Ripples of the Past

by Damian Knight

  ‘If you did decide to join us, it would mean relocating here to Greenland, where I could begin schooling you in the techniques my father passed down to me. Given our need for secrecy, I’m afraid it would mean leaving your old life behind. But then personal sacrifice has long been ingrained in what we do.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Nora put in.

  Sam gulped. His bowl was still half-full, but his appetite had suddenly deserted him. ‘You make it sound like I’ve got a choice,’ he said.

  ‘You always have a choice, Sam. It wouldn’t be right to impose such a responsibility on someone who doesn’t want it. So, what do you say? Will you join us?’

  ‘Can I think about it?’

  Marcus smiled and spread his hands. ‘I would expect nothing less.’

  7

  The next morning Sam woke curled under a thick eiderdown quilt in one of the upstairs bedrooms of the Rutherford farmhouse. After more than twelve hours of sleep, the shock and exhaustion that had plagued him since his ordeal at the hands of Michael Humboldt had at long last loosened their grip, and he finally felt something approaching his normal state of mind.

  Climbing out of bed, he saw that the filthy, blood-stained clothes he’d been given back at the house in south Wales had been moved from the chair where he’d left them and replaced by a neatly folded flannel shirt and a pair of khaki trousers with patches at the knees. They were both a couple of sizes too big, but he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and was able to stop the trousers falling down by buckling the leather belt he’d been left to its tightest hole.

  Once he’d finished dressing, he descended the wooden staircase to the ground floor and entered the kitchen to find it scented by the smell of freshly baked bread. Marcus and Nora were at the table, each cradling a mug of coffee. Nora wore a dark turtleneck jumper and had her hair tied back in a way that accentuated her cheekbones. With the last remnants of Donna erased, Sam could make out the traces of the beautiful young woman she must have once been.

  ‘Good morning,’ Marcus said, and stood to fill another mug from the pan on the stove. ‘Have you given any more thought to what we spoke about yesterday?’

  ‘I have,’ Sam said. He took a chair at the table, accepted a mug of coffee and stirred in two heaped teaspoons of sugar. In truth, he had been able to think about little else. He glanced back and forth between Nora and Marcus, then sucked in a breath before slowly releasing it. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Marcus said, and lowered his head.

  ‘I want to help, really I do, it’s just…’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Nora said. She reached across the table and rested her hand on Sam’s arm. ‘Like my brother explained, joining us is not a responsibility we’d wish to impose on anyone. It must be something you choose freely.’

  ‘It…it’s not that. Well, it is, but it’s more what you said about leaving my old life behind.’ Sam sniffed in an effort to hold back the tears that were for some reason trying to force their way out of the corners of his eyes. ‘You’ve got to understand, I never asked for any of this. Before the plane crash last year I didn’t know a thing about healing genes, time travel, Tetradyamide or any of that stuff. I was just a normal teenager going about my life and, although I might not have realised it at the time, I was happy that way. That’s all I’ve ever wanted – my old life back, like it was before.’

  ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Nora asked.

  Sam took another breath and laid his hands flat on the table. ‘Humboldt promised me something in exchange for saving his life. He said that he would reverse the plane crash that killed my dad and caused my injury. He was lying, obviously, because that would have created a paradox and I wouldn’t have been able to find a cure for his brain tumour. But if he’d really wanted to, he had the power to do it. That’s what I’m asking. I want you to give me what Michael Humboldt wouldn’t.’

  Nora glanced to Marcus, who stared back, stony-faced.

  ‘Father would have never permitted altering history for something so trivial as personal bereavement,’ he said.

  Sam sighed and let his shoulders drop. Saving his dad had been too much to hope for, it seemed, but at least once Hinds had helped clear his name he might have something resembling a life to return to.

  ‘Fortunately I’m not my father though,’ Marcus added.

  Sam looked up again. ‘Sorry, what?’

  Marcus leaned forward in his chair, a smile on his lips. ‘Remember, Sam, secrecy is our family’s greatest defence, and if you do chose not to join us, I’ll have to alter the timelines in order to remove your memory of our meeting.’

  ‘But I’d never tell anyone, I swear it!’

  ‘I don’t doubt that, but there are people out there who might wish to use the information against you, and even promises made with the best of intentions have a habit of being broken under torture or coercion.’

  ‘I see,’ Sam said. ‘I suppose I understand.’

  ‘No, I’m not sure you do. The point I’m trying to make is that, if I’m going to have to alter the timelines anyway, it might be possible to kill two birds with one stone.’ Marcus turned to Nora, his smile growing. ‘In fact, while I’m at it, it might also be beneficial to clear up the mess Humboldt created with his research into his ancestry. After all, we can’t leave anything that might eventually lead back to the family, can we? What do you think, Nora? Could we bend the rules slightly?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Nora said, and placed a fingertip over her lips. ‘Now that you mention it, there might be something we could do. If you were to travel back to last summer, Marcus, you might be able to destroy the paper trail linking Bernard Humboldt to Sam’s grandfather, his illegitimate son. In the new reality this would create, you would still know about Sam and his family, but Michael would never find out, meaning he’d never find a cure for his tumour and Esteban Haufner would have no reason to sabotage Flight 0368.’

  Marcus laughed and slapped his hand against the surface of the table. ‘You know, that might just work! If we could arrange a small fire at the General Register Office in England, or even a burst water pipe in the right place, then Alfred Rayner’s birth certificate could be made to conveniently disappear. In fact, I think I already know just the person for the job! Well done, Nora. A neat and tidy solution to both problems!’

  At that moment the door opened and Isaac bustled in, huffing and stamping clumps of snow from his boots.

  Nora leaned over to Sam. ‘Marcus may have inherited the healing gene,’ she whispered, ‘but I got the brains of the family.’

  ‘Fresh eggs from the chicken coop,’ Isaac announced, holding up a basket. He slid his boots off by the door, unzipped his coat and approached the table on socked feet. ‘I make a mean omelette, if I do say so myself. So, Sam, will you be staying long-term then?’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Marcus said.

  ‘So you’ll do it?’ Sam asked. ‘You’ll give me my old life back?’

  ‘If it’s a side effect of alterations I would need to make anyway then it would be my pleasure. Isaac, bring me a vial of Tetradyamide, please.’

  ‘Shame,’ Isaac said, ‘but I guess we know where to find you if we need you.’ He laid the basket on the table, passed through a door to a side room and returned a minute later with a small glass vial. ‘I’ve continued to tweak the formula over the years,’ he said proudly, handing it to Marcus. ‘The effects are now almost instantaneous.’

  Marcus held the vial up: a bar of thick, silvery liquid wavered inside, sealed under a red screw cap.

  ‘You know, I think I’ve seen something like that before,’ Sam said.

  ‘Have you now?’ Isaac arched an eyebrow. ‘Don’t mind me asking where, do you?’

  Sam considered how to explain, then wished he hadn’t said anything. In this reality Lara McHayden was an innocent victim of the Thames House bombing, not the twisted control-freak who had tried to kill his family and friends. And if Isaac were rea
lly the same person Sam had seen in the black-and-white photo behind McHayden’s desk, then it might be best if he didn’t know what she had become.

  ‘Never mind,’ Sam said. ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ Isaac said. He shrugged, but thankfully didn’t press the matter.

  Marcus twisted the cap from the top of the vial and held it to his lips. With a grimace, he downed the silvery liquid inside. As he lowered the empty container, his eyes glazed over.

  ‘I don’t know how I can ever thank you,’ Sam said, tears gushing down his cheeks as he lost the battle to hold them back. After everything that had happened since last summer, at long last things were about to be set straight. Really, it was all he’d ever wanted.

  ‘No thanks necessary,’ Marcus said softly. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Sam. Goodbye, and good luck.’ With that he closed his eyes. A couple of seconds passed and then his body started convulsing.

  Sam watched on, fascinated to view the process in another person. He felt a sudden moment of disorientation and then, in a single instant, his memory was wrenched away like a rug pulled from beneath his feet.

  8

  Four months later

  Sam was woken by the sensation of his mattress rippling. He rolled over, lifted his head and forced his eyes open. Eva was sitting on the end of his bed, beaming down at him.

  ‘Oh good, you’re already awake,’ she said.

  ‘Ugh.’ Sam dropped his head back to the pillow and raised an arm to shield his eyes from the radioactive sunlight pouring in through the floor-length window at the end of his room. ‘What time is it?’

  Eva jabbed a finger into the exposed flesh of his upper arm and scowled. ‘That’s nice, asshole. I missed you too.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said and sat up, rubbing his face. ‘I’m a bit jet-lagged still. I missed you loads and loads. In fact, every minute was agony without you.’

  ‘Much better,’ she said. Her scowl softened into a smile again and she leaned forwards to kiss him. ‘It’s good to have you back, Sam. So good I’ll even forgive the sarcasm. Now,’ she glanced at her wristwatch, ‘it’s almost ten thirty. Are we going to make the most of Memorial Day weekend, or were you planning on laying about in bed all day?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said and pulled her to him. ‘All day in bed sounds pretty good to me.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ She pushed him back, wriggled free from his arms and stood up. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Now, in the shower with you! It smells worse than Doug’s gym bag in here.’

  * * * * *

  Sam emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later with a considerably clearer head and made his way downstairs. Eva was sitting with his parents at the table out on the deck beyond the kitchen.

  ‘And here’s Chrissie in the hospital with baby Matthew a few hours after he was born,’ his mum said, thrusting her phone under Eva’s nose before swiping to the next photo. ‘And here’s Sam with his little nephew. And here’s big Matthew and little Matthew together. Isn’t he just so cute you want to eat him up?’

  ‘And then some,’ Eva said, tilting her head back so that she could get a proper look at the screen. ‘Reminds me a bit of his uncle, especially around the eyes. You know, Rebecca, I wish I’d been able to come too. I can’t wait to meet him and give him a big squeeze.’

  ‘Next time, sweetie. You’re coming to the wedding in July, aren’t you? After all, you’re practically family now.’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

  Sam took a chair at the far end of the table. There was a hint of summer in the air, and the warm sunshine on his skin made a pleasant change from the drizzle-filled week he’d taken off school to visit Chrissie and the baby in London.

  ‘I still don’t get why they had to call him Matthew though,’ he said. ‘I mean, couldn’t they think of something original?’

  His dad tucked a strand of long, greying hair behind his ear and puffed out his chest. ‘Don’t knock it, it’s a fine name that. Strong. Regal even, some might say. I’m sure the boy will go on to achieve great things.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Sam said, and rolled his eyes.

  His dad stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth and stood, tucking his shirt into his trousers. ‘I better get going,’ he said. ‘My first lesson’s at eleven thirty.’

  Towards the end of last year he had set up his own music school, teaching piano lessons to children between the ages of six and eighteen. After a slow first couple of months things had begun picking up and he was now working all weekend and every evening after school.

  Sam watched his dad leave, then turned to Eva. ‘So, what’s the plan for today?’

  ‘I’ve got Collette’s car and Stef’s got the keys to her parents’ place on the coast,’ she said, and rose from her chair. ‘First pool party of the year, Sam, and Susanna, Rodrigo, Chris and a few others are going too.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Sam said, standing to join her. ‘See you later, Mum. We won’t be back late.’

  They left the house and strolled down the drive towards Collette’s car. Eva climbed into the driver’s seat and, as Sam slid in next to her, started the engine.

  ‘So, tell me truthfully,’ she said as they turned onto the road, ‘how was London? Are you sad to be back in Montclair?’

  ‘Truthfully? No, not really. Don’t get me wrong, it was great to meet baby Matthew and to see Chrissie and Lance and my grandparents, but…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not the same. Lewis has got new friends now, people from college. I hung out with them one night, but it felt weird, like I was an outsider or something. I know he did his best to include me, but it was obvious we’ve both sort of moved on. This is my home now. Here, with you.’

  She dropped a hand from the wheel and squeezed his knee. ‘Good answer. I know it’s kind of dumb, but I couldn’t help worrying—’

  As if from nowhere a man stepped into the road before them.

  Eva hit the brakes, propelling Sam against his seatbelt. The man just about had time to look up at them with wild hazel eyes and put both hands on the bonnet before he disappeared under the front of the car.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Eva yelled. She flung her door open and jumped out.

  Sam unclipped his belt and followed after. ‘Is he okay?’

  The man (a homeless person, judging by his filthy, mismatching clothes) was on his backside in the middle of the road, blinking and rubbing his elbow. His white hair was so long and matted that it had fused together with his beard to form a single mega-dreadlock.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Eva said and pulled her phone out. ‘Are you hurt? I’m calling 911.’

  ‘No, don’t do that! Really, I’m fine. There’s no need.’ The man clambered to his feet and began dusting himself down, which seemed a bit pointless given the state of his clothing. ‘It’s Sam, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Sam Rayner?’

  Sam frowned, thinking it unlikely he would ever forget such a person if they’d met before. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Not in this timeline,’ the man said, offering his hand. ‘The name’s Isaac Barclay.’

  Sam stared down at the hand: it looked like it hadn’t seen a bar of soap in a long, long time. He looked back up without shaking it. ‘What do you want, Mr Barclay?’

  The man remained standing there for a moment with his hand outstretched before drawing it back. ‘That’s a bit of a humdinger. I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this, Sam, but the end of the world is coming, and you’re the only person who can stop it.’

  About the Author

  Damian Knight lives in London with his wife and their two daughters. He works in a library and, being surrounded by books, probably has the best day job ever. When not writing, reading, parenting or working, he often falls asleep fully clothed on the sofa.

  The Pages of Time Series includes The Pages of Time (Book 1), A Trick of the Light (Book 1.5) and Ripples of the Past (Book 2). A new book is currently in progress.


  To find out more or get in touch, please visit www.damianknightauthor.co.uk or email info@damianknightauthor.co.uk

  If you enjoyed the book, reviews on Amazon and Goodreads would be very welcome.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my friends and family, without whose support and encouragement these books would not be possible. Once again I am hugely indebted to my editor, Will Wain, whose advice, expertise and general ability to act as a sounding board were instrumental in the process of getting the book from rough draft to finished product. I would also like to thank Mahalia Smith for her eagle-eyed ability to spot the mistakes that I have become blind to, and Phil Patsias for his beautiful cover art throughout the series. Finally, I must reserve a special mention for my wife, Francesca. On top of her unswerving love and patience with my writing obsession, her feedback and insights into early drafts helped shape the book into what is today.

  The Pages of Time, Book 1

  After suffering a traumatic brain injury in a shocking terrorist attack, sixteen-year-old Sam Rayner wakes from a coma to discover that he has developed seizures during which he is transported into the body of his past or future self. Can Sam and his friends somehow defeat the sinister forces that want to use his powers for their own ends? Can they manage to save Sam’s family from violent deaths that are already in the past – and maybe also win the girl he loves – by turning back the pages of time?

  Available now on Amazon!

  A Trick of the Light, The Pages of Time Book 1.5

  It’s the summer of 1969, and as Apollo 11 touches down on the moon, Michael Humboldt, a soldier horrifically wounded in the Vietnam War, uses the strange and disturbing powers he has developed to escape a secure military hospital in San Francisco. Seeking to become the master of his own destiny, he travels the backroads of California in order to evade the police and military authorities who are searching for him. But before the year is out, Michael has fallen for the beautiful Rachel and returns to San Francisco to find the doctor who can help him control his powers. He is ultimately thrown into a deadly game of cat and mouse, the shockwaves of which will change his and many others' lives for decades to come.