For Cheryl
CHAPTER 0
February 11th, 1942
Dr. Bernard Epson sat triumphantly in his studio laboratory, applying the final touches to his theory of time travel. It had been twelve grueling years since he’d first begun his groundbreaking project. Completion was near, and his tongue could taste the finality, like the tang of history itself. He leaned back in his worn leather chair, basking in his accomplishment, his eyes surveying the notes and scribblings placed on virtually every surface in his modest workshop.
Bernard dreaded his next exercise. With the majority of his progressive research documented in his journals, this final stage was troublesome but necessary. The creak of the front door redirected his attention to the man entering his lab.
“Professor? Good morning. Have you been here long?” asked his assistant as he closed the oil-starved door behind him.
“Wha? Oh yes. I, um… I haven't been home yet. Is it really morning?” he replied drearily, longing someday for a workspace with a window. He’d lost count of how many sleepless nights he had spent in his lab alone.
“Yes, Professor. It's just after seven.” he paused as he crossed to his diminutive desk in the corner of the room. “You promised me that you wouldn’t work yourself so hard. Have you eaten?”
“Um, yes. I had Miss Stewart bring me a croque-monsieur before she left last night,” lied the doctor. As the words escaped his mouth, he realized he was famished.
“Well, that’s good, sir. Did you make any progress on the final equations?” he inquired with abundant interest.
“As a matter of fact, I resolved the final hurdle not fifteen minutes ago.” Dr. Epson sprang from his chair, ignoring the protests from his fatigued muscles. “You see, if we replace this algorithm with...”
As Dr. Epson continued with his explanation, his assistant listened intently, masking his concerns. As a member of the Society, he, like his associates, prayed the professor would never unlock the secrets to time travel. The professor’s successes were a complication that required subtle interference. Only half-listening to the doctor’s commentary, his mind began to devise a way to sidetrack the man’s progress. He needed to get the doctor out of the lab for a while, so that he could alter a few of the minute, yet critical calculations before they could be recorded.
“That's fantastic, Professor! You must be extremely proud of this monumental achievement.” His compliment was genuine, but not entirely sincere. “I think what we need is a celebration. You've been here all night and must be exhausted. Why don't you go home and catch a quick nap? After you’re rested, we can go out for a celebratory lunch. It'll be my treat—and afterward, we can begin the process of recording all of your data into the journals.”
Bernard was tired and knew that if he began the tedious task of documenting the observations now, he would make mistakes. What his trusted assistant suggested was wise.
“All right. I accept your offer of celebration. Let's make it three and invite Miss Stewart.” Dr. Epson hoped his affection for the attractive Miss Stewart would not canvas his face. She had been in his employ from the very beginning, and although they had worked together for years, he had never yet found the courage to act upon his feelings.
“I think that is a wonderful idea, Professor. I'll set everything up. You go and get some rest.” He nearly shoved the doctor towards his coat.
“Yes, yes. I'll get some rest, but as soon as we’re back from lunch, we'll get this recorded and begin staging the build. I want to test this device by mid-year!”
His assistant was staggered. “You want to what?” he stammered.
“I want to start testing the device within the next four months.”
‘But—but how can we do that without funding?”
“Oh come now, my boy. Do you think I haven't been dreaming of this day for years? I have more than enough money to build the first device, and I know that once it’s complete, I’ll be able to persuade someone to invest in the future. Or the past, as it were.” He chuckled.
Dr. Bernard Epson’s devious assistant was speechless. He’d have to act more swiftly than he’d anticipated in order to keep the doctor from moving the project to the next stage. With subterfuge on his mind, he smiled brightly. “Fantastic, sir! I can’t wait to assist you in this historical undertaking!”
The doctor donned his topcoat and hat and bid his assistant a brief farewell. As he walked out the door, he began to eagerly ponder what his first time travel destination would be.
CHAPTER 1
Present day
The sign on the door read “NOTICE OF EVICTION”—it was unmistakable. Peter was at a loss for words, despite having known it was coming. He stood there, staring at the notice as if waiting for the words to mysteriously change before his eyes. They did not. Peter pulled the attached document from his entry door and read it thoroughly.
Disgusted, he folded the notice in half and unlocked the door before going inside, just like he had done thousands of times before. This is my house, dammit! You’d think unemployed folks could get a break! These thoughts flooded his mind as he mindlessly dropped his keys on the table in the foyer and walked into his study, ignoring the pile of mail on the floor.
The lights were out and the wooden shutters were closed tight. It was dark, just the way Peter liked it in his study. He crossed the room, clicked on his Tiffany-styled desk lamp and fell into his tufted leather chair. He was still holding the eviction notice and he read it once more for clarity. He was going to lose the house. He felt like he was losing everything. First his wife, two years ago, then his job a year ago, and now the house. Pretty shitty three-year run. It wasn't even the house itself that Peter felt so attached to, so much as the fact that it was the first purchase he’d made with Minnie after getting married. He believed they would grow old and die in this house. Peter closed his eyes, and wondered where it had all gone wrong. He thought he was a good husband. Hell, he was a good husband, but that didn’t matter to the drunk driver that stole his wife. He thought he was a good employee. He was, but that didn’t matter when the economy hit the skids and he was laid off. He knew he was responsible with his finances, but without a job, and without a secondary income, his savings could only go so far.
He leaned forward, scanned the papers strewn across his desk, and placed the eviction notice in the appropriate pile: delinquent. The unfortunate thing about the piles on his desk was that they were all delinquent bills, and the house payment being ninety days behind trumped them all. He was screwed, and he knew it.
Leaning back with his eyes closed, he thought back to the first time he’d walked into the 1940’s-era French Eclectic, hand-in-hand with Minnie. It had been such an exciting time for them. Having married earlier that year, and then finding out that she was expecting their first child, they both realized that starting a family in a small, two-bedroom brownstone wasn’t ideal. They made the decision to move out of the city and into the suburbs. Their broker found an old provincial in desperate need of repair. With a fixer-upper, there was a deal to be had, and Peter was right for the job. He had recently completed his first internship with a well-known architecture firm and was applying for his registration. His strong knack for design and construction made the remodel a perfect fit. He and Minnie had walked from room to room, imagining the potential each possessed. Every nook and cranny of the house seemed to have a story of its own, and they talked about all the future memories they could create.
The house was old and had a lot of character. The floorboards squeaked. The doors stuck. Several light switches did nothing that they knew of. It was perfect. They closed on the house some forty days later, and immediately started remodel work. Floor by floor, room by room, they stripped paint and sanded floors. Their p
lan was to get the baby’s room done first, and then work from the far side of the house inward, so the noise would be far enough from Tori's room that they could work during nap times. Within eighteen months, they had finished the remodel. And with timing bordering on perfection, Minnie was then pregnant with their second child.
Peter forced the memories from his mind. He knew that dwelling on the past would make moving so much harder. Where did he go wrong? What karma had caused him to have such bad luck? He’d asked himself those questions every day since Minnie was killed by that drunken bastard. If she could have been just a few minutes early or late, she would still be there with him, and everything would be all right. But she wasn't. She was always on time, and time was not kind to Minnie.
Peter straightened himself in his chair and glanced at the clock. It was 2:45 on a Wednesday. He wiped the tears from his eyes and walked out of his study. He didn’t want the kids to see him like that and they would be coming home from school shortly.
CHAPTER 2
Peter sat in the cluttered living room, patiently listening to his fifteen-year-old daughter explain the multitude of reasons why she should have her nose pierced.
“Please, Dad?” Tori begged. “All my friends have theirs pierced… Becca even got her tongue pierced!”
“Tori, I don’t care how many of your friends have piercings, or what parts of their bodies are pierced. You’re not getting it done. When you turn eighteen, you can put as many holes in your body as you want.” Peter sighed. “Until then, no holes.”
“What about my ears, Dad? They have holes!” Tori pulled the long black hair away from her face and thrust one ear toward her dad.
Peter looked up and winced ever so slightly. He could never get used to the idea that Tori had chosen to dye her beautiful, naturally blond hair a solid jet black.
“Ears are different, Tori, and you know it. We’ve talked about this before, and you know where I stand on all the ‘body art’ that goes on these days.” Peter used his fingers to make air quotes when he said ‘body art.’ He had an affinity for air quotes. “I will not have a child of mine, who lives under my roof, have any of that crap.”
Tori sat in silence and glared at her father. She knew now that she should have listened to Becca. Becca had told her that her dad would never agree to it, and that she should just get it done. “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” she’d said. “The worst that could happen is you get grounded. And after that, you’ll have your nose pierced!” Becca’s words had rattled inside her head all afternoon.
“Mom would have let me get it done,” Tori blurted out after several moments of silence. The words were out of her mouth before she could pull them back. The look on her dad’s face was indescribable. He still found it hard to even hear her name without breaking down.
“Well, mom is not here, and I’m done talking about this.”
“Well, I’m not!” shouted Tori. She said it loudly enough that her brother Brett opened his bedroom door and peeked out, but nobody noticed. “I’m fifteen years old, Dad. I get my license in eight months. You keep telling me that I’ll have so much responsibility then. Why not let this happen now?”
Peter glared at his daughter with that look that only a single father can muster, then walked into the kitchen. Tori didn’t follow.
As Peter started making dinner, his mind replayed their argument. He wondered if he had been right to be so firm with Tori. He seemed to be asking that question of himself more and more lately. Ever since his Minnie had died, both of the kids had pulled away. And to a certain extent, he felt they resented him—simply because it wasn’t him that had died in the car crash. Neither of them had come out and said it, but Peter could feel the truth by the way they both looked and reacted toward him.
After standing in front of an open fridge for far too long, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and returned to making dinner.
Conversation at the dinner table was practically nonexistent. Tori barely touched the spaghetti. She just sat in her chair, sulking and pushing her food from one side of her plate to the other.
Brett, on the other hand, had no problems eating. He scarfed in silence, and as he neared the bottom of his plate, he just as silently stood to clear his place. Not a single word by either of them.
Peter was okay with the silence. As tense as he and Tori had been an hour earlier, he knew it was best for everyone to simmer down a bit.
CHAPTER 3
Peter guided his newly acquired minivan into the parent parking lot of Willow Canyon High School and found a vacant space in the second row. Turning off the engine, he reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the manila folder filled with the dealership documents. With teary eyes, he opened the folder and flipped through the sales forms for his trade-in. His Mercedes had been a conduit to his old life. It had been an anniversary gift. He knew that trading down to the 1995 Chevy Astro was the logical thing to do; it seemed to be the cheapest yet most reliable ride on the lot. And the residual cash would aid in finding a new home. The mortgage payments and late fees were far beyond this meager sum, but it should at least be enough for a security deposit on an economy apartment across town.
Tossing the folder and contracts onto the console, Peter glanced at his watch. He was early. He had expected the negotiation at the dealer to take much longer than it did, but arriving at the school early gave him time to assess how he would tell the kids that they would be moving.
Over the past few weeks, he’d rehearsed the conversation in his mind. He’d ultimately known this day was coming, and he loathed himself for not having been able to avoid it. He knew that Tori would be devastated by the news, but also knew that Brett would go with the flow. He wished Tori could be more like Brett. Why did she have to be so much like her mother? Damn, he missed Minnie.
Moments later, teenagers began to pour out of the school exits. Peter had decided that today was the day for “the talk.” Brett would probably be out first, and Tori would amble out a few minutes later. Knowing they wouldn’t recognize the turquoise POS, instead of the crimson S-class, he climbed out and walked over to the sidewalk. He leaned against a light pole to wait.
It wasn’t long before Brett walked up with a confused look on his face.
“How was your day, buddy?”
“Okay, I guess. Whatta ya doing here?” he replied, looking around for the car.
Peter noticed, smiled as best he could, and said, “I’ve got some news. We should wait until Tori comes out and we’ll talk about it.”
Brett nodded and stood uncomfortably to Peter’s side. Tori came out a few minutes later with a few friends, and when they got closer, she whispered to them and they redirected without breaking stride. She looked up to her dad nervously. “What’s going on, Dad?”
He loved and hated how smart she was. She knew something was coming… “I’ve got some news. Let’s go somewhere where we can sit and chat.”
Peter grabbed Tori’s backpack and led the way. As they approached the van, Peter exclaimed—in his most chipper tone—“I traded in the Mercedes today. What do you think?”
Brett was silent, as always, but Tori was never one to hold her tongue. “I think it sucks! I can’t believe you’re picking us up in this. Where’s the car?”
Inside, Peter hurt. Outside, he clowned. “Oh, come on, Tori. Don’t you like the color? It’s kind of funky, don’t you think? This is the car!”
“Barf, whatever…” is all she muttered as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“How about we go for some ice cream? It’s a warm day, and two scoops would hit the spot,” Peter said, trying to make the best of the situation. Neither kid answered. “Okay. Ice cream it is.”
Peter pulled the minivan out of the parking lot and headed toward the nearest ice cream shop. Thankfully, Geno’s Gelatos was not three blocks from the school. He pulled off the street and into a parking spot near the entrance. Just as he turned off the engine, Tori looked over at her d
ad and asked, “What’s going on, Dad? This is all too weird.”
Before Peter answered, he glanced back in the mirror to see if Brett was paying attention. He was staring idly out the side window, but looked up a moment later.
“Well… I’ve got some bad news. Because I’ve been unemployed for so long, the house payments have gotten behind. There’s no way for me to get caught up, and the bank has exhausted their patience. We’re going to have to move.”
As he said it, he looked at each of the kids. Brett was looking outside again, while Tori stared straight ahead. Neither of them said anything. Peter continued to watch them in silence, and it wasn’t long before Tori began to cry. He couldn’t tell how Brett was handling what he’d just said, because Brett’s attention appeared to be focused elsewhere. Peter followed Brett’s gaze and his eyes landed on a couple passing the van. It was obvious why his son was so enthralled with the couple. The woman gave him goosebumps. She was stunning, around five-foot-six, with long, vibrant brunette hair. She was very athletic and had a regal bearing. That’s when Peter noticed the man she was with. He seemed ridiculously mismatched to the woman: he was six-six, thick without being portly, with a receding hairline and a pockmarked face.
While watching the two walk into the ice cream shop, he momentarily forgot about the bad news. His heart ached. Snapping back to the moment, he once again glanced at Tori. She had wiped the tears away from her cheeks as the rage built in her face. Here it comes, Peter thought.
“Can’t you get a loan or something? I’m a sophomore in high school, Dad! It’s hard enough making friends here! I cannot start over at another school!”
Peter tried to keep his voice calm and positive. “I’m not so sure we would have to change schools. If I can find a place we can afford for a while, we might be able to keep you both here.” Peter wished that what he was saying could be true—but in reality, he knew they would have to change schools. Their current neighborhood was fairly upscale, and there was no economy housing in the area.
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