“Wade, my boy, so glad you could make it.”
Dr. Remington backpedaled, wide-eyed and stammering. How is this possible?
“Many things are, Wade,” the figure said, parting fair-haired locks. “Welcome to the afterlife. The Epicenter of Existence.”
I’m dead?
“No, no, come now,” said the elder, extending the cigarette, “take a snuff and tell me this isn’t real.”
Dr. Remington obeyed, touching the rolled paper to his lips, breathing deeply. Gooseflesh ran down his arms and legs. Euphoria percolated. He sighed, smiling.
Jasper Remington’s arms crossed. “Believe me now?”
Dr. Remington shook his head, incredulous. “But ... how ... how?
Jasper raised a hand. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Dr. Remington lowered the rifle. “You’ve been dead for twenty years.”
“Years?” The blond-headed man laughed. “Don’t bind me into a construct, Wade. I’m eternal. You’re not ... not for long.” Jasper patted the professor on the shoulder. “We had a dream, you and I, and you’re here now. We’ll do it together. You’ll finish what I started.”
This is a vision ... a trip ... looney tunes. Maybe I am dead.
Jasper’s fingers tightened their hold. “Stop that, Wade. I need you to focus.”
“You can read my mind?”
Jasper grinned. His white teeth, pearly and immaculate, glistened long and sharp. “I know all about you, my boy. You’ve been my servant your entire life ... and now we’ll change history, just as we dreamed. Are you ready?”
“Servant?”
Jasper’s hand cupped Wade’s face as one might comfort a confused child. “I’ve been with you since your birth. That little voice, prodding, challenging, asking questions of the universe ... It was me. You followed without rebellion and listened like a good soldier. You were selected because you are worthy, my humble servant ... a true heir of defiance against the Creator.”
The Creator? You mean ...?
Jasper nodded.
The stories? Myths?
“As real as you and me.”
The cigarette vanished in a wink. The smell of smoke and all its residue disseminated as the jungle’s aroma returned, stronger than before.
Jasper’s jaw shifted. Fangs glistened. His skin peeled, falling to the ground as a reptile might shed its coverings. His slender, toned body creased, melting and bending into a smaller form, a snake walking on four legs.
“Tell me, Wade,” the small dragon said, forked tongue slithering, “what are you willing to sacrifice for the sake of the planet?”
Four
DR. REMINGTON ADJUSTED the scope on his Winchester, squinting and fidgeting his hat to shade the sun. Through the looking glass, he studied the center of the garden and loaded the rifle.
The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, tall and elegant, stood at the garden’s center. Its fruit, silken white, hung from its branches within arm’s reach. Jasper crawled into view, peeking from the tree’s upper canopy as two humanoids walked through the landscape before stopping between the rifle’s crosshairs.
In the professor’s mind, letters tumbled. Words dripped. The book he’d once dismissed as fiction had come to life. Dr. Remington lowered the gun as tears welled within his eyes. The persons underneath the tree were a man and a woman, each beautiful with bronzed skin, dark hair, and radiant faces.
He cursed and bit a closed fist. The nightmare lingered. Bite marks faded. This wasn’t fantasy. He dried his face and returned to the scope.
To call the woman undesirable would be a lie. She was breathtaking in her naked form, exquisite in feature and demeanor, and a paragon of womanly aura.
Then, the serpent emerged, neither startling nor frightening the woman. Why should it? The truth of the T. rex was clear now to Dr. Remington. Death had not yet tainted this world. Mankind had not yet fallen. This woman and man were his distant mother and father, the cornerstones of the entire human race, and they stood within reach of his judgment, living in an eternal utopia where harmony and peace reigned like nirvana. He would ensure it stayed this way. That was Jasper’s vision.
Dr. Remington studied the woman’s pink lips mouthing words in a language he didn’t understand. Jasper spoke as the man watched from the side, saying nothing. The woman reached for the fruit and plucked it from a hanging branch, studying its texture and unwittingly contemplating the endless fate and misery of countless generations. Jasper appeared once again next to the woman, seeming to whisper in her ear. The man, naked as well, sat idly to the side as if in a trance.
Dr. Remington swayed the gun barrel an inch to the left. His fingers unfurled and gripped the rifle’s frame, ready to unleash death.
Grandpa Jasper had died twenty years earlier. Wade had been at the funeral. He’d seen the old man’s remains.
Black juice dripped from the woman’s chin. Her eyes widened as she handed the fruit to her mate, who partook of the communion. He, too, appeared changed, suddenly self-aware.
The dragon sat in the wings of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, gazing with an otherworldly stare at the two humans on the grassy turf.
The ancient texts had come alive. History unfolded before Dr. Remington like the turn of a page. He was the pawn in its revision.
From his perch above, the professor’s finger fondled the trigger.
Inhale. Exhale. Sh-crack!
Reload.
Inhale. Exhale. Crack!
Silence.
As the echo of gunfire quieted, Dr. Remington said a silent prayer, disappearing like vapor into the jungle landscape.
The Ripper
Megan Lam
BEN CLEARED HIS THROAT. He was standing, back straight, lips firm, and at attention, in the middle of a circular chamber. Before him sat a panel of six men, some with their heads bowed, some leaning back in their seats, all with their eyes on him. It wasn’t meant to be a particularly tense or stressful event, but that didn’t stop a small trickle of sweat from running down the back of his neck as he fought the urge to gulp.
His only solace at that moment was in the little hunched figure standing behind him, like a protective barrier or a wall of support that he knew he could lead on. It was his master, with her lined and wrinkly appearance hidden in the folds of a patchy gray cloak, the very epitome of what one might picture when one thinks of a particular “wise one.” She was every bit the grandmotherly figure to him, teaching him the basics of time-jumping, and how to navigate the tricky and somewhat perilous techniques of time travel.
A former grand council member herself, she had once sat in one of the seats the six hooded figures now sat in, and once, very long ago, she had stood where Ben now stood, in the center of that very same room, trying to control the shaking in her newly-minted time-jumper’s legs.
She had taken a particular liking to Ben since the moment she had met him. When he had begged her to train him, she had recognized the same determination in his eyes that she herself had once felt. They all started off like that—fearless and resolute, bent on becoming an esteemed time-jumper, going on missions throughout time and space, and correcting great wrongs in history. It was a noble goal, but not without cost. Time-jumping takes its toll on the young time-jumper mentally and physically, and she knew better than any that it took an incredible mental fortitude to withstand the shock of being thrown into a different time, in a foreign land, and given the heavy burden of correcting a wrong that could impact countless lives after.
However, Ben had a natural talent and a natural disposition to creatively find solutions and persist even in the worst of his trainee days. Now, in the middle of the chamber, Ben turned back toward her as if for support, and their eyes met briefly.
The first time he had jumped, he had nearly passed out. He had only jumped a few minutes back in time, but it was enough to make him nauseous, and she had had to intervene and quickly bring him back. Later on in his training, he was able
to jump back several months at a time, and just for fun, he had jumped back to the time he had first met his master. He smiled at the memory now, seeing his own shaky legs and tremulous voice as he begged her to take him as her student.
Not much has changed, Ben thought to himself as he stood now in front of the grand council, trying to control his shaky legs, which threatened to give way under the heavy weight of the council’s attention on him as he awaited his very first mission as a time-jumper.
His long and arduous training with his master had finally come to a close, and this was the moment he had been dreaming about ever since he was a little boy. Becoming a trainee had already felt like a dream come true. He remembered the day he received his blue stone, a crude but weighty rock which hung around the necks of all the trainees. The stones enable the time-jumpers to return to their own time. If they were ever to be removed while time-jumping, the time-jumper would never be able to return back to their own time. Blue stones became red ones once trainees became official time-jumpers, and he had dreamed on countless occasions of the day he’d look down and see a red glow on his chest.
Now, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the persistent blue glow that sat heavily on his chest begin to flicker violently. The council started to chant, and the huge stones that sat heavily on chains around their own necks began to glow. The light from his stone flared, and he winced, expecting some physical reaction, perhaps sparks or a small explosion, to emanate from the stone. He squeezed his eyes shut as if bracing for impact. When he felt nothing, he opened his eyes again and found, to his delight, a bright-red stone hanging on his necklace where the blue stone used to be. He bent his head to look down at it and lifted a finger to touch it gently.
The funny thing about these stones was that they also allowed the grand council to track their time-jumpers’ movements, and essentially watch the events that time-jumpers experience as they unfold. He had only seen this once. His master had taken him to a grand council meeting during his training, and they had watched the glowing scene projected on the wall from the point of view of the time-jumper who had made it to sixth-century China. Ben watched in awe as the time-jumper passed by the Great Wall of China, the wall looking much fresher than it had in his history books. This time-jumper was just finishing his mission in China, and the council members, all watching with their hoods back and satisfied expressions on their faces, were pleased. They brought him back in a swirl of red dust. He had materialized in the center of the chamber to the cheers of the onlookers and the approving glances of the council. The time-jumper beamed as the grand council members stood up one by one and bowed to him in gratitude and recognition of the completion of his mission.
Ben remembered how the room had lit up in applause. He lifted his head up now to face the panel of six before him, his confidence renewed, and his eyes bright. He couldn’t wait to begin his first mission, and his fear had now mostly been replaced with a sense of excitement.
Of course, part of him still wondered if he could really make the jump. Larger jumps could only be done under the guidance of the council members, and only for missions carried out by full-fledged time-jumpers. He had, at most, jumped back a year or two at a time, and he had almost always immediately returned to the present time. This time, things would be different. Taking a breath, he waited as one of the grand council members stood and began reading to him the target of his first mission.
“Go to 1841, to a country formerly known as England. Prevent the birth of a child ... truly not a child, but a monster from its very conception ... destined to kill so many, as history has revealed. Save these lives by preventing the creation of one. This is your assignment.” His voice was deep and seemed to emanate from an inhuman source. It sounded foreign somehow to Ben.
Ben’s stone suddenly shook and dug into the thin skin on his chest. He winced a little, and he thought he felt a thin trickle of warm blood leak down his chest. Another council member approached Ben and handed him a pouch of strange-looking coins and a piece of parchment with a sketch of a young woman’s face.
“The mother,” the speaker explained, as Ben took the parchment and pocketed the pouch. “Or, the target, if you will,” he added offhandedly.
“Do what you must. This child must not be born,” a third council member spoke, speaking solemnly and slowly, all while looking down at Ben. “There will be no second chances.”
“Take this stone, time-jumper, and with its power, use it to change the past ...” The fourth speaker paused and looked straight into Ben’s eyes. “In doing so, change the future.” He lifted his hand, and as he did so, the five other council members sitting beside him did the same.
A large set of gears behind them began to creak and turn, one pulling on the other, turning and pushing, until the floor beneath Ben’s feet began to shake. From behind him, Ben’s teacher put a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. The sudden touch made Ben flinch a bit, but he settled as he felt the reassuring weight of her bony hand.
“Ben,” she began in that familiar, gravelly voice, “you’ve trained for this. Believe in yourself.”
“Remember the basics,” she added, reaching over to touch the red, pulsating stone pulling on Ben’s neck. “Do not take the stone off when you’re there ... in 1800s England, that is. You will never be able to come back.”
She gave him a comforting smile and a pat on the shoulder, then took a step back, watching as the floor beneath his feet began to fall away.
“I would hate to lose another student.” This last part, she said under her breath, too softly for Ben to hear.
Ben began to feel the ground beneath his feet give way. The room started to spin, and his stone began to rise as if held aloft by an invisible force. All he could see was red, the remnants of the chamber he was in out of the corner of his vision, and then, darkness.
1841 England
BEN OPENED HIS EYES. He was standing in the middle of a bustling cobblestone street, the very image of a picturesque snapshot of the Victorian era. People bustled by, jostling him slightly as they wove their way through the crowded streets. The crowd parted around him like he was a rock in a river of pink skirts and navy coats. As he tried to move out of the way, he bumped into an important-looking, but flustered man.
“Excuse me, sir,” he began, but before he could finish, he knocked his arm into the side of a woman passing by, who yelped in surprise and glared at him.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he stuttered.
He fumbled his way to the edge of the sidewalk. Still disoriented and slightly nauseous from the jump, he took a seat at the edge of the street.
He started to lower himself, but before his bottom reached the ground, someone shouted, “Hey, buddy! Move it!”
A horse and carriage thundered by, inches away from where Ben froze in a half-standing, half-sitting position.
His head still spinning, he stumbled away from the hustle and bustle of the main road and down a small alley. Somehow, he made it to a dusty inn, where, pulling out the pouch that had been given to him by the council members, he managed to make some transaction with the foreign currency and arranged a room to stay in.
He found himself in a creaky room with tiny holes in the wooden floors and walls and splattered paint on the ceiling. A spider tickled its way around its cobweb in the corner. Lying back on the stiff mattress, he watched it dangle, then drop precipitously onto the floor out of sight.
Ben sighed. He wasn’t sure where to begin. In this big city of people, he felt he was truly searching for a needle in a haystack. He was also all too aware of the red stone around his neck, and the council back at home watching his every move. He had a burning desire to impress, and he craved the recognition and glory that came to all time-jumpers who successfully completed their missions. He could see his teacher’s proud face now, beaming as he, the star pupil who saved the day, returned home triumphant from his first mission to the stunned awe of the council members.
But where would this woman be, and once he
found her, what would he do then? He unfolded the piece of paper with the sketch of the woman’s face that the council member had given to him at the start of his mission and stared at it. She stared back from the page, mysterious and elusive. Grunting in frustration, he threw the paper on the floor and lay facedown on the bed, resigning himself to sleep.
Fortunately for Ben, things happened sooner than he expected. The next day, as he sat at a table outside the café next to his inn, sipping his morning coffee and looking about at the busy crowds moving to and fro, he tried to find some clue, anything that might lead him to his target. By midday, he had given up and decided to just relax and enjoy the atmosphere in this new land. He leaned back in his chair, and as his eyes drifted over to the table next to him, he started so violently he almost spilled his coffee.
With the sunlight trickling in from behind her head, blue cotton frills and thick brown hair was really all he could see, but it was unmistakably her—the target of his mission.
Getting up so fast that he knocked his chair over, he rushed over to her before he had a chance to think about what he would say. She looked up at him, all blue eyes and gentle lips. It startled him, and he stuttered, his voice cracking.
“I-uh-um—” he began, his mouth opening and shutting as he searched desperately for the right words.
“Hello,” she said, smiling simply up at him.
With that, he never could get that smile out of his mind. He had wanted to introduce himself as “John Smith”—a common name for this time, he had been told—but he had fumbled through the introduction and ended up extending a hand and blurting out, “Mr. John.” She had raised her eyebrows before bursting into fits of giggles that made his ears turn red.
He was new in town, he had told her and she, delighted, had reciprocated by explaining that she had just moved to town a few weeks ago. As a matter of fact, she said, she had been staying at the inn next door, and he, marveling at the coincidence, had stated that he, too, had a room at that very inn. They lamented over their shared annoyance with the creaky floors, uncomfortable mattresses, and dusty walls.
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