And the Tide Turns

by Timothy Dalton

  Blake felt another twinge of something for Tobias. It took a moment for him to identify that it was gratitude – genuine gratitude this time, not the prickly, resentful kind he’d battled with these past few months. He did in fact owe this man everything. If it wasn’t for Tobias saving their parents from the plane crash, Blake’s life would have taken an irrevocable turn. Tobias was walking proof of that.

  He cleared his throat; it had grown dry all of a sudden. “I know you must be scared. I can’t tell you what to say or do. To be honest, I don’t know what you said or did to stop them from going on that trip, but just say what comes natural, I guess.”

  “I’m not scared. This is what I came here to do.” Tobias looked timid as he said it, but his voice didn’t waver.

  Blake grinned and snapped his fingers. “Oh, and don’t forget to make that fortune. I kinda liked living in style, driving my ‘67 Mustang.”

  Tobias beamed, and his face relaxed. Perhaps he was envisioning a happily ever after for all of them. “A ‘67 Mustang, huh?”

  “Yeah, metallic black with a copper stripe running up the middle. It was Mom and Dad’s, I got it after -” Blake stopped himself. After the accident, had almost rolled off his tongue. He shifted gears from truth to falsehood. “After I graduated from basic training.”

  Tobias looked dazzled by this information. It could have been from the vision of the beautiful car, but Blake thought he knew the truth. It was the fantasy of their mother and father alive and well, enjoying a proud moment with their son. Tobias would never know until years from now that their parents hadn’t been alive at that point.

  Blake remembered the picture of the car crash in Tobias’s files and wondered if he’d felt betrayed by Blake when the accident happened. Or if he’d chalked it up to the past reclaiming what had been stolen.

  “And I think it was you who picked out the ‘Stang from the lot. You said so yourself.”

  Tobias’s chest seemed to swell with pride, but he said soberly, “Blake, I think you’ve told me enough. You said yourself we shouldn’t know too much about our future.” He drew in a deep breath. “The time is right, I’m ready to go.”

  A memory floated in – from where, Blake couldn’t say. Perhaps Dr. Cunningham had an entire thesis on the subject matter somewhere in 1986. Had Tobias just said, The time is right?

  An eerie feeling of déjà vu crept into his consciousness – he’d heard that before. But when? And where? He thought a moment and then remembered. Yes, that was it … “When the time is right.” Those had been the very words Tobias used so long ago when they’d been fixing up the damaged ‘67 Mustang and Tobias had promised to tell him a story about the car.

  A strange sensation twisted in Blake’s stomach as his brain sifted future memories and this past event into clearer perspective. Could the story have been: that one day in 1948, Tobias and Blake had met as fellow time-travelers and it had been Blake himself who influenced Tobias about which car to pick out for their parents?

  It made sense on some level, but right now Blake didn’t possess the brain power to hold on to that strange loop in his mind without it giving him a monster of a headache.

  He smiled in acknowledgement of what Tobias had said. “Alright, let me go grab your things for you.”

  Blake walked out of the kitchen and headed for Tobias’s room. He took a detour along the way to stop by his sleeping quarters and grab his bag. Then he went into Tobias’s room. He pulled his twin’s similar-looking duffel up onto the bed and laid his own bag down beside it.

  The conversation Blake had with Ben Wallace on the beach before the man eighty-sixed himself came back to him then in a rush and he realized how much weight the dead man’s words carried.

  He thought of that strange word Ben had mentioned – obdurate. Is this what it meant? That if someone traveled from the present to the past, try as they might, changing history wasn’t quite changing history, but more like following a narrative that has already played itself out time and again? He hoped it didn’t work the other way around too. Given what he now knew about 1986, would it be possible that the timeline there wasn’t exactly like the screenplay of the past, with every decision seemingly set in stone?

  Hesitating only a moment, Blake opened his duffel and retrieved the pill bottles Wallace had given him in what felt like a lifetime ago. He threw them into Tobias’s bag and then snatched up a pencil from the table by the bed. He scrawled out a quick message on the accompanying notepad, cursing at how clumsy his efforts were with one arm.

  When he finished the note, he stuffed it into the bag beside the pill bottles. This would be Tobias’s only chance at surviving decades with the radiation. Blake couldn’t risk having the man’s body give out earlier than expected.

  He’d done the math in his head already; the pills that were left would never be enough to last Tobias until 1986. But maybe he could stave off the sickness for a while after the pills were gone.

  Blake thought about the snapshot that had been taken on the beach when Ben’s body was found. He’d thought about it a lot over the past few months. And like his presence in the photo, Blake was setting the course that had always been. Had he been planning to do this for some time already and hadn’t even known it? He couldn’t remember when he’d last taken a pill. Days … weeks?

  As he stared at the pill bottles it became obvious once more – he had already done this before too.

  He tied Tobias’s bag closed and stood for a quiet moment. His mind whispered, The time is right.

  ***

  August 10, 1949, 3:34 PM

  Echoes of the sucking wind and thunder crack that followed swirled around them, leaving behind an empty space where Tobias had stood. Not wanting the platform to be destroyed during the teleportation process, Amhurst had positioned Tobias on pieces of the broken table left behind by Gernot.

  Their goodbye had been brief, both men knowing that it wouldn’t last forever. Blake was never good at the soft and mushy emotional stuff and he felt like an impotent fool when all he could do was offer a hand for a farewell shake.

  When Tobias enfolded him in a warm embrace Blake’s first instinct was to pull away, but he stopped himself in time and gave Tobias a hearty clap on the back. “Good luck,” he’d whispered. But he knew by now that it wasn’t needed. Would the same hold true for him? He didn’t have the answer yet.

  “That’s one. You’re next.” Amhurst pulled the black tinted goggles from his eyes, moving them up to rest on his forehead.

  “Not quite.” Blake removed his as well. “We need to make sure all of this is gone.” He pointed to several of the devices in the lab, including the iron machine in the corner.

  “Certainly,” Amhurst said, but his eyes reflected the depth of his sorrow. “I am deeply regretful of the journey Tesla and I embarked on.”

  “I know you are, but as a final demonstration of your repentance, I need this thing sent far away from here. Don’t tell me where. I can’t and don’t want to know. You can send it into the center of the sun for all I care. It just needs to disappear forever. All of your notes and files too.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Toss in those files you took from Tesla as well. His mind may have produced things that could benefit mankind, but given the uncertainty we face, they may cause more harm than good.” Blake paused and softened his voice. “I’m sorry. I know you deeply admired the man and hate the thought of … mistreating his work that way, but it would be better if we cleansed it from the world. Mankind isn’t ready for what he offered. Perhaps we never will be.”

  The sadness on Amhurst’s face spoke volumes, but he seemed to comprehend the ramifications of not doing as instructed. He nodded, the straps of his goggles bobbing with the movement of his head.

  “There is one more thing I need before I go. Can you help me with this?” Blake reached into his pocket, pulled out the items he’d been working with earlier, and gave them to the doctor.

  “Are you going to -” Amhurst st
arted.

  Blake shook his head, and the old man’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ve changed the contents inside, but I was wondering if I could borrow your dental services one more time.”

  49 Adelaide Then Manhattan

  August 10, 1949, 8:10 PM

  Blake got out of the small tub and dried himself. A bath before departure wasn’t necessary, but he had wanted one; mental preparation for the journey by symbolically washing away the past months.

  His reflection in the mirror caught his attention, and he rubbed his jaw. He had become emaciated, and his eyes held a look of torment. He was a gaunt, cadaverous image of his original self.

  The exercises he’d done since recovering from the infection that had him bedridden helped resculpt his physique. But what he was and what he felt were two different things. His strength may have been restored to a degree, but the drain of this mission felt like an anchor pulling him down into a bottomless murk.

  Who am I?

  Ben had been correct when he said, ‘You’re not always the same man who comes out on the other side.’ Blake was no longer the Ethan Tannor he remembered. He had become someone else. Was he a product of his journey? Had he seen too much, did he know too much? Or was it true that he had been caught in a web of his own doing? Combined with the radiation poisoning in his veins, were his recent experiences enough to cause the change?

  The Ethan of before was so different from what stared back at him through the mirror. Not just different. Better? Blake didn’t know.

  In comparison, the man he was today felt more dangerous than ever. Being a cop always filled a person with a certain level of heady power, but knowing the twists and turns of the future gave a man the feeling of something beyond even that. Godlike almost, even though his mortality waned. Death was still an authority no one could reckon with.

  Blake smiled at his reflection. The grin that stared back looked ghoulish. Despite his impending doom that lurked somewhere in the distance, perhaps all hope was not yet lost. Maybe he could even be rid of the radiation. It could still be possible that in the decades following the 80s, the science of medicine would change drastically, giving him some extra time at life.

  However, with only the pills Ben had given him to stave off the poisoning, and that he’d given Tobias all of his own, the odds didn’t feel so strong in his favor. Too late, Blake realized he should have kept behind a few, just to see himself through this next mission.

  He took a few more moments to look closely at himself in the mirror. It had been a long time since his last shave; healthy stubble had grown out over the last few weeks that beat anything Don Johnson could have sported.

  Amhurst had been kind enough to give Blake’s shaggy hair a good clipping just before the shower. Although, in the man’s arthritic hands the scissors were more dangerous than would have been normal. If Blake’s life didn’t already have an imminent countdown timer on it, he would have felt more fearful as the old man’s uncertain fingers probed around his hairline.

  Blake hadn’t escaped the experience unscathed though. The tip of his right ear had been nipped, and the backside of his left jawline had a gouge that still stung. He chuckled ruefully and moved away from the mirror. He might just miss the crazy old man when all this was over.

  Gliding down the hall in a near trance, Blake went into his room and began to dress, struggling to ease into a plain white T-shirt. The black leather jacket he’d purchased in town went on a little easier, despite the trembling in his good hand.

  Without apprehension, Tobias had recently stepped back through the corridor of time, and now the moment for Blake to take the second leg of his round trip was almost here. He clenched his shaking fingers into a fist. He’d done this before. He could do it again.

  Descending the basement steps, he walked into Amhurst’s lab for the final time, giving a silent farewell to 1949.

  Amhurst stood at a nearby table, hunched over as usual, the aged curve of his spine forcing its will upon the old man. He looked in Blake’s direction. “So you are convinced going to that point in time might change things for the better?”

  Blake shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure, but the only thing I have left is hope. And I need a safety precaution, just in case.”

  The doctor straightened. “Then it is ready. Just help me stack up a new platform for you to stand on.”

  They began moving the material into place. “And what will you do after I’m gone?” Blake asked as they dragged a piece of metal across the floor.

  Amhurst dropped his end of the slab with a clang that vibrated through Blake’s arm. Blake released his own grip and waited for Amhurst’s answer. There was a long pause, and then the doctor finally said, “I honestly don’t know. After my first life took a turn, this became my life. I have no family. I’m old. I’m used up, and I have nothing left to live for.”

  Blake realized his own life had drawn a similar parallel. Still, he had a few things left to fight for: Art, Fredericks, and maybe the whole human race, if that was even possible at this point.

  “We’re almost ready.” Amhurst said. He affixed the watch to Blake’s forearm. Blake was painfully reminded of the sting of its hooks, the pulsing throb that would linger for days before the nerves finally began to disregard the constant irritation.

  The doctor pushed at the knobs on the corners of the watch and set it for the delivery date. He singled out one of the knobs for Blake. “This is the quantum leap accelerator. All you need to do is click the button and you’ll be on your way. I was able to double the capacity in the core, so two time jumps should be possible.” He added softly, “Safe travels, my friend.”

  Déjà vu tugged at Blake’s mind as he picked up his duffel bag, hoisted it to his shoulder, and got into position. Eons ago, he’d been center stage on the platform of departure, and now he was ready for a return jump into the void – or, as Amhurst had just put it, a quantum leap. For some unexplainable reason, the phrase sounded eerie, like it belonged in a Twilight Zone episode title.

  Amhurst slid the goggles over his eyes as he moved a safe distance away from potential flying debris. Blake watched him shuffle into place and wondered again where Amhurst’s life would take him now. He felt a pang of sympathy for the lonely man and impulsively lifted his hand in farewell.

  The doctor nodded back somberly. He stood watching Blake with an indefinable expression, and then his hand, too, began to rise.

  It is time.

  Blake figured he might as well get it over with. He drew in a deep breath, pushed the switch on the watch, and closed his eyes to the brightness that blanketed him with white light. He braced himself for the scorching pain, but none came. It was the meteorite core, Blake realized with relief. It must be more efficient than the nuclear power of Three Mile. He felt the quick, hard rush of air whoosh around him, had the fleeting thought that this was all happening faster than the first time, and then he was gone.

  ***

  In the silence of Blake’s departure, Amhurst removed his goggles, and stared forlornly at the detritus left behind in the empty space where Blake had been. He stood there for a long time, lost in his thoughts. Then he looked around the room, absorbing the scene, and sat down on the floor, not taking the time to think about how hard it would be to get back up.

  He gazed out through the thick windows and spied a waxing moon. “Seven glittering veils,” he said aloud in the quiet room, and a tear, followed by countless more, cut jagged lines across his old skin. “Celice,” he whimpered.

  Wracking sobs consumed his body. He wept long and loud, the sound of it bouncing off the concrete walls and in his ears. But he didn’t care.

  There was no one else to hear him now.

  PART III

  Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit

  Of This and That endeavour and dispute;

  Better be merry with the fruitful Grape

  Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

  – The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
r />   50 Déjà Who

  April 21, 1986, 5:14 PM

  Tobias Keane’s shaking hand moved the receiver back toward its hook.

  A flicker of motion in the doorway caught his eye and his head snapped around. Alarm bit into him, “What are you doing here?” he said, so startled that he dropped the phone. It rattled loudly as it fell into place.

  “Is it really necessary to do this?” a rough voice asked.

  Tobias looked closer at the surprise guest who stood staring at him with a fierce expression.

  “Ethan?” Then Tobias’s eyes drifted downward, noticed the missing forearm. Its stump held a familiar watch with hooks sunk deep into the muscle tissue. For Tobias it was a sight he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. His eyes relaxed. “Blake.” His voice went flat. “What do you want?”

  “I’m trying to stop a foolish old man.”

  Tobias let out a half laugh of disgust. “Look at me. I don’t have much longer here. My body is in ruin, and my mind will follow soon after. I don’t want to spend my final days shitting in a diaper, bedridden, and being fed through a tube. So I ask you – how is this foolish?”

  “Your actions condemn us. You don’t realize what happens.” Blake searched Tobias’s face for the answer to his question, “Or do you?”

  “Who are you to tell me that?” Tobias glowered at him.

  “Your suicide starts a chain of events. Ben will find Ethan and he’ll send him back.”

  Blake’s calm delivery seemed to enrage Tobias. “Don’t speak to me about a chain of events. And you lied … betrayed by my own flesh.” His voice came out like a growl, but ended on a half sob. “You said they never died.”

  “No. I said they never died in the plane crash.”