by Michael Shaw
The Pocket Watch
Written by Michael Shaw
Copyright © 2015 Michael Shaw. All rights reserved. Published through Amazon.com.
ISBN-13: 978-1505811278.
ISBN-10: 1505811279.
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
About the Author
Michael Shaw is a young author from Lilburn, Georgia. He currently attends Berry College, where he has been awarded by the Communications Department for scripting and sound design in narrative productions. Additionally, he placed in two CMA Pinnacle categories for best podcast and best online podcast. Michael loves to write stories that combine action, intrigue, and important questions about life and humanity.
To my brother Kevin.
With a friend like you, who needs to change the past? The present is exciting enough, only out-shined by anticipations for what a future with you in my life will hold.
Part I: The End
Chapter 1
I pressed the button, and a sharp pain immediately struck my forehead. White light invaded my vision for several seconds, and my joints locked up.
When you experience it for the first time, it’s torture. In fact, I still remember that first time I pressed the button. The initial sensations were more painful than anything I had ever experienced. If you push it, you need to be ready. Immediate headaches. Joint pain. And sometimes, it plays something in your head. The only comparable experience is a movie, but this kind plays behind the eyelids. It brings memories from deep in your subconscious to the forefront, even things you never wanted to think about again. In comparison to the physical pain, the memories can be the worst part.
The first time I pushed the button, I was twenty-two years old, just graduated with a mechanical engineering degree, and hopefully on my way into a career in my field. Anything that would let me quit my current job working retail at a computer store, Luna Computers. I wanted to stop working at the store and start working for the company. I wanted to go from selling to designing, pitching to modeling. It was my dream.
Packing up the last few things, I saw a box. “Ashe.” I pulled it from my closet. Heavy. I coughed and wiped the dust off of the top. Using a pair of scissors, I cut through the tape, and I opened the flaps. It had been years since I had looked at this stuff. And the last time this box was open, I was too broken inside to even look through all of it. I couldn’t handle it emotionally. A few books were inside. Some picture frames as well.
I examined one of the pictures, one that wasn’t in a frame. It displayed the three of us; my parents and me. I checked the back of the photo. George, Carrie, and little Jonathan. It was an old one. Then again, any photo of all three of us would have had to be old by default. The date, 3/5/2023. I was three years old in this one. Corresponding years was always easy for me, because I was born in the year 2020. On 2021 I was one, 2022 I was two, and so on. Today was May 15, 2042; I had turned twenty-two in February. I inhaled silently and put the picture in my wallet. All these years, and I had kept the stuff boxed up.
A few letters from my father sat inside the box. He was always on business trips when I was a kid, so he would send things back every now and then. Simple post cards and “miss you“ messages.
Further down sat some bubble wrap. It covered a small object. I reached down, picked the object up, and pulled the bubble wrap off. There it was. Dad’s pocket watch.
I didn’t know he had a pocket watch, I thought, examining the clock. The watch itself didn’t even have a chain attached to it, and it seemed a bit bigger than most pocket watches. But it still shone pristinely. An intricate design graced the cover, the center displaying a figure-eight symbol. Infinity. On the back, a small label was stuck to the metal. “My best invention yet - George Ashe.”
I peeled the sticker off and opened the watch for the first time ever. Invention? I saw an off-white face with black hands. Beautiful. Why have I never noticed this? Had it really been in the box all this time?
The pocket watch displayed the time, 3:56 pm. The second hand ticked forward, currently at 30 seconds. I checked the time on my phone. 3:56. It’s still correct, I mused. After all this time, it’s still accurate. Before putting my phone away, I saw a notification on the screen. “New Message: Alex Nelson.”
I looked back at the watch. After seeing the main clock, I noticed the displays behind it. That was when I became confused. A display on the left was labeled “date,” which was also correct at 5/15/42. On the bottom, a display labeled “power” showed seven percent. On the right, something abbreviated “I.T.” stood at 00:00:00. The thing that struck me about these small tellers was that they were not ticking away like the main clock was. They were digital. They seemed out of place, being on what I had assumed was a very old watch. But there they were, staring at me, and the hands of the main clock passed over them all the same.
Of course, this type of information is usually considered minutia. And that is all it would have been, had I not seen the button on the side of the watch. If I hadn’t seen that button, my life would not have changed that day. Had I not seen the button, my life would have continued on toward the predictable path I had planned for myself. But I saw the button.
A normal dial was fastened to the edge for changing the time; simply pull the knob, turn the clock hands to the time, and push the dial back in. This was not what caught my eye. Next to the knob was the button. Smaller, more discreet than the knob. Next to the button sat a small wheel that could be turned. I noticed that when I turned this wheel, it changed the date. I quickly turned it back to the correct day.
Looking at the button again, I decided to press it. Unrestrained, and without thought, I pressed the button. But can you blame me? When examining knick-knacks, keepsakes, or toys, you tend to mess with them. That’s just what happens. Had I known what this pocket watch really was, I would have been more cautious. But I didn’t know.
I pressed the button, and a sharp pain immediately struck my forehead. White light invaded my vision for several seconds, and my joints locked up. I clenched my teeth and involuntarily fell forward, my hands and knees bracing me.
A few moments passed, and something replaced the white. A scene. A memory from deep within my mind. I had thought of this event, I had dreamed of this event, but the details of the memory returned to me now more vividly than they ever had before.
∞
I was young then. Six years old. I remember the date. January 5, 2026. I waited in the hallway of our large home, sitting cross-legged outside my father’s office with my back leaning against the wall.
My father, George Ashe, was always a driven man. By the time I was born, he had already been the CEO of Luna for a few years. Luna, even then, was already a large computer corporation in Sacramento with several retailers around the country. Oddly enough, in college I would become a sales guy at a Luna store. A minimum-wager for the company my dad had led when I was a child. “The apple didn’t fall far,” people told me when I got the job, as though they were just assuming I would rise up the chain in days. But that didn’t happen.
Back when my parents were alive, we were rich, and people didn’t
cease to remind me, even as a kid. I understood; they didn’t want me to get spoiled. After everything turned out the way it did, though, I guess I didn’t even get the chance to be. Not in the way people were expecting.
So there I was, six years old, sitting in the hallway. Jason walked by, slowing as he passed me. Jason Spade was our steward, or butler, or whatever twenty-first century people are supposed to call it. As a kid, I called him “Alfred,” like Alfred the butler from Batman. Batman was my favorite hero because he used technology and cool gadgets to take down the bad guys. My dad had made a lot of cool gadgets himself before he had to focus on business with Luna, so sometimes, I imagined that when he went into his office, he was actually going down into the Bat Cave to suit up.
I don’t know if Jason particularly liked being called “Alfred,” but he accepted the title because he liked me. And I liked him. But after that night, I didn’t call him that name anymore.
He reached down and messed with my hair, as adults tended to do to six-year-old me. “A snack, Master Wayne?” He asked in a feigned British accent. He was somewhere in his fifties then.
“Thanks Alfred.” I looked up at him. His dark hair was already graying. “But I’m waiting for Dad to finish working. We haven’t had dinner yet.”
Jason nodded, smiled, and kept walking. Mom still made dinner; we never had Jason serve us meals, and Mom’s homemade food was always better than the stuff money could buy. In fact, Jason didn’t really do all of the manservant stuff. He was more like a babysitter for me and an advisor for my parents, as far as my childhood self was concerned.
Soon after he walked by, my mother came down the hallway. “Hey there, kiddo,” she said sweetly, leaning down next to me.
“Hey,” I replied, staring at the door.
“I thought you were in your room, playing with your toys.” She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small Batman toy.
I shook my head ‘no.’
She handed it to me.
I held it in my lap and looked at the door.
“Well, why don’t you wait in the living room, sweetie.”
I hesitated. “Is Dad coming out soon?”
She leaned forward and gently pulled me up to my feet. “I need to talk to him for a few minutes, but,” she directed a wink at me, “I heard the Joker was wreaking havoc in the living room.”
Mom went into Dad’s office, and I ran into the living room to play like she asked. A long time passed. Long enough that I started to wonder what was going on. I checked the big clock on the wall several times, but I kept waiting.
I had Joker and Batman fight for several more minutes. Joker was the villain I loved to hate, because in the story, no one ever knew what he was going to do next. He wasn’t predictable; he didn’t have any sort of vendetta or purpose. He was random, sporadic. But he was evil, and that’s why Batman always had to win.
I checked the clock again. I was getting hungry. But I continued to play. I continued to do as I was told.
It was only when I heard a loud noise that I finally pulled myself from the living room. I left my toys on the couch.
The thuds persisted. I peered down the hallway. They came from behind the door to Dad’s office.
As the noises went on, my heart sank; I heard screams. The screams of my parents. And then a loud bang, followed by silence.
I inched closer to the door.
“Who are you?” I heard my dad say. His voice wavered.
I took another step forward.
“Who are you?” He repeated, yelling now.
And then I heard another voice. A voice not belonging to my mother or my father.
Several loud thuds followed. It paralyzed me from moving forward, but my arms and legs wouldn’t stop shaking.
The thuds were followed by another loud bang. I squinted. My limbs tensed up. I felt myself struck by fear, but I forced myself to take a step down the hallway. “Mom?”
Silence.
I tried to exhale, and it came out choppy. My entire body shook. I knew someone was in there, but I still walked toward the door. The desire to run was, for some reason, outweighed by the compulsion to know. To see who was on the other side.
I rotated the door knob. My hand pushed forward and the door opened silently. When I saw the inside, I shuddered. The dark content of the room was illuminated by just a single lamp, and the rest was covered in shadow. My skin crawled.
I saw my mother. Lying on the ground, a hole in her chest. Her head leaned against the bookshelf on the left wall. Though a desk stood between us, I could still see her lifeless figure.
I also saw my father, a few feet to the side of her. A similarly sized hole centered in his forehead.
I swallowed hollow air. To the right of them, standing at my father’s feet, was a man I had never seen before. He stood at the edge of the shadow, in front of an open window. Black death in his hand. A pistol, gripped tightly in his fingers. His face bled from a wide cut that raced from the bottom corner of his face to the top. And all this time, I just stood at the door, deathly still.
When he saw me enter, he took a step back into the shadow, hiding his face. He never lifted the gun toward me. It was as though he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. We stared. I at whoever was behind the shadow, and he at me. But no one acted.
Finally my head pushed my body out of it. I pulled myself away. I ran out of the room as fast as I could and tried to find Jason. The man didn’t chase me. He didn’t even leave the room. But I ran as though he were right behind. Even after leaving the room, my eyes could only see my parents’ bodies, but tears blurred the image.
I found Jason and tried to tell him what I had seen. At first sight, he asked, “Why in such a hurry, Master Wayne?” But then he saw my face. He came to wipe the tears off. I backed up, and it burst out of me. “Someone’s downstairs!” was the only thing I could say.
He left me in his room and told me to stay put, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.
I fell onto his bed. I fell back and imagined dinner. I imagined my Mom, telling me to keep my elbows off the table, and Dad patting me on the shoulder and telling me how proud of me he was. Everyone patted me on the head. He was the only one who patted me on the shoulder.
I lay there, imagining a dinner I would never have with them. And then I cried. I sobbed all over Jason’s comforter, and I screamed.
For the rest of my childhood, it wasn’t the sadness, really, that shaped my life. That part left rather quickly. It was swiftly replaced by anger. I pictured that face. Even in that very moment, lying on the bed, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t forget it.
Police came soon. Blue light flooded the windows. After that, I stopped calling Jason “Alfred.” Because I had just become more like Batman’s character than I ever wanted to be.
Chapter 2
I experienced for the second time that sight of my deceased parents. Twenty-two-years-old, I saw it with closed eyes, feeling as though I were still the little boy I once was. It paralyzed me. I was cognizant that it was a memory, but affected nonetheless. The emotions hit me just as they had when I was six. My empty dorm room came back into vision, and I sat on the floor.
I wiped my face. Wet eyes. No, Jon. I scolded myself for the tears. It was years ago, and you still haven’t grown up. I stood up with the pocket watch still in my hand, and I looked down at the mysterious object. What did you do to me?
The present came back to my thoughts. I had to move out. I had to get back home. I had to see Jason, get a job, and start my future. Why had I just let these old things distract me? I needed to move on. My finger rested on the cover, and I was just about to close it, but I got a glimpse of the watch’s face.
The hands had stopped moving.
I didn’t close it. Instead, I looked at it more closely. The second hand was completely frozen. No more ticking.
I checked the knob. It was locked in place. Power still at seven percent. What had happened?
Something else moved now. The “I.T.” counter that had been dormant at 00:00:00 now showed 00:00:04 and counted up rhythmically. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. It went up each second. “I.T.,” I said, and I rubbed my head, which at this point, throbbed with pain.
After noticing that it had stopped, I put the pocket watch in my jeans pocket and grabbed the box. After looking at it for a few seconds, I decided to just forget about it. Old box, old stuff. I could take everything home and look at it more closely later. Besides, my car was parked outside the building, and this was my last box to pack.
Opening the door, I took one step into the hall. Immediately, I stopped. Forgetting the watch wasn’t going to be so easy.
Several feet away stood one of my hall mates. He didn’t move. The reason I stopped, though, was the sight of his ring of keys. Just like my hall mate, the keys didn’t move, but what was different was that they were in midair.
I walked toward him. His keys, all held in by a metal key ring, hung suspended at the height of his waist. They were just frozen in space. I kept on approaching. Everything around was silent. Everything. Not even the subtle background noise of flowing air. I should have heard people packing, leaving, or getting ready for another final. There would typically be plenty of sound. But I heard nothing but silence.
Everything I saw, on the other hand, popped with intensity. Each individual object appeared sharper, crisper, even more vivid than usual. This clear sensation was initially frightening, but it brought a strong sense of focus within me. If only it could get rid of the migraine.
I stood in front of my hall mate, Trevor. He didn’t move in the slightest. His eyes angled slightly downward, and one hand was held in a pose as though to catch the keys that he had dropped. But everything remained frozen.
I took the keys. Just snatched them out of the air. When I touched them, gravity seemed to return.
I held the keyring in my hands, my eyes shifting back between it and Trevor. “Trevor?” I waved my hand in front of his eyes.
