Doomed

by Josh Anderson

  “She got preyed on, Kyle,” Allaire said. “Desperate people hear what they want to.” Kyle could tell from the way she’d said it that maybe Allaire had fallen victim to hopefulness at some point too.

  Allaire broke into his thoughts. “You’re the apple of my eye, Kyle Cash, but you are small potatoes when you go up against the force of time.”

  “I was supposed to do whatever it took to stop you from trying to mess with the past,” she continued.

  Kyle noticed something he hadn’t before: she was wearing something that looked like a wedding ring on her left hand.

  Allaire moved her right hand over her left. “I need you to be careful,” she said. “Don’t do anything to jeopardize our future please.” She kissed him again, intensely and not in a way which gave him any choice in the matter. “Go back to prison, do your time, and I’ll find you afterward.”

  She turned away and started up the aisle of the bus, clearly having decided that this was where they needed to part ways.

  As he watched Allaire walk away, Kyle felt a pang of sadness and marveled at the fact that she’d managed to do it. Again.

  At first, he thought of all her talk about them being destined for each other sounded crazy. But by the end of their time together—only a couple of hours—again, he somehow found himself believing it too.

  CHAPTER 6

  February 22, 2016

  * * *

  Two years later

  Just like last time, when Kyle first exited the time tunnel and got back to his cell, his legs were too weak to hold him upright, and his mind was too foggy to know whether he’d failed or succeeded in his goal to stop the bus crash. He collapsed to the floor and pulled himself on to his bunk again.

  This time, though, the weakness lasted only a couple of minutes. Physically, he felt like himself again only a few minutes after exiting the time tunnel. The different memories of the day of the bus crash assaulted his mind all at once, though, and Kyle needed to lay down and stuff his face inside a pillow to try to quiet his thoughts.

  He peeked up at the clock on the wall and it was only a minute later than when he’d entered the silk blot. Kyle had lived two days in 2014 with hardly any time passing at all in the present.

  Slowly, his mind began to process everything that had happened. Looking around, he spotted the list of the kids killed on the bus still on his wall. His folder full of newspaper clippings was still sitting on the small, metal desk at the foot of his bunk. It was clear that this cell was still Kyle’s. He couldn’t quite locate the memory of what had happened yet, but he knew Allaire had been right. He’d failed to stop the crash.

  There were now a few different versions of the day of the crash, but whatever the result of his trip back to 2014 just now, this new version would be the only one that mattered—the only reality that Kyle could live in.

  As he lay in his bunk, Kyle felt the new memory developing—a memory of having lived that day in 2014 from the perspective of his younger self became clear to him. He remembered wondering who blocked all of his doors and windows with wooden boards, Joe trying to burn the boards covering the door, trying to wrestle him away, and then Joe slipping on the water Kyle used to put out the fires. Kyle driving away before the police arrived . . . And then, the crash.

  This memory was now melded with 2016 Kyle’s memory. Yes, he remembered wondering who barricaded the doors. But he also remembered barricading the doors himself. These conflicting memories created both a fog and a clarity in Kyle’s head that he had never experienced before. Remembering events no longer meant just stopping and thinking, it meant sorting through the various viewpoints that were all living in his head at the same time. Aside from living it in multiple timestreams, Kyle had literally lived that morning from two different perspectives. Sorting out his recollection of any event involving the day of the crash—even for someone whose memory had always been his greatest strength—was hard work. And it left Kyle with the unusual feeling of never quite being one-hundred percent confident with any of these memories.

  By the time Kyle had enough of a handle on his memories to stand up and grab his folder of news clippings, he could see parts of the headlines in his head without even looking: ARSON . . . BIZARRE MURDER . . . TRAGIC CRASH . . . These were new headlines—different than the ones Kyle had known by heart since the original crash, but they were burned into his brain as well.

  Kyle tried to calm himself by breathing deeply, but he felt regret deep in his stomach as this most recent reality became clearer and clearer to him. Kyle heard a tapping on the cell door and heard the lock turning over. He was relieved to have a reason to wait a moment before looking at the clippings in his folder, which he knew by now would verify this new reality. As the door was opening, he realized he’d left his silk blot on his bunk. He quickly folded it and stuck it behind the clippings in his folder—as good a spot as any to hide something in a ninety-six square foot cell.

  Officer Radbourn, Kyle’s favorite of the guards, opened the door and walked in, followed by another inmate Kyle didn’t know, and Officer Gee, one of the less friendly of the guards at Stevenson Youth Correctional. The other inmate had a shaved head and was short, but very stocky. He was covered in tattoos all the way up his neck.

  “How’s it goin’, Old Rad?” Kyle said, trying to muster enough energy for the usual friendly banter with Radbourn.

  “What the fuck did you call me, inmate?” Radbourn answered, looking sharply into Kyle’s eyes.

  Kyle didn’t know what to say. He’d seen Radbourn be firm before, but never this unfriendly. They’d talked hundreds of times before. “Old Rad” was everyone’s favorite guard for a reason.

  “Maybe it’s all this time he’s had by himself without a cellie,” Gee said to Radbourn. In the three weeks between Kyle’s most recent trip back through time, and his first, when Ochoa was killed, the other bunk in his cell had remained empty.

  Radbourn was clearly pissed. “Whaddaya think, you’re on some fuckin’ beach, smelling that salty ocean water, on some kind of vacation here, inmate? What am I, your waiter? ‘Old Rad,’ my ass. I’ll crack your fucking skull if you ever call me that again.”

  “Only salty water I smell in here is some nasty-ass inmate sweat,” Gee said with a smile.

  Radbourn pulled the other inmate to his side by the arm. “Party’s over, Cash. I’m sure it’s been real comfy in here since that thug, Ochoa, up and disappeared,” Kyle was surprised by Radbourn calling Ochoa a ‘thug.’ He was a tough guy, but he followed the rules, and Rad always liked him.

  “Meet your new good-for-nothing cellmate, Leonard Pitkin,” Radbourn continued. “Pitkin’s just arrived at our little establishment, but he’s not new to the system. Am I right, Pitkin? The two of you fuckin’ deviants should get along great.”

  Leonard gave Kyle the world’s quickest, most unfriendly handshake and the guards left. Kyle was shocked that Radbourn was suddenly so unfriendly. Was this something he’d caused by going back? Kyle wondered. Was this one of the ripples Allaire talked about?

  As soon as the guards locked the door, Leonard walked over to Kyle’s bunk and pushed down on the center of the mattress. He looked Kyle in the eyes, and didn’t break eye contact as he walked over to his own mattress and pushed down on the center as well.

  Then he walked right up to Kyle—so close he could smell Leonard’s awful breath. “I like yours better.”

  Kyle thought about it for a second. Maybe Leonard needed this one little power play to flex his muscles. After this, things would be fine, Kyle thought. He hoped they’d get along like he did with Ochoa. But, before Kyle could make the friendly offer to trade mattresses, Leonard pulled Kyle’s off the bunk and slid it on top of his own. The empty metal frame which remained would hold Kyle’s weight, but he certainly wouldn’t be able to lay on it comfortably. “I need one of those, Leonard,” he said.

  “Yeah, I hear that. But, I need two of ‘em,” Leonard answered, laying down on top of them in his bunk. Whe
n Leonard raised his arms to cradle his head, Kyle saw the Tiger tattoo on his bicep. It was the mark of the Tigres. Leonard might be new to the prison, but being a part of the Tigres meant he had more allies at Stevenson Youth than Kyle ever would.

  “Hey man. Seriously, I’m going to need that mattress back,” Kyle repeated.

  Leonard looked totally relaxed. He was laying down with his eyes closed and his hands clasped behind his head. He didn’t even respond to Kyle.

  “Leonard,” Kyle called out.

  Finally, Leonard opened his eyes. “Shut the fuck up,” he said. “If I hear you speak again, I’m gonna rip your tongue out of your mouth and eat it.” With that, Leonard closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Kyle sat on the floor of his cell going through his newspaper clippings as Leonard took a long afternoon nap. Kyle’s guilt about the crash always made sleep difficult to come by. And now, with a new cellmate that he couldn’t trust, and no mattress on his bunk, Kyle wondered when he’d sleep peacefully again.

  The folder of articles laid out in front of him helped to fill in some of the blanks and unclear spaces in Kyle’s memory. This time around, all twelve of the kids, plus the driver of the bus, were still dead. His best friend Joe was, of course, dead, too. But this time, Kyle had been accused of first degree murder for having boarded up his own house, then killing Joe by banging his head into the floor.

  Since 2016 Kyle boarded up the house, his own fingerprints were all over the boards and the nails, leaving 2014 Kyle without a leg to stand on when defending himself. He was also convicted of arson for trying to burn the house down. And, finally, he was convicted of thirteen counts of manslaughter for crashing into Bus #17 and sending it over Banditt Drawbridge as he ran away from the scene of his first crime.

  Kyle wondered whether Radbourn was less friendly to him in this new timestream because he had a much more serious rap sheet now, and in this reality he’d caused the crash while running away from a murder.

  He saw the silk blot sitting in his folder. Just as Allaire had said, going back in time had only made things worse. He was now serving a twenty-two year sentence, instead of eight. And after coming face to face with Radbourn’s contempt for him, then meeting his new gangbanger cellmate, Kyle could only wonder what other surprises might be in store for him.

  There needed to be a way to fix this. He considered the silk blot again, but going back had made things worse. He wondered, what would be different this time? Until he could answer that, going through the silk blot again didn’t make sense. He had to try to work things out in this reality, otherwise who knew what might face him in another timestream?

  He started to put his clippings back into his folder when everything in front of him started sliding back and forth on the floor. Then, he felt the ground swaying. Kyle grabbed hold of his bunk and instinctively brought one of his arms above his head to guard against anything that might fall. He heard the rumble of his foot locker sliding across the ground. The swaying continued for about ten seconds. Then, just after it stopped, the lights went out, leaving the room mostly dark, except for what little light came in through their tiny window.

  “What the fuck?” Leonard asked, sitting up in his bunk. “A fuckin’ earthquake? In New York?”

  Kyle tried to look around the dark room for any damage. He could see that both bunks had shifted a little, and there was a big crack now near the ceiling on the wall opposite the door. He walked to the door of the cell and peeked out through the small glass window. “Looks like power’s out in the whole cell block.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Kyle,” Leonard snapped. “I’ll tell you when it’s time to speak.” Leonard didn’t bother getting up. He just lay in his bunk on both mattresses. “Earthquakes are some straight up West coast shit. They ain’t supposed to happen here. You think they’re gonna cancel visiting hours tomorrow ‘cause of this?” Leonard asked. “My girl’s supposed to come.”

  Kyle did not speak.

  “I asked you a question, bitch,” Leonard snapped.

  “I—I don’t know,” Kyle stammered. “That was my first earthquake too.”

  Leonard turned to face the wall. “I hope that shit doesn’t get cancelled.”

  “Hey, uh, Leonard?” Kyle said, turning toward him. “You think I could have my mattress back? It’s gonna be real hard to sleep without one.”

  “Nah, man,” Leonard answered. Kyle waited for more of an explanation, but nothing came.

  “Listen, Leonard, you proved your point—” Kyle started.

  Leonard sat up. “How the fuck do you know what my point is?”

  “I just meant—”

  “You want a new mattress,” Leonard said. “Put in for a cell transfer. That’s my point. Otherwise, get used to it.”

  As much as Leonard was proving a troublesome cellmate, Kyle had been in this cell since he’d been sentenced. This was also the cell where he’d found the two silk blots. He had no idea whether a silk blot could even be sent to another cell, and even though he had no intention right now of time weaving again, he wasn’t about to transfer cells just because this gangbanger told him to.

  “Leonard, we got off to a bad start,” Kyle said. “How do we make this okay? You know the guards aren’t gonna just let you keep both mattresses once they see that my bunk doesn’t have one.”

  “That’s why we’re gonna put the mattress on your bunk during rounds, and I’ll take it back when it’s time to sleep,” Leonard said. “Everybody wins.”

  CHAPTER 7

  February 22 & 23, 2016

  * * *

  A few hours later

  It took Kyle forever to fall asleep that evening. He wanted to wait until Leonard passed out, but after his nap, Leonard was content to just lay in his bed and rap hip-hop songs to himself. Kyle folded his pillow over his head and finally drifted off sometime after midnight, hoping the power would come back by morning. Maybe a visit from his girlfriend would make Leonard less of an asshole.

  When Kyle woke up to the burning smell sometime a few hours later, he wasn’t sure whether Leonard had poked him in the ribs, or if he’d just dreamt it. He saw the orange glow and popped into a sitting position to find that the cell was quickly filling up with smoke. His back felt sore and he groaned as he sat up.

  There was a fire in the middle of the floor, where Kyle had sat just a few hours earlier. He knew right away that the papers burning were his clippings. Everything he’d saved from the day after the crash disintegrating before his eyes. Kyle quickly got up, threw on his slippers and started stomping out the fire. Most of the pile would be unsalvageable, though.

  He looked at Leonard, who closed his eyes as soon as Kyle made eye contact. Kyle could feel the heat on his legs as he stifled the flames. “What the fuck, Leonard?”

  Leonard pretended to act sleepy. “What’s going on?”

  “Would you stop?” Kyle said, stifling the last of the fire. “There’s no one else here. You don’t have to pretend you were sleeping. Why would you—?”

  Kyle looked at the door. He heard the lock turn over and then saw the two flashlights.

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” Officer Manning asked. Manning looked like a surfer, but he had a temper as bad as any of the guards at Stevenson. Officer Staley—one of the longest tenured guards—followed him into the cell. They shined their lights on the charred remains of Kyle’s clippings and then onto Kyle, standing right next to them.

  One of them turned their light on Leonard, who played the whole sleepy routine again, this time even more convincingly.

  “You starting a fire in here, Cash?” Manning asked. “You know matches are on the class A contraband list? If you’d set off the alarms, you’d be heading for the SHU right now.” SHU was short for Solitary Holding Unit. It meant 23 hours a day by himself, and an hour walking around in a cage outside. No visitors. No books. No personal items. Nothing.

  “I didn’t start the fire,” Kyle said. He wished he could be as convincing telling the
truth as Leonard was when he was bullshitting. But, Kyle knew how the situation looked. “I don’t have matches,” he said meekly.

  Staley walked over to Kyle’s bunk. “Where’s your mattress?”

  Kyle looked at Leonard who quickly used his pinky to make a slashing motion over his throat, threatening Kyle. “He, uh, he took—”

  “I hurt my back,” Leonard said, “so he let me borrow his.”

  Staley didn’t pay any attention to what Leonard said, because when he picked up Kyle’s pillow, he found a cigarette lighter underneath. Staley tossed it to Manning. Kyle looked at Leonard in disbelief.

  Manning walked over to Kyle and got very close to him. “Not good, Cash.” Kyle could feel his breath on his face as Manning pulled his billy club from his belt. He stepped back and Kyle winced in anticipation of being hit. Kyle realized that Leonard must’ve stuck the lighter underneath his pillow before he poked him to wake him up.

  Staley walked over to Manning and spoke to him quietly. “You know, Mikey, you put too much of a beatin’ on the little pyro, you gotta do an incident report, explain it to the warden, all that . . . One big pain in the ass.”

  “I don’t care—” Manning started.

  “Warden’s gonna care, Mikey,” Staley said. “Mayor’s watchin’ him. You know he’s gonna care.”

  “Sick pyro fuck,” Manning responded, shaking his head and holstering his billy club.”

  Staley made eye contact with Kyle. “All of our systems are shut down with the power out. We’ll deal with this in the morning. Any more issues in here, Cash, and your big trouble is gonna turn into unimaginably big trouble. Got it?”

  “I gotta say,” Leonard said. “I’m a little concerned with him stayin’ in here with me. Who’s to say he doesn’t start another fire and burn the whole cell block down?”