eyes sparkling with natural beauty, a secret swimming behind them.

  “Nothing is wrong. I’ve just got something on my mind is all.”

  Martin nodded, took a bite, and stared right back into her soul in an effort to hide how nervous he suddenly became. She remained silent and sipped the margarita.

  “Are you gonna tell me or make me guess?”

  She smiled, and it assured him that whatever was bothering her had nothing to do with him, at least in a negative sense.

  “I suppose I have to tell you, or it’s gonna eat at me for the next week.” She paused, took another sip, and poked at the tacos again. “I want to tell you something, but I’m just afraid of how you’ll react.”

  “You can tell me anything,” he responded quickly and confidently.

  “Okay, here it goes. I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but I feel like there’s something between us.”

  Martin nodded and couldn’t help but grin. Things were going very well. He’d never thought his first relationship in twenty years could feel so natural.

  “At our age, I feel like it’s okay to move quicker than normal. We’re about halfway through life, probably more, so no point in taking things slow.”

  She paused for another sip, and Martin noticed the slightest tremble from her hand.

  “I guess what I’m getting at . . . I wanted to ask you what you think about moving in together.”

  She grabbed her glass in sync with the words leaving her mouth and took a long swig as she watched Martin.

  He sat back in his chair, one arm crossed, his free hand on his chin.

  “Wow,” he said, shocked.

  “I knew it. It was too aggressive of me. Pretend I never said anything. Crazy thoughts, I know.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Martin cut in. “I haven’t even said anything. It is a fast move, but I agree with you. At this point in life we should both know what we want. We don’t have to wait it out five years to be sure.”

  His eyebrows dropped in thought, scrunching his face into a shape that made him look closer to seventy years old.

  “You know,” Martin continued. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. I think about you when I wake up. I think about you when I go to sleep. Getting through a shitty workday has become so much easier knowing I get to see you at the end of it.”

  Sonya blushed, her entire face pink, as she took a giddy sip of margarita.

  “So is that a yes?” she asked.

  “I want to say yes, but have you thought about where would we live? Your place? My place? A whole new place?”

  “I was thinking my place. My mortgage is low and I have plenty of space.”

  Martin nodded. “Okay. I just signed my lease, though, and I’m not sure I can get out of it.”

  “Aren’t you friends with the landlord?”

  “I wouldn’t call us friends, but we get along just fine.”

  “It won’t hurt to just ask him. Let him know the situation and he might be understanding.”

  “I c
an do that. I doubt he’ll let me out of the lease for free, but maybe he’ll work with me.”

  Sonya clapped her hands like a giggly teenage cheerleader. “I’m so excited. I was so scared you’d freak out and tell me to leave.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. Some men are afraid of commitment, so I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not afraid of commitment; I’ve been married before. It just didn’t work out. I have feelings for you I can’t deny. If anything, I’m relieved to know you feel the same way.”

  Sonya smirked and shot Martin an intense stare, suggesting that they get in bed right away.

  “Well, since we’re on the same page then, what do you say we put away these dishes and have some fun?” she asked him, refusing to break her gaze.

  He pursed his lips and nodded as if in deep thought. “I suppose we could do that.” He spoke in a serious tone, but couldn’t keep the grin off his face, prompting a seductive giggle from his girlfriend.

  They did the dishes as quickly as they had ever done. Sonya pulled him onto his bed and cut the lights. As they made love, a thought kept tugging at Martin, leaving him unable to focus.

  If I live with Sonya, how am I supposed to pull off any of my plan without letting her know what this is all about? Is she the distraction sent by the past to hold me back?

  These thoughts would keep him up late into the night as she snored softly on his chest. He ran gentle, steady fingers over her head while she slept, wondering if she was even real.

  23

  Chapter 23

  After a brief internal debate of calling the move off, Martin decided to move forward with it. He wanted to move in with Sonya, that he never doubted, but his concern grew in regards to his actual purpose for being in 1996. He couldn’t afford to compromise saving Izzy, so he would plan a fake work trip out of town during that dreaded week in September. He’d book a hotel nearby, preferably anywhere besides the Sunset Dream Motel, and keep an eye on all activity surrounding his old house. If he had to sleep in his car at the end of the block for the entire week, then so be it. He was here to keep his daughter safe and alive.

  The Columbine mission could also continue. Martin wasn’t expected home until six o’clock, leaving him plenty of time to scope the area surrounding the high school, follow the boys for a bit, and drive back across town for his now permanent dinner date with Sonya.

  The conversation with Vinny had gone much easier than expected. His landlord gave zero pushback when asked if Martin could break his contract and move out as soon as possible.

  “You’re good people, Martin. For anyone else, I’d say no. Just promise to come see me from time to time.”

  “I can do that,” Martin replied, wondering why things were falling into place without any resistance.

  The two caught up for a few more minutes over a glass of scotch before Martin returned to his apartment to tell Sonya the news. By May first, Martin could officially move out with nothing further owed to Vinny, and they could begin a life together.

  Despite it being a cause for celebration, Martin lost a few nights of sleep after cementing his decision. Somewhere down the road he would be faced with the crossroads of either telling Sonya the truth or vanishing from her life without a word. Both options terrified him.

  Telling her the truth could open numerous possibilities. She might believe him and wish him a good rest of his life in 2018. She could become enraged that he had knowingly dragged her along for six months after admitting they were both at no point in life to waste time on meaningless relationships. Or, and most likely, she would think him crazy for discussing anything like time travel and kick him to the curb.

  These possibilities continued to pick away at his mind as they had since the decision was made three days earlier. While the unknowing bothered Martin, he needed to keep a clear mind to continue his work at Columbine. He also jotted new rules for himself in his spiral notebook regarding the project. If anything felt off about the situation, he vowed to turn around and leave. He’d already had close calls with that sense of vertigo that came with fucking with the past. He’d found the red line and couldn’t afford to cross it so soon; if there were a time to do so, it would come in September when saving Izzy.

  His racing thoughts kept him occupied during the entire drive to Columbine. The final bell would ring in twenty minutes, at 3:30, and all he wanted was to locate at least one of the boys to follow, and learn their daily after school routine.

  He assumed they would exit from the main entrance, so he waited in the same parking lot he had parked during his first trip. Space was tight as many cars awaited their students, but he was able to squeeze into a spot that faced the doors. Then the fun part of waiting began.

  Stakeouts weren’t everything they made them out to be in movies. Martin grew bored within fifteen minutes of sitting in his car, staring at the same building, watching the kids who all looked the same pour out as they carried on their conversations and laughed with each other.

  High school really is the easiest time of life. These kids have no idea what’s waiting for them outside of these walls.

  He watched some older kids walk out, wearing their blue and white letterman jackets, and felt silly for having always longed for one in high school. Those kids had always seemed so cool, but looking back on it, they were just assholes like everyone else.

  Thirty minutes passed without any sight of Eric or Dylan. This part of the process was painful, and Martin didn’t want to waste any more time. The boredom allowed him time to think of different ways to locate the boys, and he settled on a rather obvious solution that he should have thought of in the first place: the White Pages.

  The White Pages was a directory of people, the past’s version of Google searching someone’s name to find their phone number and address. Before privacy had become such a major pain point in the new century, one could easily look up someone’s name and know exactly where they lived and what number to call them on.

  Pay phones! Martin had a grand revelation by remembering there should be phone books that hung at each pay phone around town. He left the school behind, no longer concerned with the crapshoot chance of finding the boys within the mob of students, and returned to the gas station around the corner, where he had stopped for directions the first time.

  Most gas stations in 1996 had a payphone outside, and this location was no different. The pay phone stood in its hefty, silver box, a white book at least five inches thick dangling beneath from a chain. A suited man stood at the pay phone, talking with his hand over the mouthpiece, and looking around suspiciously. He briefly locked eyes with Martin before hanging up and returning to his white BMW and skidding out of the parking lot.

  When the coast appeared clear, Martin strode to the pay phone and lifted the dangling phone book, flipping to the middle.

  There will be too many Harrises listed. Klebold will be my best bet.

  He flipped to the K section, running a finger down the page until he found what he needed: Thomas and Susan Klebold, the only Klebolds on the page.

  “There you are.” Martin pulled out his notepad and jotted the address; the phone rang out in a screaming, piercing chime.

  Martin gazed around, seeing if someone nearby was expecting a call. No one was in sight, so he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” a raspy voice said, sending chills down Martin’s spine.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  The phone clicked, filling his ear with the dial tone.

  What the fuck?

  Martin hung up and returned to his car, staring at the payphone through his windshield, wanting it to ring again.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” he whispered to himself. He racked his mind for a familiarity in the voice, but could find nothing. Chris was never one to cower behind a disguise. Could it be a Road Runner?

  Martin lacked the knowledge to know
exactly how the Road Runners operated, but if anyone was trying to prevent the changing of a major historical event, they seemed the likely candidates.

  He stepped back out of the car and went inside the gas station.

  “Hello,” the clerk welcomed him.

  “Hi. I’m looking for maps of Denver, do you have any?”

  “Yes, sir, in the magazine section.” The clerk pointed to the row against the front window.

  “Perfect, thank you.” Martin hurried to the row, reminiscing over the old days of browsing the wide selection of magazines, books, and newspapers in the corner stores. Those times were long gone in 2018. At the end of the row was a rack of atlases and maps. Martin grabbed the one marked as Denver Metro Area, flipped through it to make sure Littleton was included, and took it to the counter.

  “Is there somewhere in particular you’re looking to find?” the clerk asked as he rung him up on the register.

  “No, I’m just new to the area and seem to get lost every day.”

  “Fair enough. This map should get you around town just fine.”

  “Thank you,” Martin said, grabbing his map and change before bolting out of the door. He’d normally contribute to meaningless chitchat, but he had pressing matters to tend, and apparently someone trying to stop him.

  When he returned to his car, he thought, Is this all worth it? I could get myself killed trying to stop these kids, and that’s not what I’m here for.

  “It may not be what I came here to do, but I owe it to the world to at least try,” he said out loud, backing out of the gas station and pulling onto the main road.

  24

  Chapter 24

  The drive to the Klebold residence took longer than expected; they lived eight miles away from the high school, roughly the same distance it would take him to get from Larkwood to downtown Denver.