The Pocket Watch

by Michael Shaw

  The Crimson had climbed up my arm.

  ∞

  The following month was desperate. I couldn’t find a single bit of information on the Peter Simmons I was looking for. It was almost as though he didn’t even exist. In spite of this, I did the best I could. In the first few days, I staked out the window through which the killer would enter the office of my home. I would have to consider all angles that Hunter and Peter could come from.

  During that December month, I discovered that my father ate at the same sandwich shop everyday for his lunch break. And everyday, I would be there waiting for him, watching and listening. Always keeping my distance. He had seen me in the Yuba City house the night he killed Alex’s father, so I had to stay hidden. I’d usually sit in a booth or in front of the window. The large window went across the wall, with a long table next to it. When my father left, I would watch the streets from this table.

  One day, about halfway through the month, I sat in front of those windows and thought about everything. My father had already left that day. Unfortunately, he rarely brought business to lunch, so I never learned much; it was his break, after all.

  I watched the cars drive by and pondered the things that were to come, along with what had already occurred. I cursed Model Six for bringing David Kemp’s memories back to my consciousness. My own face’s reflection in the glass caught my eye. Three men went back to kill me, but they ended up in 2042. Those three men believed that I will become a murderer. An emperor of a corrupt system, selling time to a desperate generation. I blinked. In the reflection, I did not see that man. I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. To me, it was just impossible. David was right about one thing. I can write my destiny. I have to choose a different path than the one they saw. I can’t choose the path that leads to turmoil.

  A mother and child entered the shop. The little boy whined, not wanting to be there. His mother scolded him and pulled him to the front counter so they could order. He continued to protest. I, along with a few other patrons, glanced at them because of the noise. After I saw it was just an annoying kid, I turned around. But their conversation was audible enough for everyone in the place to hear.

  “Son,” she spoke firmly.

  “You said we were going to see Dad. Why aren’t we going to see Dad?”

  “We can’t see Dad today.”

  “Why are you taking me to all these dumb places?”

  “I was going to get your favorite meal here. You don’t want your favorite thing?”

  “I’m not hungry. Take me to see Dad.”

  I ate my sandwich and silently listened. Poor kid. That mom needs to get a handle of him, though.

  His mother grabbed his arm. “Hunter Calhoun,” she said furiously, “do not talk back to me again.”

  The hairs on my arm stood up. I kept my entire body faced toward the windows and watched the scene through the reflection.

  Young boy. Dark hair. I could see it in his face. Hunter Calhoun. It was the same Hunter that would become my friend. The one who would stab me in the back over and over. The same Hunter that I was preparing to kill in less than a month. Hunter Calhoun was in the same room with me. Five years old. Completely vulnerable.

  I had my gun on me. He was right there. It would be easy. I could change the past here. I could change it right now. My heart raced. I turned around in my chair, looking across the restaurant, gazing directly at the child.

  “There is no changing that man,” David’s voice sounded in my head. “He will grow up to be a monster.”

  I blinked. Stop. Focus.

  But I couldn’t focus. The thought of a man killing a small child churned my stomach. I pictured Howard’s daughter and the loss that he suffered because of her death. I watched Calhoun’s mother as she tried to contain her son. What kind of loss would she suffer if I took her child from her?

  I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath. After taking one last look at them, I turned around and let my eyes drift out across the city.

  ∞

  Christmas day. My dad didn’t come to lunch, of course. He was home with my younger self and my mother. I sat by myself. Carols and sleigh bells and holiday songs by pop stars of the time played on the speakers. 2025, I thought to myself. I think I got a Batman toy this year. Only eleven days remained. I still kept the gun on me at all times. Two bullets would be all I needed, if I kept a steady aim. Two bullets, and I would change everything.

  An old couple stood up from their meal. They wore red and green sweaters on their backs and heavy coats over them. The man stopped by me. “Merry Christmas, son,” he said softly.

  “Thanks.” I peered up at him. I didn’t know the man. “Merry Christmas.”

  He pulled something out of his coat and placed it next to me on the table. “I had a feeling this was for you.”

  They left before I could even see what it was. I peered over and looked down at the gift. A black leather book. I opened it up. It felt and smelled new. Never opened before. I flipped to the front page and smirked. My eyes rose out to the street again, and I watched the man and woman cross the street.

  “The Third Party,” I exhaled.

  ∞

  “Happy New Year!” Everyone called out.

  I sat on a park bench, under a low light that lit up the walking path. Some band was putting on a performance; people were walking around everywhere. I opened the book.

  “‘What do people get for all their hard work under the sun?’” I mumbled, reading off the page.

  Two people about my age gave each other a kiss when January 1, 2026 came. I glanced at the two. Other people gave them awkward looks as they passed by. They kept kissing even minutes after midnight had hit.

  I continued to read. “‘Generations come and generations go, but the earth never changes.’”

  Children ran around the park. People young and old chatted about all sorts of things for the new year. Whether 2025 was bad. Whether it was good. No matter the conversation, people said the next year would be better. That this time, things would be different.

  “‘History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before.’”

  No one heard my words. I read the book aloud just for myself. Music played, people cheered, and everyone was happy about the new year. Happy about a chance to be the best they could be.

  “‘Nothing under the sun is truly new.’”

  Chapter 37

  After all of the waiting, the day finally came. January 5, 2025. I was beginning to worry; Model Six was vibrating and sparking more and more with each day. Sometimes it would flash a memory, and a few times, it would even take me back in time. Sometimes thirty seconds, other times several minutes. All it did was increase the waiting time, yet it made me worry about what it would do next.

  But now, this was it. This was the day. I wore dark clothing and staked out in a nearby bush. Similar to the night at Luna headquarters, I felt ill-equipped. But this time, I had an advantage. Here in the past, I had knowledge that no one else had. I knew how the night would unfold. I only had to be there to intervene. I still had to be vigilant, though, because Hunter had that knowledge too.

  This is the last time you’ll have the better of me, Calhoun. I inhaled and exhaled steadily. My breaths could be seen in the cold winter night. The sun was just beginning to set; I remembered that the sky was covered in darkness when it happened. A darkness through which the culprit, Hunter Calhoun, had escaped, leaving his accomplice Peter Simmons to take the fall.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Now my body was beginning to shake. I can’t let it happen the same way. Words from the book I had been reading bounced around my head, and I hoped that they would not be true tonight. I’m going to save them. I have to. I opened my eyes. And then I will kill Hunter Calhoun and Peter Simmons.

  I could see through the window from where I knelt. The room was illuminated by a lamp in the corner of the room and a smaller lamp on my father’s desk. He tapped his foot and worked at his computer. When
I save their lives, then he’ll listen. I can confront him for what he’s done. But he can’t die. I can’t lose my dad.

  The sun finally fell behind the trees. I watched the office closely. My mother will enter the room. After that, it won’t be long until the killers arrive. I scanned my eyes across the yard. No one yet.

  She walked in. I kept my eyes open for anything around the room, watching the surrounding space thoroughly. No one. Where are they? I took a chance and advanced toward the building. Keeping myself hidden from the inside’s view, I reached the wall to my house. I was just feet away from the window now. And I could hear their voices.

  “You can’t fool me anymore,” my mother said, shaking in her voice.

  My ears perked up. What? I peered around to where I could just barely see in the window. She stood in front of him, arms crossed. Watery eyes. He closed his laptop and leaned back. “Honey, what are you talking about-”

  “It was you.” She tried to subdue her voice. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her face grew red, and she pointed her finger at him. “It was you. You killed Jarod. You…” Her lip trembled.

  “What?” He stood up and held out a comforting hand. “Carrie, no. Why would you think-”

  “I found out your secret.” She glared her eyes at him, anger and sorrow flying from her gaze. “What do you have to say?”

  “You’re speaking nonsense.” He put his arms on her shoulders. “I know you’re tired. And everything with Jarod has been rough. Just let me get you some-”

  “Don’t touch me.” She pulled back and reached onto the desk, grabbing the landline telephone. “I’m calling the police.”

  “No.” He snatched the phone from her forcefully.

  Her eyes snapped open wide in shock.

  He exhaled. “Don’t you think that’s a little rash?” He put the phone down in its dock.

  She took a deep breath.

  They stared at each other with intensity.

  I crouched and stayed just outside the window now, alternating between watching the scene inside and scanning the area. Come on, where are they? I held my hands in fists, waiting for the killers. Where are Hunter Calhoun and Peter Simmons?

  She backed up and walked to the right side of the room, putting her hand on the bookshelf that sat against the wall. She stood just in front of the lamp in the corner of the room, its light reflecting off her features. In front of her hand was a single box, lying on the middle shelf. I recognized that box.

  My father saw where her hand was reaching. “Carrie…” He took a step toward her.

  She pulled out his pistol from the case and pointed it at him.

  My heart leaped in my chest, beating rapidly. What? No, this isn’t what happened. I watched it unfold. Is this really what happened?

  Hunter and Peter were still nowhere.

  “This is usually in a drawer,” she said, breathing quickly. “Did you have more business to take care of today?”

  “Carrie,” he cautioned. “Be careful with that-”

  “Give me the phone,” she bit.

  He grabbed it from its dock and held his hands up in surrender. “Okay.” He slowly advanced toward her.

  She held the gun with both hands. Her tears ran freely down her face, off of her chin, and onto the floor.

  When he was just inches away, he began to hand the phone toward her. “Carrie…”

  She took one hand off the gun to receive the telephone.

  “You forgot to turn the safety off.” He swung the phone around and hit her in the side of the face.

  Her body, knocked to the side, hit the bookshelf.

  No! I put my hand on the window sill.

  She struck back at him with the butt of the pistol, hitting him in the eye. He staggered back.

  I stood up fully now. No… What is happening?

  My father swung a fist at my mother, punching her in the face; it knocked her back into the lamp. The lamp fell over, and the bulb shattered. Darkness filled the room, save for the single desk lamp.

  They scrambled on top of each other for the weapon.

  What do I do? I looked around. The killers were nowhere. I looked back inside. My father slammed my mother against the window. The glass cracked. I backed up and knelt down once more.

  He bent over. It looked like he was trying to pick up the gun. As he stood back up, she took the phone and threw it at him. He ducked; it broke through the window.

  I covered my head. Shattering pieces of glass fell on top of me.

  It escalated into yelling. Screaming. Knocking against walls, the desk, the bookshelf. I stood up and watched once more. This can’t go on. I reached behind my back and put my hand on my gun. This has to stop.

  In all the commotion, they didn’t even see me. My father got the better of my mother and pushed her against the bookshelf. The pistol was in his hands. He switched the safety off. She pulled herself up and faced him.

  He backed up. “For better or for worse.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but she never got the chance.

  He shot her in the chest. My mother fell backward, and her head hit the bottom of the bookshelf.

  My heart fell. I screamed, “No!” I jumped in through the window, full speed. I collided with my father. He fell to the ground and dropped the gun.

  I rolled over and pulled myself up, pointing my gun at him. He got up to his knees. His gun, the past version of the gun I held, was on the floor.

  “Stop.” I kept the pistol aimed at his face. My eyes lowered to my mother, a bleeding hole in her torso.

  “Who are you?” He asked, his voice wavering.

  I blinked. She was dead. A tear ran down my face. “What did you do…”

  “Who are you?” My father repeated, yelling now. He backed up against the desk, and he quickly glanced down at it. A drawer hung open.

  “You…” I barely said, my eyes on my mother’s dead body. “You killed her-”

  He quickly pulled something out of the open drawer. I reacted a second too late, and he swiftly swung it at me, swiping across my face.

  I staggered back and touched my face. Blood.

  My father held a knife in his hand.

  I lifted the gun once more, but he jumped onto me. My back hit the floor. My father lifted the knife above me with two hands and stabbed down, yelling violently.

  I lifted the gun and held it in front of my face, squinting, It pressed against something. I shot with my eyes closed.

  The blade pierced the front of my chest.

  My eyes burst open. I kept my hands outstretched.

  Dad hung over me. The knife stayed still.

  I pushed forward. The skinny blade slid out of my body, and I grunted.

  My father toppled over.

  I breathed quickly. The sharp blade was replaced by a sharp pain that held itself in the front of my body. I pulled myself up and held my hand over my chest. I was okay; it hadn’t hit any organs. But I was going into shock.

  Next to me, my father’s mouth hung open. I looked down at him. A hole in his forehead. I lifted the pistol in front of me. My body was calming, but my mind was still catching up. No… I scrambled to my feet. No, it wasn’t meant to happen this way.

  The two bodies lay before me. I trembled and lifted my fingers to my face. They touched more blood. A cut ran across my skin. “It wasn’t meant to happen this way,” I breathed.

  “Mom?” A voice quivered. I froze.

  A little hand pushed the door open, and I saw a young boy, standing at the entrance. Frightened. Shaking even more than I was. It was my younger self. It was Jonathan Ashe at five years old.

  I took a step back toward the window, holding my breath. My face became encompassed in shadow, and I wondered if he knew that I was just as surprised to see him as he was to see me. We stared. I at him, and he at me. But no one acted.

  Suddenly, he bolted away. The sound of loud footsteps racing up the stairs hit my ears. And then the office was completely quiet.

  I sh
ivered. “I’m…” I whispered. Tears ran down my face, and I struggled to stay standing. “I’m my father’s killer?”

  Chapter 38

  While I stood, stuck in my stupor, a figure suddenly appeared in front of the desk, his head lowered. I instinctively aimed the pistol at him. He turned and pointed a hand at me. I felt a push, and my arm descended down to my side.

  He wore a heavy black coat. His head lifted, and he gestured toward the door. It closed and locked.

  I caught sight of his face. Steven Edward. The man who I had thought was Hunter Calhoun. Midas gloves on both hands. Model Seven on his wrist. He was much, much older now. His wrinkles deep, and his hair all gray.

  He faced me and released my arm.

  “I…” My mind raced. I breathed heavily through my mouth. “You…”

  He nodded. “You can call me Jonathan Ashe.”

  My lips stammered. “You - you’re-”

  He put a hand on my neck and lifted the watch in front of me. “Press the button.”

  I looked down. Tears still fell from my eyes.

  The sound of feet descending down the stairs echoed into the room. Jason was coming.

  “Come on,” he said, smiling. “You’ve done it plenty of times.”

  I reached over to the watch on his wrist, my hand shaking, and I pressed the button. The familiar jolt to the head and arm hit me, and I opened my eyes. The Crimson had reached up even further. The time on the watch had stopped ticking.

  Future Jonathan Ashe lowered both hands.

  I staggered backwards a step.