The Pocket Watch

by Michael Shaw

  I looked over to the source of the sound. A man in a black hoodie stood with his back to me, firing a pistol into the windshield of the police car. The hood of his jacket hung over his head.

  “What the-” The police man lifted his gun. “Hey! Drop your weapon!”

  I had no idea what was going on, but I took advantage of the moment. I left the watch in my pocket and got in my car.

  The officer swiftly approached the man, telling him to stop. The guy just kept shooting the windshield. He seemed delirious or something, mindlessly pulling the trigger.

  I put the key in the ignition.

  When the police officer had gotten within reach of him, the man swiftly grabbed his wrist and disarmed him.

  I put the car in drive and got out of there, pulling around the two men and exiting onto the road. As I left, I frantically shifted my eyes to the rearview mirror several times. The officer had really underestimated that man; just as I was escaping, he took the officer down and threw him onto the hood of the car.

  I shoved my foot onto the accelerator and drove back onto the expressway as quickly as I could. After I merged on, I took the pictures and note out of my pocket with one hand, dumping them onto the passenger seat. Who was that? I looked in my rearview mirror. No one was following. My heart pounded. Was that the same guy that took the pictures? I glanced down at the seat. The note was facing up.

  “Keep running.”

  ∞

  What would I do? Keep driving? Or would I do what Alex said and try to explain myself? No, I had to keep driving. At first, I was just missing. Now, I’d just run away from a police officer. They could even say that I resisted arrest. I definitely couldn’t stop running now. But I couldn’t keep going forever, either. I had less than two hundred dollars left. I was in San Jose. No one knew me here. I was stuck. And when you’re stuck, it’s like drowning. No matter how you kick your legs and wave your arms, the water still fills your lungs. You try and try to resurface, but it’s just no use. My lungs had just become over-saturated.

  I took a trip to the convenience store, but I didn’t stay long, especially considering what had happened at the fast food restaurant. I bought pain pills, ointments, gauze wraps, and water bottles. In the bathroom, I washed myself off as best I could and applied water to my arm and hand. It was soothing. My skin had started to peel a bit. The state of my arm was an odd phenomenon; it had the characteristic of a mild burn, but I could still manage it. Even worse than the burn were the afflictions to my head in the midst of the flash. Every time I used the watch, there was a migraine, a bright light, and ringing. Constant ringing. Every normal sound felt distant now; my ears were starting to pick up a constant light tone at all times.

  I made the decision to stop somewhere for the night. I had to stay in the city this one time. In the morning, I would keep going. All I needed was a place to stay.

  I checked hotels. The cheapest I could find were just under a hundred a night. That wouldn’t work. Just two nights and I would be almost out of cash. I couldn’t get a hotel.

  I pulled my car into a lot next to a public park. It was dark now; it was late. I tried to convince myself that this would be okay. I parked in the darkness. Sitting still for once, I took my jacket off, and I opened up the ointment. I applied it to my skin, and I wrapped my arm in the gauze.

  The note lay in my passenger seat. I reached over and picked it up again. “Keep running.” The pictures were so recent, their very presence was puzzling. Why would someone have taken these, printed them, and then delivered them? No harm had come to me, and it seemed uncharacteristic of Luna to use a fear tactic such as this. They wanted to catch me. Had they been close enough for those pictures, they would have captured me. So this must have been that man that distracted the police man for me. But who was he? He left those photos, not to do anything to me, but rather, to prompt me to “Keep running.” What was the motive, though? I could not find an understandable reason for his help, but without it, I would have been arrested. I folded the note. Was this the help that Jason told me about?

  I put the pocket watch in my glove box and crawled over the console to the back seat. Midnight. I put my zip hoodie back on and pulled the hood over my face. The gun sat within its box on the floor.

  I was exhausted. I lay on my side in the back seat of my car, and I pictured all of the things that could have gone differently. I could have just kept the watch in my pocket. I could have gone to Jason first; it would have saved him. If only it had all happened differently. If only I could have experienced it with the knowledge that I had now.

  It was this thought that brought my mind back to the pocket watch. The one thing that could change it all. The cause of my problems. The solution to my problems. It was one and the same, but in the end, it was all I had now.

  I rolled over and let my arm hang to the side. My fingers dragged across the top of the book bag, which lay next to the seat. I zipped it open and reached inside. My hand made contact with the pictures. I took out the first one I touched. It was one of my mother, Jason, and I at the park. We all wore some combination of red and white. I flipped over the photo to see the date on the back. 7/4/25, in blue ink. I turned the photo back over.

  Jason’s face. Smiling and content. My mother’s, a bit jaded. Today, Jason had become just another face immortalized in paper. Another representation of something that was no longer. I stared at his face for a long time.

  This was my fault.

  I lay in darkness. Wishing it were different. Wishing I could change the past. Moonlight was the only thing that illuminated the inside of the car, which was otherwise covered in shadow. My eyes travelled through the windshield and trailed across the moon, the trees, the vacant swing sets. Continuing along this path, my gaze eventually fell upon the glove box, where I had stored the pocket watch.

  I have to change the past.

  Its pull was strong. Whether it was merely in my head, I could not tell, but I believed that the pocket watch’s influence on me was more than mental. It was physiological, a tangible attraction that radiated from its metal cover.

  Every single thing that went wrong could be changed, I thought, leaning forward. My fingers pressed against the front of the glove box. I could fix it. All of it.

  I opened the compartment and took out my father’s invention. When the watch was in my hand, it felt right. I opened the cover and exhaled. A wave of comfort overcame me. Comfort that was inexplicable. It just made me feel at ease.

  I touched the wheel that sat next to the button; this was what would take me back. I turned it, and the date went back one day. I kept turning it. I turned, and turned, and turned the wheel with my thumb. Eventually, it came to 1/5/26. That was the day they died. The day I could prevent. It would all be undone; all I had to do was press the button and stop it from happening. I smiled and closed my eyes. Before, I was cautious, but now I knew it could work. I had gone back in time the night before, and everything was fine. My double vanished. My past self went away when he used the pocket watch just as I had. There was no contradiction, no hole in the universe. Everything worked. Now, I could do more with it. I had to. I knew how the events would occur, which meant that this time, I could change them.

  I squeezed tightly and pressed down on the button. The flash wouldn’t matter. The ringing wouldn’t matter. The pain of traveling through time would be worth undoing the pain. All of the injustice brought upon my family.

  But it didn’t happen. The flash didn’t come, and the ringing didn’t start. When I pressed with my thumb, I was met with resistance. The button wouldn’t go down. It wouldn’t budge at all.

  I opened my eyes. The watch ticked on. The date had turned back to show today’s date. 5/17/42. Underneath, “5 %” flashed on and off in the power display. What? I decided to try the dial instead. I rotated the watch hands around, but when it reached three hours back, it stopped. The hands stopped moving. I tried to keep turning, but the dial jammed and wouldn’t rotate back anymore.

/>   “No.” I swept the entire exterior of the watch with my eyes. What had happened? Five percent still flashed. I shook it and tapped the glass. I tried to pull the dial further back. No results. The pocket watch remained dormant, unable to turn back further than three hours. I began to breathe quickly, frantically. “No, no, please.” My hands shook from the frustration. “Please…” I held the watch against my head; I bent my legs and exhaled. “Please, go back,” I lamented. “Please, just…”

  I lay in a ball, on my side, in the back seat of my car. I kept the watch pressed against my forehead, there in the middle of a parking lot. I was stuck. I was in the present, and I couldn’t get out.

  I lowered the watch in front of my eyes. “You can’t go past three hours?” I yelled.

  The only response was its continual flashing of the power display. Five percent.

  Five percent. It only had five percent of its power. I closed the cover. It can’t go any further because it’s almost out of juice. My thumb ran across the indentations and curves of the cover’s design. I have to find a way to give it more power.

  I returned the watch to the glove box and lay back down, keeping a picture of my family in my mind. And that thought of family included Jason, because that was what he was to me.

  Sleeping was not easy, but I eventually managed to give up consciousness. I was angry and distraught, but I slept nonetheless.

  What I didn’t expect was that I would be woken up.

  Chapter 10

  Shattering glass was the sound to which I woke. The feeling of small pieces hitting my face prompted me to open my eyes.

  I saw a figure outside the back right door. He had just knocked in the window with something. A long metal object. That was all I could see.

  After a few moments of waking up, I took full realization of what was happening. Someone was breaking into my car. I rolled over and scrambled to reach my gun.

  The figure behind my back fumbled with something.

  I craned my neck back to see him reaching in and unlocking the door, and I reacted with a kick to his hand.

  He grunted in pain but kept his grip on the lock.

  My lower half kept kicking, and the upper half kept searching. Where’s my gun? Where’s the box? My hands finally reached it.

  He opened the car door. Two hands grabbed my legs.

  I pulled the lid off and fumbled to pull the gun out of its case, but I felt nothing. The box was empty. What? Where’s the gun?

  He dragged me with strong arms, sliding my body across the seat and out of the car. When my head cleared the seat, he dropped me.

  I landed on hard pavement and shattered glass. My neck whipped back with the fall, and my head struck the ground.

  The man in front of me said something. Forcefully, viciously, but it was all muffled for a moment. My head…

  Everything came back. A pistol hovered inches from my face.

  I squinted and tried to lift my hands up.

  “Don’t move,” the man said.

  I stared into the barrel, and I could do nothing but what he said to do. I didn’t move.

  He dropped something from his other hand. The metal object. It was a crowbar. He took his phone out.

  I looked the man up and down. He wore a black mask, and at the end of his pistol was a long silencer.

  “David Kemp…” I mumbled.

  He exposed my Mark and scanned it with his phone.

  I asked with a trembling voice, “You’re David Kemp. Right?”

  “No. Stop talking.” He pressed the gun against my forehead, holding the phone in front of him. “Jonathan Ashe,” he exhaled with satisfaction, “I found you.” He backed up but kept the gun aimed at my face. “Get up.”

  I reached behind my back to hold onto the seat. My left palm pressed down on shards of glass; I jerked my hand away. Grabbing the open door with my other hand, I pulled myself up, shaking.

  “Tell me where the watch is,” he demanded.

  What? I deliberately shut my mouth. He wasn’t David Kemp like I had thought. And he didn’t look like he could be Howard or Jacob. But he definitely had to be affiliated with Luna. This wasn’t a police officer, and as far as I knew, Luna was the only other party that was after me. My left palm bled now. I looked straight at the man, trying to contain my fear, trying to keep from telling him where the pocket watch was.

  “Listen, you’re just making it hard for yourself. When Miller gets his hands on you…” He tilted his head.

  Miller. Howard Miller. If this guy knows Howard, then he’s definitely with the group from Luna. I swallowed and looked past his shoulders. A few spaces from my car was another one. Black. Tinted windows. I looked back at the man. “I don’t understand. How does Luna do something like this without any consequence?”

  “You forgot the ‘no talking’ part.” He put his other hand on the gun, keeping it steady, reminding me he was in charge. But he answered my question anyway. “The first step is not to get caught.”

  I had to think of something. Maybe I could find a way to get to the watch myself. I began to reach one hand down. “The keys are in my pocket.”

  “Toss them here.”

  “I can show you where the watch is. I just need to open the door.” I turned and unlocked the passenger door. If I could just get to the watch-

  He pulled me back by the collar of my shirt and threw me onto the ground. I opened my eyes, and the gun was in my face once again. “Please, don’t tell me you’re a talker,” he sighed. “I’ve dealt with a lot of talkers, Ashe.”

  I kept my eyes on the gun. I was stuck. But at least he hadn’t taken my keys.

  He examined the seat; seeing nothing, he proceeded by opening the glove box. “Here we are,” he said, seeing the pocket watch sitting there.

  I shoved the keys back into my pocket and dragged myself to the side, towards the back seat of my car. I could try to reach for my gun once more.

  “Don’t move.” He kept the pistol aimed at me, but most of his focus was now on the watch. He opened the front cover.

  Please, don’t press the button. He appeared to be verifying that it was the object he was looking for. I made another move toward my gun. “You have what you need, don’t you? Just let me go now.”

  He closed the cover and ran his thumb across the design. “The watch isn’t the only thing I came for, Ashe.” He put his cold eyes on me. “I came for you, too.” He pointed the gun at my leg. “You’re coming with me, Jon. Unfortunately for you, I’ll need to make you a little more manageable.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

  This man isn’t just a thief. I let out a shaky breath. He’s here to kidnap me. That was the moment I really, truly feared these people. Not because he was about to shoot me in the leg, but because of his eyes. It was something I had seen in David Kemp, Jacob Richards, and their boss, Howard Miller. This was not routine. It was not just orders. In his eyes, I saw anger. And it was directed only at me. He didn’t have to kill me. He didn’t have to hurt me at all. But when I looked in his eyes, I could tell that he wanted to.

  I closed my eyes out of fear. I didn’t want to see him do it, because I hated that I had lost control. But something happened, and just in time, too.

  The man’s car alarm went off.

  My eyes shot open. I focused my attention on him.

  With the first blare of his horn, he turned to look in response to the sound. He was startled for just a moment, but it was all I needed. He lowered his gun.

  I bent my legs and kicked his hand with as much force as I could give. It knocked the gun out of his hand.

  He immediately reacted. The pistol fell onto the pavement, and he ducked down to scoop it up.

  I wouldn’t be able to reach it. I pulled myself up. As the man bent over for the gun, I kicked him in the gut. He staggered to the side but quickly reeled back at me with his fist, striking me across the cheek.

  I fell backwards. My back hit the car.

  He bent over again and reached for
the gun.

  I didn’t have time. He would shoot me as soon as he could. I knelt down and stretched my arm into the back seat, grabbing the first thing my fingers touched.

  He whipped the pistol up, about to shoot.

  I stood and swung the object at him as hard as I could.

  It was the baseball bat.

  I hit the man square in the forehead. His whole body rocked to the left, and he pulled the trigger, shooting the ground.

  As soon as he fell, I capitalized. I stepped on his hand, releasing the gun from his grip.

  His alarm sounded without ceasing.

  I kicked the gun away.

  He groaned and rolled to the side.

  I dropped the bat, breathing heavily. I couldn’t believe it. Two days ago, I had just left college. Now, I stood in the middle of a parking lot with a masked man at my feet. I just took out my own kidnapper…

  I bent down and reached in his pocket. My fingers met with the pocket watch. I took it out of his pocket so I could press the button.

  He suddenly shot his hand up and grabbed for it. It caught me by surprise; the watch almost slipped from my hand, but I grit my teeth and kept my grip on it.

  Now we both had a hand on the watch. In between his fingers was the dial. “Give it back!” He pleaded through clenched teeth.

  I pulled back, but he tightly kept his hand on the watch.

  “You don’t understand, Ashe!” He yelled. As we both pulled for it, his fingers ran across the knob, causing it to turn.

  “Stop!” I yanked it free.

  He grabbed my torso and threw me off of himself.

  I hit the ground on my side, but I still held onto the pocket watch.

  He picked up the bat. “Ashe, don’t!”

  I squeezed the watch.

  “Don’t do it!” He swung at me.

  I pressed down and closed my eyes. The flash came; my head throbbed, and that was it. I did it. I was safe. But as I pressed down, I realized that the watch wouldn’t pause time. That man had turned the dial, which meant that when I opened my eyes, I would find myself in the past. However far back the kidnapper had turned the dial would be how far into the past I would go back.