by Amalie Jahn
Truthful. Concise.
“I recently found out I was adopted, and both my father and birth mother were deceased at that time. I went back to discover the truth about my adoption.”
“Was there no one else who could have provided you with the information you were seeking within the present timeline?”
Truthful. Concise.
“I attempted to discuss my adoption with my grandparents but they refused to speak with me.”
“I see. How about during your trip? Did you discuss the matter of your adoption with your father in the past?”
“No.”
“Did you discuss the matter of his death?”
“No.”
“What did you discuss with your father?”
“Nothing. I avoided him, just as I did in the original timeline.”
“So you are saying you changed nothing in the timeline that directly resulted in your father’s life being saved?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
He looked to his left and right at the other members of the board who were listening intently to his questioning. The woman beside him whispered in his ear. As they quietly conferred with one another, I heard the hinges of the rear chamber door creaking open. I turned to see Victoria crossing the threshold. She hesitated in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but this is a closed hearing.”
She held up a paper in her hand.
“The guard sent me here. Room 407, right? I’m supposed to be a witness for my son, Charlie Johnson.”
“Ah, you must be Ms. Weddington. Take a seat. We’ll be with you shortly.”
Our eyes locked. Brooke understated the changes in her appearance since I last saw her. Her face was full, her eyes no longer sunken in their sockets. Her skin held a healthy glow, and as she smiled at me, I could feel her loving presence from across the room. She studied the handful of spectators, and was clearly relieved when she recognized Brooke and Melody. She hastily settled on the seat beside Brooke’s father.
“Well, now that she’s arrived, would you like to tell us about your birth mother?” the chairman asked.
“What about her would you like to know?”
“Did you discuss the matter of your adoption with her during your trip?”
“I did.”
“But this was not something you discussed in the original timeline.”
“No. It was not.”
“So, for the record, you admit to making a change to the timeline with regard to discussion of your adoption with your birth mother?”
“Yes.”
“Make a note, Ms. Winters,” he said to the woman beside him. “Now, Mr. Johnson, what exactly did you discuss with your birth mother about your adoption that was different from the original timeline?”
Truthful. Concise.
“I wanted to find out what any person would want to know when they discover they’re adopted. I needed to find out why I was given up for adoption. I wanted to know the circumstances.” I felt my heart beating heavily in my chest as I finally acknowledged the one true motive for my search. “I needed to know if I’d been loved.”
I heard the fluorescent lights humming above my head. Several board members shuffled uncomfortably in their chairs.
Out of nowhere, Miller chimed in. “I don’t see how this line of questioning has any relevance to the case.”
“Noted and overruled,” the chairman responded without missing a beat. “Very well then, did you discuss the matter of your mother’s death with her during your trip?”
“No.”
“You gave no indication that her life was in peril?”
“No.”
“You made no changes to her life to affect the outcome of the original timeline?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
He thumbed through a stack of papers on the table in front of him. “Thank you very much, Mr. Johnson. That will be all. Please return to your seat. And Ms. Weddington, you can join us here in the front please.”
As I stood up, I was reminded of getting lost in the woods on the far edge of town when I was eight. I ran for hours trying to find my way home and could barely lift my legs when I finally climbed the porch steps just before dark. My legs felt exactly the same way as I returned to my seat beside Miller.
As my mother passed beside me, she reached out and squeezed my arm. Her grip was strong. It was an act of solidarity, carrying with it the hopes and dreams of two decades lost in time.
The bailiff approached to swear her in and the questioning began.
“Ms. Weddington, I know you are unaware of what transpired in the original timeline that resulted in your death, so you will be unable to provide insight into the exact change that was made with regard to your life being saved. However, I would like to hear about the time you spent with your son on the dates in question. Were you aware that Mr. Johnson was using his trip during the time of your meeting?”
“No, I sure wasn’t. He never said anything about that to me.”
“Perfect. And what did he discuss with you when you met?”
She turned to look at me. Her hands were shaking. It was obvious she was nervous about getting me in trouble by saying the wrong thing. All I could do was smile in the hopes of conveying my faith and gratitude.
“He asked me about why I gave him up,” she replied at last, “and I told him the truth.”
“Which was?”
“Irrelevant to the case,” Miller interrupted once again.
“Not so,” the chairman snapped, glaring at my attorney. “We are looking to establish what the relationship was between Mr. Johnson and Ms. Weddington. Answer the question, Ms. Weddington.”
“I gave him up because I was a junkie and Phil Johnson didn’t want me to be the one to raise him,” she said carefully, protecting the agreement she made with my father long ago.
“And how did Mr. Johnson react to hearing this information?”
“He was…” She wrung her hands in her lap, unable to continue.
“Ms. Weddington, answer the question.”
She turned again to face me, tears in her eyes. “He was amazing. Kind and understanding. He forgave me for what I did.”
The chairman slid forward in his seat. “And how did that make you feel?” he asked.
She hesitated. I felt the blood pulsing through the veins in my neck. I knew her response was about to shatter any hope I had of being released. Perhaps she knew it too.
“Better than any drug I ever took,” she whispered.
“And what did you do after meeting with Mr. Johnson?”
“I went home.”
“And after that?”
She sighed heavily. “I got clean.”
“Well. Isn’t that wonderful? Not only did you get clean, but you survived whatever tragedy was to befall you. That’s a pretty lucky coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Very lucky,” she replied.
“Well then, I think those are all the questions I have for you today, Ms. Weddington.”
She was on her feet, lunging toward the chairman before anyone in the room could react. Her carefully composed exterior gave way to the desperation she was holding inside. “You don’t understand,” she cried. “He never told me I was going to die! I didn’t know there was anything I needed to avoid! Please, you have to understand, it was just a mistake!”
“Mistakes only happen when travelers make careless decisions. And Mr. Johnson made a careless decision by speaking to you. You are alive as a direct result of the actions he took during his trip. I’m sorry, Ms. Weddington. I know you were only trying to help.” He turned to the bailiff. “Please see her out, Officer.”
In what seemed like a foggy haze, I watched helplessly as the bailiff removed my grief-stricken mother from the room. The board members began whispering amongst themselves, and I felt Miller pat me on the back, a sign of consolation. As the minutes ticked by, I heard my family weeping quietly behind me, and yet I lack
ed the courage to turn and face them.
The chairman’s voice pulled me from my daze. “Mr. Johnson, if you would please stand for our verdict.”
I pulled myself up and braced myself against the table, unable to support my own weight.
“Charles Johnson, we find you guilty of saving two lives, a direct violation of the time travel code, section 17, article 2 during government sanctioned trip 396DIB92. As a result of this guilty verdict, we are sentencing you to fifteen years in a long term housing facility. You will be eligible for parole after ten years. Do you understand the sentence that is being handed down?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Good,” he said, his callous demeanor unwavering. “Now I want to explain a few things to you, Mr. Johnson. You need to understand that men like you are the reason we specifically monitor travelers of your age and demographic. The federal government doesn’t have the funding or manpower to follow the consequences of every trip, but you better believe we track young, rich men like yourself who have lived their entire lives thinking they are above the law. You and your highfalutin lawyer here could have dragged the Pope himself to testify on your behalf, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. We need to make an example out of men like you to help save the lives of others. So to that end, thank you for your service. I’ll allow you several minutes to speak with your attorney and family before the bailiff returns you to your cell.”
Miller shook my hand and apologized for being unable to help me with the case. Before I could respond, he picked up his folio and was halfway to the door.
I remained standing, frozen as though my feet were cemented in the ground. I knew I had to face my loved ones, as well as my new reality, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge what had just transpired. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, hoping perhaps it was just a horrible nightmare.
Before I finished counting, I felt the presence of someone beside me. As I opened my eyes, my mom placed her arms around my waist and began to cry. She attempted to speak but her words became lost in the spasms which shook her body. I slipped my arms around her shoulders to console her as Melody approached me from the other side.
“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “I’m the one who had the idea about using your trip. I should go to jail, not you!”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” I assured her. “It just happened. It’s what was meant to be.”
“You can’t believe that,” Brooke said, joining us in the center of the room with her puffy eyes and fists full of tissues.
I was numb. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I was certain I’d find fulfillment once I discovered where I came from, but sadly, in the quest to fill the void, I had inadvertently squandered every blessing in my life. I felt more empty and insecure than I ever had before. However, there was at least one thing I was sure of… I would not allow the people I loved to be destroyed along with me.
“Listen to me, all of you. You are my life. You’ve always been my life. I didn’t know it before now, that you were all I ever needed, but now that I know, I can’t stand the thought of destroying your lives along with mine. You must promise me you will go on. Promise me.”
“But I need my brother!” Melody cried.
“I’ll call when I can. You can visit when they allow. I can still be a part of your life,” I told her. “You too, Mom.”
“And what about me?”
I turned to face the woman I loved more than any other soul on the planet. “No, Brooke. Not you.”
She lifted her chin and took a step closer, reaching out to touch me. But she resisted. “You told me once, the first time we met, when we were in high school, that you would wait for me. But I was cruel to you and you moved on. That’s when you made me promise to never find you again, because you said it was too hard to say goodbye. And now, here we are. Another life. Another timeline. And you’re asking me to walk away from you again? To go on with my life pretending I never met you? Pretending there was never us? Is that fair, Charlie?”
I reached down to brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “It’s the only thing that’s fair. In fifteen years, you’ll be a vet with your own practice. You’ll be married. You’ll have children. You’ll be living the life you were meant to live.”
“I’ll be miserable! I can’t just ‘unknow’ you! I can’t just pretend we never happened. I tried to do it before and it was excruciating. Don’t ask me to do it again!”
“I’m not asking you, Brooke.”
“Please, Charlie.”
“I won’t see you. I won’t allow you in. I won’t take your calls. This is the only gift I can give you that makes any sense. You deserve the chance at a normal life. You deserve to be with a man who will put your needs before his own. I’m not that man.”
“You are!” she cried.
“I’m not.” My throat felt thick from holding back tears as I struggled to maintain my composure.
Brooke’s father came to her side and wrapped her in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Charlie,” he said. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
“I love you,” she breathed.
“I love you, too,” I replied.
Her mother and father led her out of the chamber through the back entrance. She didn’t look back. It was better that way. She always said quick goodbyes were less painful.
C HAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
I looked for Victoria as the bailiff led me through the halls of the facility back to my basement cell. My heart ached for her, as our connection was now bound by gratitude as well as forged in blood. I needed her to know how much I appreciated her effort, and that I didn’t blame her for the judgment. But sadly, she was nowhere to be found.
Less than an hour from the verdict, I was transported by van to the closest long term housing facility, otherwise known as prison. Everything happened so quickly, I was too stunned to appreciate the graveness of my situation, much less reflect upon the consequences I would soon face.
Upon arrival, I was processed and immediately indoctrinated into my new life in the facility. The building itself was divided into cell blocks, each with its own set of rules and brand of inmates. Due to the nonviolent nature of my crime, my cell was located in the least restrictive section. My ward consisted of 24 cells lining the perimeter of a large common area. During the day, we were allowed to pass unguarded between our cells and the shared space, which was comprised of several sofas, three televisions, a stack of well-worn board games, and a small library of books. There were also enough tables and chairs for each prisoner to have a seat during meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served off of compartmentalized trays, rolled in on large, metal carts by the staff. Each afternoon before dinner, we were taken to an outdoor recreation area complete with a weight bench, two treadmills, and a basketball net. At night, we were locked within our cells from 10 PM until 5:30 in the morning, when the day began, each one exactly like the last.
The first days of my incarceration were agonizing. I struggled to acclimate myself to prison life, with its mindless routine and unspoken codes of conduct. By keeping my head down and my ears open, I was able to navigate the complex hierarchy established by my fellow cell block inmates. There were seats that were off limits and television channels which were not to be changed. I learned who controlled the communication channels between the inmates and the wardens, and which prisoners were acceptable to approach with concerns. I stopped hoping to enjoy meals, realizing the tasteless food was meant only to supply empty calories, a means of keeping me alive and nothing more. I mastered the art of rolling my socks inside my ill-fitting shoes to alleviate the blisters which were already beginning to callous my feet.
By the end of the first month, I was fully assimilated into prison life. I successfully learned to navigate the murky waters of captivity. However, as I lay staring at the ceiling on the evening of my thirty-first day, I acknowledged the painful truth of my situation. Physically, I was enduring. Spiritually, I was dying swiftly every day.
Life inside the prison walls would have been horrendous enough if I’d been alone in the world, without memory of my family and friends. My heart ached to be with them, sharing activities that often went unappreciated in everyday life. I missed my classmates, teammates, and even my coworkers whose companionship I never fully appreciated. I dreamed about the simple act of grocery shopping with Mom, reaching the items on the top shelf and sneaking junk food into the cart while she wasn’t looking. The thought of Victoria, alive and well in her newfound sobriety, left me longing for a relationship with her that would never come to pass. I thought of Melody, and all the milestones I would miss in her life. I wouldn’t be there to interrogate the boys she dated. I wouldn’t see her walk across the stage at her high school or college graduations. There was a good chance I’d never dance with her on her wedding day, and I might even miss getting to hold her firstborn child.
While it was difficult to speculate about how life continued on for most everyone outside the prison walls, I could not permit myself to dwell upon my greatest loss. Each time my mind would wander toward thoughts of Brooke, I would become physically and emotionally ill. My stomach churned. My heart raced. I dreamt about her almost every night. After several weeks of torment, I stopped allowing myself to think of her. I pretended she was dead to fool myself into believing her love was no longer a possibility.
Slowly, I began to numb.
In the darkest hours of the morning, I consoled myself with the hope they would each go on without me, finding their way in the world of which I was no longer a part. I knew in my heart they would survive, and perhaps even thrive, but it did little to dull the grief, the constant reminder of my poor decisions.
By the second month, I began reflecting upon the feelings of isolation which led me on the search for my mother initially. I recalled the first time I felt the hole in my life. When Melody was born, the change in our family dynamic was unmistakable to me. My mom looked at her in a way she never looked at me. It was subtle. Indistinguishable to everyone else. Perhaps it was merely a subconscious manifestation of the biological tie to Melody she did not share with me. Whatever the reason, I had felt from that moment that I didn’t quite belong. Something was missing. I was smart enough to allow Melody, in her childhood naïveté, to help fill the empty space. But for every inch my sister filled, my father took back twice as much. I searched for love with the girls I dated in high school, but none could come close to approaching the depth of devotion my heart required.
