by Jason Ayres
I had long ago realised that my 3am time jump was fixed at that time throughout the year and altered along with the clocks.
So during the summer months when Greenwich Mean Time was replaced by British Summer Time, my jump would change to 4am. The vast majority of the time I didn’t notice, but when I arrived in Florida, I certainly did.
The clocks hadn’t gone forward yet in the UK so I was still jumping back at 3am at home. It had slipped my mind to consider the time difference, so I was taken completely unawares what happened on the day I arrived.
On the last day, rather than waking up in a hotel room as I was expecting, I found myself materialising fully awake in the middle of a restaurant somewhere in the Tampa Bay area. I was sitting at a table for three with Sarah and Stacey. A young waitress was standing over us, mid-order.
“What about you, Dad?” asked Stacey.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, bluffing as I frequently had to. “I’ll have the same.”
“So that’s three hot fudge sundaes, then,” said Sarah. “That’s not like you. You normally ask for an Irish coffee.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll have one of those, too,” I quickly added.
“Greedy!” said Sarah. “You’ll be putting on weight.”
“Well, I am on holiday,” I replied.
The five hour difference meant that for the first time in my life, I actually had the novelty of going to bed that night and waking up on the actual next day. I then had to go through the usual hassle of flying all the way back to the UK before I could start my holiday properly.
After that it was fun all the way. In the daytime we visited the best theme parks Florida had to offer, and in the evening we had the most gorgeous and very generously portioned meals. The steaks were fantastic, bigger and better than anything I’d had back home. I made sure we dined as early as possible.
The last thing I wanted to do was to be just starting to tuck into a nice juicy steak, only to vanish back in time to the previous day.
One day I managed to get us to Tampa Bay Races to enjoy some horse racing US style. With the previous days’ racing results committed to memory, we were able to pull off some spectacular long odds bets on the exotic wagering available at the track.
Exactas, Trifectas and even Superfectas (selecting the first four horses in correct order) were easy pickings, and we ate and drank extremely well that night.
Around midway through the holidays I finally got the chance to find out what had been nagging at my mind for so long: the truth about what had happened to Stacey.
It was late at night and Sarah and I were talking in bed after getting intimate. Cuddled up in the afterglow, she said, “You know I’m so glad we brought Stacey out here. It’s the first time I’ve seen her really happy since what happened last summer.”
Seizing my opportunity, I asked, “Do you think there’s anything we could have done to make things turn out differently?”
It was a bit of a vague question, but it got Sarah to open up. “I really don’t know,” she said. “How could we have known? I’ve been over it in my mind a thousand times.”
“Let’s go over it again,” I said.
“Must we?” she asked. “We’re having such a nice time on this holiday. I really don’t want to drag it all up again. Please, can’t we just forget about it?”
“Just this once,” I said, adding, “I need closure”, which was a bullshit phrase I’d heard on some soap opera that seemed to fit the moment. “Then I promise we’ll never mention it again.”
And so, Sarah opened up and we went over the details, me carefully asking her leading questions to get the whole story without it being too obvious I knew nothing about it.
By the end of the conversation, I knew it all. I was horrified, distressed and angry in equal measures. What had been done to my little girl was enough to make me want blood. I’m sure any father would have felt the same.
In July 2015, Stacey’s school had thrown an end-of-term prom for the Year 11 students in celebration of them finishing their GCSEs.
During the evening, Stacey had been the subject of some over-amorous attentions from one of the boys in her class. Liam was the captain of the school football team, popular, good-looking and with no shortage of female attention.
Unknown to Stacey at the time, he had already slept with four girls in her year, and had openly bragged that he planned to shag them all. She knew none of this so was delighted when he asked her to be his date for the prom.
Stacey was flattered by his attentions, but she was still a virgin at the time and not ready for any sort of sexual relationship. Late in the evening, he’d suggested taking a walk onto the school field. Naively perhaps, she had followed, expecting a little kissing but nothing more.
Unfortunately, Liam was used to getting what he wanted, and he was expecting a lot more than she was willing to give. When Stacey had resisted, he had raped her behind the cricket pavilion.
She had been so traumatised by the event that she had gone straight home and washed away the evidence, telling no one what had happened. She had been miserable and withdrawn for weeks, but refused to say what was wrong, even to her mother.
Eventually, in September, she’d turned to Sarah in tears after discovering she was pregnant. The two of them had hidden it from me initially, but it all came out after she had an abortion and I had forced it out of Sarah, knowing something was clearly wrong.
Apparently I had wanted to go and kill the bloke, but had been dissuaded by Sarah. Then we had tried to persuade Stacey to go to the police, but she had refused. She couldn’t face going through the whole interview process or a lengthy court case. So it seemed Liam had got away with it.
But he had reckoned without me, the time-travelling avenger, heading back to right another wrong perpetrated against my family.
And this time, I was going to make certain he would never dare lay a finger on another woman against her will ever again.
July 2015
The day of the prom had arrived, and I had my plans all worked out. Just as I had with Tompkins, I’d had months to track down Liam and suss him out. I didn’t like what I’d seen.
I stalked him on the internet, and tracked him down in real life. I followed him around Oxford, watching what he did. Hanging out with his mates, he liked to play the big “I am”, bragging about his sexual conquests and how great he was at football.
He claimed that he was having trials with a Premiership football club and was going to earn £250k a week and shag whoever he liked. He was arrogant, egotistical and rude. As far as he was concerned, he was God’s gift to women, and they were his for the taking. He showed no signs of any remorse at all for what he’d done to Stacey.
It made me so angry it was all I could do to stop myself killing him there and then. Sitting in the bath one evening I fantasised about all the ways I could bring him down.
The beauty of it was, if I really wanted to I could kill him as many times as I wanted. He’d be back again the next day and I could do it all over again. I could push him under a bus on Sunday and then slit his throat on Saturday. As I lay back and relaxed under the bubbles, I devised all manner of grisly and evil plans.
Of course, I had no intention of actually carrying out any of these plans, but I’m sure most people have had such thoughts in their darker moments. I’d done so much good work up to this point to change my future timeline there was no point undoing it all again by risking spending the rest of my life in prison.
So I decided to bide my time and wait for the day of the event itself. Then he would be in for a shock.
On the day of the prom, Stacey looked stunning. Sixteen years old, dressed in a pink, 1950s-style prom dress, she was set to be the belle of the ball.
She had chosen her outfit to fit in with the school’s 1950s Grease theme. When Liam turned up to collect Stacey he was wearing one of those classic varsity-style jackets that frat boys always donned in old American teen movies, red with white sleeves and a large l
etter “D” on the front.
He was polite enough at the door, addressing me as “Mr Scott”, though I couldn’t help but notice the insincerity in his voice. Through gritted teeth I forced myself to respond nicely, even though every bone in my body wanted to punch his lights out.
Some might have questioned what on earth I was doing letting her go off with him, knowing what I knew, but I had to let things play out as they had done before. Nothing bad was going to happen until he took her down to the field, and then I would put my plan into action.
I could have simply stopped Stacey from going to the ball, but all that would have achieved would have been to make her angry and resentful with me, and it wouldn’t have put a stop to his ways. She seemed to think he was the bee’s knees, the way she was talking about him all through the day of the prom.
I needed her to see exactly what he was really like before I intervened.
The school was on the banks of the River Cherwell, with a school field that was accessible over a small bridge. The entrance was not locked so I waited until dusk fell and then crept in under cover of darkness.
It was vital no one saw me because Liam was going to be in a sorry state by the time I’d finished with him, and I did not want any witnesses placing me at the scene.
By 10pm, I had secreted myself by the side of the pavilion behind an old water tank which provided perfect cover. I had about an hour or so to wait which gave me time for some final reflections on how I was going to handle this.
How far should I let things go? If I was to intervene too early, Stacey wouldn’t thank me for it; too late and she’d be seriously traumatised. I had no choice but to play it by ear and see what happened.
It was a warm, moonlit night, and the air was still. Watching from behind the tank I saw them approaching, hand-in-hand, across the bridge. The still air meant that their voices carried easily and I could hear the conversation from some way off.
As they grew closer, I crouched down a little further to ensure I wouldn’t be spotted.
Stacey sounded happy at this stage: they were laughing and joking together. He seemed to be acting like the perfect gentleman, but I knew it was a façade. At least I hoped it was. An unwelcome element of doubt had crept into my mind.
What if she had made the whole thing up? That he hadn’t raped her at all, but she’d said he had because she was so ashamed of the pregnancy? There had been a similar high-profile case in the news in 2018 involving a well-known popstar and an obsessed fan.
His name had been blackened all over the tabloids, until she finally admitted she’d fabricated the whole story in revenge for him rejecting her. Mud stuck, though, and his career never recovered.
I swiftly dismissed these unworthy thoughts. It was not the sort of thing Stacey would do. She had never lied to me and I knew from the state she’d been in over the past few months that this was no fake rape.
Sure enough, as they stopped behind the pavilion on the short strip of grass separating it from the river bank, things began to get heated. They were barely ten yards from my position, so I was very cautious as I risked a look from behind the tank to see what was happening.
They were kissing deeply, and as I watched I saw him move his hand to her breast. As he did so, she firmly moved it away. He tried again, more forcefully, and this time she broke the kiss, and clearly said, “No.”
He had been all charm and humour up to that point, but this was the trigger point for his Jekyll and Hyde moment. “Come on, you know you want it,” he said loudly, pushing her back against the wall of the pavilion and forcing his mouth upon hers once more.
“No I don’t,” she proclaimed gutsily. Good for her, I thought, at least she’s standing up for herself.
“That’s not what I came out here for,” she added.
“Well what did you think we came out here for?” he shouted angrily. “To kiss and hold hands? This is the 21st century, not Downton Abbey. Now stop fucking me around and get your knickers off.” And with that he grabbed hold of her again, and roughly tried to shove his hand up her dress and between her legs.
“Get off me,” she screamed, as he pushed her to the ground and forced himself on top of her.
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch, and just enjoy it. Your mate Sophie did,” he shouted. He tore at her dress which gave way with an audible rip. She screamed. I had let things go far enough. It was time to intervene.
I leapt up from behind the water tank, and sprinted over to them, shouting “Get the fuck off of her.” Startled by my unexpected apparition, he attempted to get up but I had already reached them.
I cannoned straight into him, sending him sprawling backwards towards the river bank. As I watched him topple backwards almost in slow motion, Stacey was screaming hysterically behind me.
It hadn’t been my intention to push him into the river. What I had planned to do was to kick the living shit out of him, but now, as I watched, things took an unexpected turn. He fell directly backwards into the water with a huge splash, right into a dense patch of reeds.
I had expected him to climb straight back out, but he didn’t. The shock of hitting the water must have taken his breath away, and he’d gone completely under. The reeds were very thick, and he appeared to have been caught up in them. He was almost completely immersed, his hands grasping desperately above the water as he thrashed about, but it was all over very quickly.
Suddenly he was very silent and very still. I had heard stories of people drowning in a few inches of water, but I really hadn’t expected him to succumb this easily. Perhaps he’d hit his head when he’d fallen in.
I certainly wasn’t going to any effort to fish him out. The bastard had got what he’d deserved as far as I was concerned. All these months I’d been fantasising about ways to do him in, and now I’d accomplished it without even intending to. Now I had a situation to deal with.
My first thought was for Stacey, distraught and hysterical. I turned back towards her, dress torn, make-up running with tears, and hair a dishevelled mess.
Quickly, I gathered her up in my arms as she sobbed her heart out. After what seemed an age, but was in fact probably only about fifteen seconds, she spoke.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“I think so,” I replied.
“Oh my God,” she said, and began crying again.
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” I said. “You have to believe me, Stacey. He was going to rape you. I was just trying to get him off you.”
“I know,” she said. “It was horrible. I had no idea he would be like that. But how did you know? How did you come to be here?”
I had been prepared for these questions.
“I found out tonight,” I said. “I went out for a drink with a couple of the guys I play golf with and I told them about the prom. One of them told me he knew Liam, and that he’d tried to force himself upon his daughter last year. He suggested I come down here and check you were OK. So, I hurried here as quickly as I could. When I got to the gates, I saw you walking down here and followed. Looks like I got here just in time.”
It was complete bullshit, but she bought it.
“I’m glad you did. I’m sorry, Dad, I shouldn’t have let him talk me into coming down here,” she said, and burst into tears again.
“It’s what we do now, that’s important,” I said. I needed to come up with a revised plan to take into account the new circumstances. There was a world of difference between a beaten-up body and a dead one face-down in the water.
Stacey was still sobbing, but I needed her to be strong as I began to outline my plan to her.
“The first thing you need to do is to ring my mobile, and we need to have a conversation. You tell me you’ve been attacked, where you are, and that he’s fallen into the river. You are panicking and you don’t know what to do. I will tell you to ring the police and that I will be right there. It’s vital we do this, as when the police investigate they will check our mobile phone records. I’ve turned all
the GPS and other tracking stuff off from my phone, so they won’t exactly know where I was when you made the call.”
Stacey nodded her understanding. I continued.
“Then give it five minutes and call the police. Don’t leave it any longer than that or they will question why it took so long for you to call after you had spoken to me. When they get here, I’ll claim to have got here a couple of minutes before them. All you need to do then is tell them he attacked you and that you fought him off and he fell into the river. It’s vital we make sure this looks like an accident. Neither of us wants to be under any suspicion here.”
Stacey pulled herself together and did as she was told. I then held her close to me as we waited for the police to arrive. I had no regrets over what had happened.
Stacey was safe and there was one less arsehole in the world. I just hoped she would still look at me in the same light in the future and not see her dad as a killer. I didn’t think she would: I had been defending her, after all. He’d been attacking her, I had pushed him off, and he had fallen into the river.
The police came, along with forensics and did their stuff. They were sympathetic towards Stacey and eventually allowed us both to go home, saying that they would need to see us the next day for statements.
If there were to be any repercussions, I had no way of finding out, I just had to hope I had done enough to convince them. A coroner’s verdict of accident or misadventure was what I was hoping for, leaving us all in the clear.
With Stacey still upset and traumatised, I accepted the offer of a lift home in a police car. When we got through the front door, she fell into her mother’s arms and wept, causing me to well up too, in relief, if nothing else, that it was all over.
The three of us were safe, together and at home. We were alive and well, with the triple whammy of rape, death by dangerous driving and cancer hopefully vanquished from our lives forever.
All I wanted now was my family. Forwards or backwards, Sarah and Stacey were my life, and nothing else mattered.
