Just one drop on your tongue, he remembered Chris explaining. Just like taking medicine. Nothing to it.
His reassurance carried him to the top of the stairs where Sonya had settled at the kitchen table for lunch. Martin had ordered Chinese takeout and immediately regretted not getting something heavier like barbecue. The kitchen smelled of fried rice and egg rolls as Martin placed the bottle on the table with a heavy thud.
“Are we taking that with us?” Sonya asked.
“Well, you want to be able to come back, right?”
“Duh. But we shouldn’t take that whole bottle. It could break, and then what? Pray to your beloved Chris to come save you?” She said this with a visible amount of sarcasm. “We either need to move it to a plastic bottle that won’t break, or take a small amount in a container. Do you have a flask?”
“What do you think?”
“Of course, silly question. I’d say fill a flask with it, and that can be your travel container. That way it can’t be damaged, and we just need to worry about keeping it in a safe place.”
“Do you think the Road Runners will try to steal it?” Martin asked.
Sonya glared at him for bringing up the mysterious people they were supposed to blindly run from.
“No, I’m not worried about the Road Runners. I’m worried about people thinking this is some kind of moonshine. Remember, we’re entering the era of Prohibition, and people will pay a premium for alcohol. They’ll also steal it if they think they can get away with it.”
“Prohibition, huh? Not cool.”
“You’ll live. And we’ll find a speakeasy—it’s not like alcohol just vanished from the world.”
“What a time to be alive. Let me get the flask, I might as well bring another with booze – maybe we can sell it for a few bucks.”
“Not your worst idea.”
Martin left the bottle with Sonya and ran back downstairs to get his flasks, returning a couple minutes later with one empty and another filled to its brim with whiskey.
“Were you gonna eat?” Sonya asked him.
“Oh, yeah. I should.”
“Eat real quick and I’ll fill the flask.”
Martin obliged, forcing the food down his throat as he watched Sonya fill the silver flask.
“So this is it? You just take a swig of this stuff and off we go?”
Martin nodded. “Not even a swig. A drop.”
“One drop? This stuff will last you forever. Literally.”
“I know, it’s like a lifetime supply in that bottle. Are you stalling?” Martin asked, and Sonya looked to him with big eyes and raised eyebrows.
“No. Why?”
“Well, you’ve taken the lid on and off from that bottle at least ten times now. You’re either stalling or nervous.”
Sonya looked to her hands as if they had betrayed her. They had indeed been fidgeting with the bottle. “Maybe I’m just nervous.”
“Well, it’s time. Everything is ready upstairs. I figured we’d just lay down in bed and I’ll take my drop.”
Martin rose, threw the empty takeout boxes in the trash, and started for their bedroom upstairs, grabbing the bottle in a tight fist. He was also nervous, but wouldn’t tell Sonya since she was having her own doubts. It wasn’t the traveling that made him antsy, but the barrage of warnings from Chris and his team. Why wouldn’t they just tell them specifically what to look out for, instead of these vague statements?
Chris had issued no warnings when Martin first swallowed the pill to return to 1996. Instead he let him know the only rule was to not encounter his past self. And when he had, by accident, Martin had felt like his head might explode right off his neck.
It was important to follow Chris’s advice, but fair to remain skeptical about his motivations. All they could trust was his word, but now they had a little more knowledge for this journey back in time.
Martin entered the bedroom where his briefcase waited on the bed. Sonya lay down, her blue dress splayed in every direction.
“Ready?”
Sonya nodded silently, thoughts clearly plaguing her mind.
“Alright, I’ll see you on the other side.”
Martin twisted the lid off of the bottle and held it to his lips.
“Bottoms up,” he said, sticking his tongue out and letting the drop fall on his tongue. It had no flavor, might as well have been water, but it did tingle his tongue while his lips instantly turned numb.
Martin placed the bottle on his nightstand and slid onto the bed, his briefcase clutched in his left hand, and Sonya’s hand in his right. His mind started to spin from a strong sense of fatigue as he stared at the ceiling and thought, September 1, 1919. September 1, 1919.
He repeated this like a child counting imaginary sheep to fall asleep. Within seconds, blackness took over and he was falling.
67
Chapter 12
“We should’ve done this from a hotel room downtown,” Martin said as he sat up on the dirt. Sonya joined him in staring at the open space that stretched into eternity.
In 1919, Littleton was nothing more than a small town. The area where their 2018 house stood was in the middle of a dirt field. Homes wouldn’t be developed for another seventy years. There were no roads or buildings in sight. A journey to Denver proved challenging since they had no car and no way of calling a ride from their phones. They were alone, left to scrap for resources on their own.
“We should probably start walking,” Martin said. “There’s gotta be civilization around here. I think downtown Littleton is six miles away from our house. We should start there.”
They used the mountains as their compass, knowing they were always to the west.
“Six miles will take three hours for us to walk,” Sonya said. “There has to be a better way.”
“Yeah, it’s called running, and I don’t exactly want to do that in this suit.”
Martin judged it to be roughly the same time of day as when they had left 2018, shortly after noon.
“We’ll get into town around dinnertime, find somewhere to eat, then call a cab to take us downtown,” he said.
Sonya shook her head, clearly not pleased with their current situation. If they had gone to a hotel downtown, they’d already be there to settle in right away.
“Do you wanna tell me what happened in your dreams?” he asked as they dragged their feet through the dirt.
“Not really. I don’t wanna relive it anymore. It has a lot to do with my past haunting me, and I’ll leave it at that.”
Martin sighed, wishing she’d open up about the nightmares so he could help, but if she wanted to hold that burden for herself, then he couldn’t stop her. Now that they were in 1919, Martin decided it was time to tell her the truth.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked nervously.
Sonya walked with her head down to spot the random holes and bumps that might cause a broken ankle.
“Sure.” Her voice came out depressed, and he debated if this was actually the right time.
“There’s a bit of information I recently learned about you and traveling through time.”
Her head perked up like a dog who just heard a whistle in the distance.
“What? From your friend Mario?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, from Mario, and he’s not my friend. He told me that you’ll continue to age as you travel through time. There’s no stopping of aging for you. So if we stay here for ten years, you’ll be in your sixties both here and when we return to 2018.”
Sonya shrugged. “Are there people who don’t age?”
Oh, boy.
She stared at him, eyes burning his face to get a read.
“Martin,” she said calmly. “Are you telling me that you don’t age when you travel through time?”
He nodded slowly, refusing to show any emotion.
“Are you kidding me?”
They kept walking and she remained silent, Martin growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step they took.
“So what? Do you want me to congratulate you?” She made zero effort to hide her sarcasm.
“No, of course not. I just want to know what you think.”
“Well, let’s see, you can basically live forever if you want. You can live all sorts of lives, starting over in a new era with a new name and persona. And I’ll be here getting closer to death every day. Sounds pretty fair to me.”
“Sonya, I didn’t tell you this to upset you. I didn’t even know about this until Mario mentioned it. It was already too late by then. We were here—well, in 2018—already.”
“What happens if I go back to 1996 and pretend this never happened?” she asked sharply.
Her question stabbed him in the soul with its harshness.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want a do-over. Remember how you got one and fucked it all up by changing nothing?”
“What?!” Martin screamed. “I can’t believe you would say that.”
“I’m sorry,” she immediately replied, her voice much softer. “I’m having a hard time and wished I had done things differently before leaving.”
“I don’t understand the sudden regret. What happened?”
“Martin,” she said, returning to a harsher tone. “My mom was murdered by my father while I stood by and did nothing. I may have been young, but I’m just as guilty for not trying to stop it. And I just left my life behind like nothing happened. How would you feel carrying that guilt your entire life?”
Martin nodded. He knew perfectly how she felt, wishing he could have been home the night Izzy was killed. No one wanted to leave a loved one behind without telling them how they really felt.
“I don’t know what happens if we go back. I asked, and all he told me was that the past is stronger when it pushes back, as if it learned from the last visit.”
“Aren’t I immune to the past’s wrath? Didn’t we figure that to be true?”
She had walked straight into Columbine High School with a letter informing the principal that one day Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold would go on a shooting spree to change history. She walked in and out unscathed; meanwhile, Martin could barely snoop on the Klebold residence without getting plowed over by a diesel truck. Maybe she could slide back into 1996 and return to a normal life after all.
“I suppose it’s true, but we’re already here. Somewhere downtown your grandfather is living a secret life with your grandmother.”
“Yes, Martin, I know what we’re here for, thank you. I still plan on handling that, then we can leave. I just want you to know I’m heavily considering going back to 1996 and continuing my life how it was.”
Martin fell silent. She couldn’t return to 1996 without him. Or 2018, for that matter. This wasn’t a typical fight during a trip where someone could hop on a plane and go back to where they came from. He was the plane, and had total control over where she went, or rather when she went. He kept these thoughts inside, but would take Sonya wherever she wanted. Going back to 1996 would be the end of their relationship, as he wouldn’t be able to live through that era of his life again. He had plenty of time to convince her to stay with him in 2018, but they’d have to move deliberately and quickly during their stay in 1919.
They continued walking, having covered at least a mile and a half. There was still no sight of life anywhere, and the thought made Martin uneasy. These weren’t quite the Wild West days, but the scenery reminded him of an old Western movie. There was actual tumbleweed blowing along the ground, dirt kicked into their faces from the random spurts of wind, and surely people riding around on horses somewhere. They just needed to find them.
* * *
An hour later they finally saw a building. As they approached it, they saw even more and realized it was the beginning of a neighborhood. Small houses lined up neatly next to each other, all ranch-style as multi-level homes still weren’t a concept at this point in time.
“Thank God,” Sonya muttered under her breath. The walk remained silent, Sonya’s threat to leave clinging to Martin’s mind like a desperate leech.
Even though they were both exhausted after two hours of walking on rough terrain, they sped up at the sight of life.
“I hope you know I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’d never hold you against your will.” Martin spoke cautiously, unsure if Sonya was even still thinking about their conversation from earlier that had trailed off into an awkward silence.
“I know that. You’re a good person. I just don’t know what I want. And please remember I’m mad at myself, not you. Sorry if it came out sounding differently.”
“I get it. You’re the one who left a life behind, not me. I’m sure it’s hard.”
“Hard is an understatement. I just think we came here too soon. I still wasn’t that settled into 2018 and here we are in 1919 where I have to forget that I know what a cell phone is, and that there are cars that can drive themselves.”
“I promise when we get back we can relax for as long as you need.”
And they would; even if Martin had to make a trip to the future, it would only be a quick ten minute nap as far as Sonya was concerned.
Back with the Alzheimer’s cure before breakfast is even served. Martin smiled at the thought.
Aside from that trip, he didn’t have much of an interest to travel to another time without her. It was becoming their pastime, but Martin would like the solo trip to the future to truly learn all of the rules and nuances of time travel. He suspected there were thousands of small details he didn’t know, and would probably never know, no matter how hard he researched.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later they reached the neighborhood where all of the houses looked similar: two wide windows with a door in the center, brick exterior, and green lawns all covered by generous shade from the many trees that lined the block. The leaves were starting to fall and peppered yellow and orange marks across the grass.
“Honey, we’re home,” Martin said with a small cackle to himself.
“This definitely looks like early suburban life. There were no suburbs until the car was invented—people would never make it to work on time—so it’s safe to assume anyone who lives here has a car, which means they have money.” Sonya spoke in her history teacher voice, poised and informative. He could listen to her talk all day. She had a way of lulling him into a deep comfort regardless of what she was talking about.
Martin had brushed up on the era on Wikipedia. Aside from Prohibition beginning, women were in the middle of fighting for their rights to vote, World War I had ended the prior summer, and the worst Depression the country would ever see loomed around the corner in the next decade. And somewhere on the other side of the country Babe Ruth was smacking home runs at a rate that made people believe he was superhuman. Maybe he was also from the future and came back to become the first celebrity athlete.
“Should we knock on someone’s door? Ask to use their phone for a cab?” Sonya asked.
“No, of course not,” Martin said. “We look like shit. We’re covered in dust and dirt, and I’m pretty sure I stepped in horseshit. We can’t go into some stranger’s house like this.”
The neighborhood was quiet. All of the men would have been at work downtown while the women stayed home with the kids. School would be in session, so many of the women likely spent their days cleaning the house and preparing a massive dinner for the family to chow down whenever Dad got home from work.
Life was simple, and while he didn’t agree with the gender-specific roles of the era, it kept the chaos to a minimum, something that had all but vanished in the new century.
“If there’s a neighborhood here, then there’s got to be a restaurant nearby. Or even a small grocery store. Something.” Martin spoke as if he knew the area well, but had no idea where he was in relation to modern-day Littleton.
“We can go for a little bit more, but we’ll have to stop at some point. We’re
not walking all the way to Denver,” Sonya said, her voice a bit more hopeful than before.
It only took them ten more minutes before they found what was downtown Littleton, a block of shops and restaurants.
“The promised land!” Martin shouted, giggling at the sight. Sweat dripped down his back, his shirt clinging to his back while his kneecaps burned like they were on fire.
They settled on a restaurant called The Cottage, a small diner with a window table that faced the main road. There were a couple of families walking around the town, but it remained rather quiet.
They entered and were given the window seat, relieved to have survived the first half of the day in 1919.
68
Chapter 13
The owner of The Cottage was a short Italian immigrant named Milo. He had lived in the United States for forty years, moving with his parents from Italy when he was a teenager in 1882. Life was hard when he had arrived during his developmental years, trying to fit in with American kids in high school, all while learning English and the new culture.
It was a culture shock in every sense, and when the American kids started calling him names like wop and spaghetti slurper, Milo would return home to cry in his room until dinner was served. He had hated it, and after six months had decided that taking his life would be more bearable than facing the racial slurs thrown his way all day by the American assholes.
One cold night, Milo ventured down to the railroad and lay on the tracks. It would probably hurt, might even make his eyeballs gush out of their sockets, he supposed, but it would be quick and over without a second thought.
That’s when the old man had approached him.
“You don’t need to do this, Milo,” he told him. “You can be anything in this country, didn’t they tell you that?”
Milo had refused to get off the tracks and spoke from his lying position.
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 37
