by Michael Shaw
When the flash rushed over me, I wondered. I wondered if it would be like the last time I went back in time.
But it wasn’t like last time.
It was worse.
∞
Before the symptoms came, there was another memory. September 2037. It had been about four months since Claire Nelson, Alex’s mother, had her surgery. Her legs weren’t the only things she had lost.
In the impact of the crash, she suffered extreme whiplash. The paramedics that found her said her neck was craned underneath the steering wheel. She had been reaching down with one hand to pick up a pair of sunglasses as she was turning left onto Lincoln Highway. Even worse, it was a hit and run.
When Jason and I met with Alex at the hospital, we grieved with him because we knew Mrs. Nelson would lose her legs. What we didn’t know was that she would become paralyzed from the neck down.
I helped Alex take care his mother every day after that. She went from being the one raising him, always having me over for dinner, and going to movies with us and Jason, to being helpless to do anything. Her son had to do almost everything for her. Our house became their house. We did everything we could.
I usually didn’t think independently during a memory. When the pocket watch replayed life, it was similar to a dream, albeit a very vivid one; I would receive the events just as they had happened. I had no control over any of it, for it was already steadfast. It was the past.
At this point in time, none of the people in my life really smiled anymore. And neither did I. If anyone did, it was one of the forced kind. Sometimes we would smile because we chose to, but most times, we did it because we knew we should. It seemed that these days, courtesy had become idolized over honesty.
I wheeled her into the living room of Alex’s house. Alex and Jason sat on the couch. “Okay, Mrs. Nelson,” I said. “Here we go.”
“Is it two o’ clock already?” she asked. Her voice was so sweet.
I knelt down. “Yes ma’am, it’s time to head to physical therapy.”
“Therapy.” She echoed, chuckling. “My joints might think otherwise.”
“The van’s ready when you are.” Jason walked to the door and opened it.
I stood back up. Alex took his mother outside and rolled her up a ramp that let her into the van. We all piled in and Jason drove us back to Klara.
It hadn’t gotten much better yet. We understood that things would have to happen slowly, but even the therapists said that Mrs. Nelson had not regained as much motion in her arms as they had hoped she would have by now. Many times we were right there with her during sessions, but today, she told us she wanted to be alone with the therapist. To focus, she said.
We sat in yet another waiting area. More white walls. Jason took a walk to get some fresh air.
Alex looked different lately. Tired. He stared past my shoulder. Maybe he was looking at one of the few picture frames that hung on the wall. Or maybe he was just staring at the paint on the wall.
The side I faced held a couple of picture frames as well. Mounted paintings of landscapes and flowers.
“She’s starting to lose heart,” Alex said, eyes still looking out behind me.
I watched my friend process it all. I watched him deal with everything that had happened over the past few months. “This sort of thing takes time,” I said, trying to be consoling.
“I know,” he finally met his eyes with mine, “but I can see it in her face. Everything’s been taken from her; her legs are gone, and now she can’t even move. It’s just…” His gaze trailed off to the side again.
I stroked my chin.
“At least she can still talk,” he mumbled.
I nodded, letting him work through it.
He laughed uncomfortably. “And a hit and run? I just… I don’t understand.” He shook his head, biting his lip.
I curled my lips inward, knowing not to speak. I had gone on and on to him about my struggles, and he had listened to me talk through pain. Now it was my turn to listen. It was my turn to be there for him.
“Green truck. Front right side made the impact.”
I tilted my head, not understanding.
“That’s the description. That’s who hit her.” He grabbed eye contact with me. “She’s driving around in her…” he rubbed his forehead, “her little, white sedan, and the guy hits her with a truck and drives off.”
I nodded, remembering the days and weeks that had followed the incident. I remembered the pictures, witness accounts. They still hadn’t caught the guy.
“I finally understand what you meant now,” he said. He rubbed the top of one thumb with the other.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Back when you would talk about our father to me. When someone does something to the ones you love,” he scratched the back of his hand, “and when you know they’re still out there,” his eyes met mine, nothing but transparent grief within them, “it’s hard to let go of it.”
I held onto his gaze. His dismal, confused, face. I remembered what it was like to hold such an expression.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I checked it. “Hunter,” the screen read. I stood up. “Hey, something just came up. I actually need to run, sorry.”
“What is it this time, Jon?” Alex lifted his head to me.
“What?” I put the phone back in my pocket.
“You just… disappear sometimes.” He gripped the sides of his seat.
“I have something that came up.” I looked back at the door. “Trust me, I’m doing everything I can, Alex.” I started to walk for the door.
“Just tell me you’re not still trying to find him.”
I stopped.
He stood up; I faced him. He held a finger up toward my chest. “This thing will ruin you, Jon.”
I kept my tongue against the roof of my mouth. My lips sealed shut.
Alex’s finger curled back into his fist. He lowered it but kept his eyes on me. “It’s been twelve years. You’ll spend your life chasing nothing if you don’t let go.”
I bit the inside of my lip. We stood under the ceiling vent; it breathed cold, lifeless air over us, and the paintings on the wall tried to convince us that life wasn’t so bleak. I turned my back on him and grabbed the door handle. “Remember your own words, Alex.” I opened the door. “It’s hard to let these things go.”
∞
The scene changed. I opened the door to my house and entered in; Hunter was close behind me. “Should I bring the gun this time?” I asked over my shoulder.
“No,” he said, following after me. “Where’s your guardian?”
“Jason’s at work. He went back to being a financial consultant, and he’s a tax preparer now too, remember?” I led Hunter into my room, grabbed the gun, and put it in a bag.
“Right.” He scratched his head. “No daddy, no dough.”
I shoved the bag into his arms. “Seriously?”
He shrugged.
“Take the gun.”
He pushed it back toward me. “I said you don’t need it. Remember, I have the glove.”
“Yeah. I’m wondering which is more dangerous.”
“Come on, let’s go. I don’t even know why we stopped here.”
“Because,” I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a drawer, “I’m meeting my end.” I took a stack of cash from the drawer and handed it over.
Hunter dropped the gun onto the bed and grabbed the money. He grinned, running his finger across the top of the stack. “Well I’ll be, Ashe!” He patted me on the back. “Look at you, coming through.”
“Whatever you and ‘Eclipse’ do, it’s helping me. So thanks.”
“Much obliged, sir,” he said with his playful grin.
I nodded, watching him put the money into his pocket. “Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you do this?”
He gave me a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
I closed the drawer and walked around the c
ouch to him. “How does this work out for you?”
“Well,” he patted his pocket. “You’re still my customer.”
“But it seems like you’re going far out of your way for this.” I scratched my head. “What’s different about this to you?”
He looked around the room. At my dresser. At the gun. Then he just clapped his hand together. “Honestly, man, it’s because I know you. I remember when your folks died. And I know that this guy deserves to be caught. It’s the least I could do. It’s worth doing.”
I watched him. For once he wasn’t smiling or joking. He looked me in the eye and said soberly, “Besides, with the history we have, I know we can trust each other.” He put his hands behind his back. “Makes everything a lot smoother.”
“Trust,” I repeated, nodding my head.
“Yeah.”
He and I stood in silence for a few moments.
“I trust,” his wicked smile returned, “that this one may be our guy.”
“Good.” I went for the door. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 11
The flash ended, and the pain shot across my arm. This time it was quick; I braced myself through it. I was still on the ground, but there was no glass around me. The alarm no longer rang; silence filled the parking lot.
My hand stung with sharp pains. I held it up and saw the few glass shards that had dug into my palm. The adrenaline was over; I could feel myself entering into shock. I pulled the pieces out, cringing, but I remembered the gauze around my arm. I rolled up my sleeve and tore some of the gauze off, wrapping a small piece around my hand.
My breaths still rushed. I let them slow down, grow deeper. When I stood up, I checked inside the car.
In the back seat was myself. Sleeping.
Seeing myself made my head spin for a moment. I rubbed my head and turned my head away. Now what? Just looking at myself made my mind blank. I leaned against the door and exhaled. Looking around, I saw no other cars in the lot. All I could see was my vehicle, the park to my left, and the thick bushes that surrounded the parking lot. Taking everything in made my memory return. The man. I have to do something before the kidnapper gets here.
I opened the watch. 3:13 am. There was no way to tell how far I had gone back. At least I knew it had been less than three hours, because the watch couldn’t go any farther than that. Hopefully, I had plenty of time to act. If I was in the past now, that meant I needed to take advantage of the situation and do something that would prevent the kidnapper from attacking me.
I.T. showed 45 seconds and increasing. I walked around toward the driver’s seat and considered what to do. I could drive myself out of here, but what if my past self saw me? By my own understanding of it, if I were to ever encounter a double directly, my decisions could be changed, and then my own presence in the past would also change, or even be erased. I needed to prevent myself from sabotaging my own rescue plan, but just considering the possible variables of my own choices puzzled me enough.
I put a foot up on the curb and looked at the bushes. They stood tall; I couldn’t even see through to the other side of them. I stared at these, just needing to loiter there for a second and take a breath, relieved that the man wouldn’t be arriving for some time. I looked into the car. My past self was fast asleep.
The keys were still in my pocket. I took them out, leaving the pocket watch in my pocket, and slowly unlocked the car door. As I peered in, I saw my past self. My head spun again, but I tried to stay focused. What was it about seeing my past self that made my mind so numb?
His eyes stayed shut. And he was snoring. That is, I was snoring. I held my breath. No one ever told me I snored when I slept. I opened the car door, attempting to be silent, and reached inside for my gun. Opening the box, I slipped my hand in. I made contact with the handle, gripped it tightly, and slowly took it out. With the gun now in my hand, I closed the box and put it back where it had been. As for the pistol, I stored it in the back of my pants. When it was all done, I softly closed the door.
My past self kept sleeping.
I let my breath out and closed my eyes. Okay, now I can plan for -
The sound of an engine hit my ears. I opened my eyes and looked to the right. Headlights illuminated the road; a vehicle was about to round a turn and come toward the park.
I panicked. Was this the man already? I looked around. The only escape was to the other side of the bushes. I crouched and pushed my way through. Branches and leaves scraped against my jacket and face. At the same time, I heard wheels rolling into the lot.
I made it to the other side of the bushes and brought myself low to the ground, practically prone. The lights shone in my face. I looked down.
The engine’s hum grew closer and closer, and the light brighter and brighter.
I reached into my pocket. The watch fit into my grip immediately. Wait, I thought. Just pause time. That’s it. That’s all you have to do. I made a fist with my wrapped up hand, and I pressed the button with the watch still in my pocket.
Nothing happened.
I took it out. What?
The lights vanished, and the engine turned off. I looked up and peered through the branches and leaves. The car had parked right in front of the bushes I was behind.
I looked back down at the watch. Why aren’t you working? The face just stared back at me. I.T. was now at five minutes and twenty-seven seconds.
The sound of the man’s footsteps echoed across the parking lot.
I dropped down to my stomach.
The steps went from my left to my right, towards my car. I held my breath as the sounds resounded to my ear drums.
Following the footsteps was the sound of glass shattering. I had experienced this from a different angle. The masked man was breaking in.
I put the watch in my pocket and reached behind my back. My fingers wrapped around the handle of the pistol.
Now I heard them both speaking. The kidnapper and my past self. I could not hear everything being said, but I could make out a few words.
“When Miller gets his hands on you…”
It was the feeling of déjà vu, except for the fact that the events were actually repeating, not just seemingly doing so.
The interaction continued. I rose to my feet with deliberation. I had to stay quiet.
“Don’t move.”
I froze. Looking through the branches, I saw that he was still just talking to my past self.
“You have what you need, don’t you?” My past self pleaded.
I took low steps into the brush and made my way to the side of the man’s car.
“Just let me go now.”
My feet met the pavement. I crouched by the side of the car opposite to the man. Slowly, I pulled out the gun and held it in front of me. My hands trembled. Okay. Just stand up and aim.
“The watch isn’t the only thing I came for, Ashe,” he responded to my past self, “I came for you, too.”
Just stand up, aim, and shoot.
“You’re coming with me, Jon. Unfortunately for you, I’ll need to make you a little more manageable.
I stood, turned, and aimed the pistol at the man. My fingers gripped the handle tightly. My body leaned forward, against the car.
His car alarm went off.
I choked, surprised by the loud noise.
He turned back toward me.
I ducked. As I did, I saw my past self kicking the kidnapper’s hand.
The struggle ensued. The same struggle I’d had not too long ago. But this time, I only heard it.
They fought, and I tried to keep my hands from shaking. How did you forget about the alarm, you idiot? I peered over the hood. My past self is going to get the bat. The man will try to shoot. Then, my past self will hit him. This is my chance to change how the events occurred. I pressed my finger on the trigger. But if I change it, my past self won’t go back, and this will be erased.
I squinted and tried to wrap my head around it. There was no time to think. I had to intervene. I pe
ered over the hood and tried to aim my gun once again.
My past self was on top of him. They struggled against each other for the watch.
I tried to get a clean shot on the man, but they both kept thrashing back and forth.
“You don’t understand, Ashe!” He pleaded through clenched teeth, still pulling.
Come on, I bit my lip. Move, Jon.
The man’s fingers rotated the dial.
“Stop!” Past self yanked the pocket watch free.
The kidnapper picked up the bat. “Ashe, don’t!”
They were separate now. I took aim.
“Don’t do it!” He swung the bat.
My past self hit the button and vanished.
The man hit nothing but air.
I stood straight up. Now it was just the kidnapper, and I already had a gun on him. I squeezed it as tightly as I could. “Hey!”
He turned and saw me, the bat still in his hand. His eyes pierced through that black mask.
I aimed at his lower torso, so as not to kill him, and I shot.
The gun jerked up and backwards within my grip. The slide shot back, and bright light emerged from the barrel. The shell flew in front of my face. I had used my father’s gun many times before; Jason had even taken me to the shooting range on several occasions. Plus, this man was only about ten feet away. I hit him right where I intended. But shooting a man is different than shooting paper. The feeling was entirely unique. When I saw the round hit my target, the hairs on my arm stood up.
The bullet hit him in his left side, just under the bottom rib. His upper body swayed backward. While he was able to keep himself standing at impact, he fell backward within the next few seconds. Now lying on the ground, he could do nothing but hold his side.
I quickly walked around the front side of the car, trying to contain my shaking.
He dropped the bat. The wood hit the asphalt and rolled until it came to a rest at the back wheel of my car.
I kept my gun aimed at him as I approached his curled up body.
His body twitched; he reached for his own firearm.
I bent over and picked it up. It worked, I said to myself. That somehow worked.
