by Michael Shaw
He reached into the drawer and pulled out a folder. “George Ashe has been involved in the embezzlement of Luna property and capital for two years now. This was all in order to spur the success of his new, illegal operation: Eclipse Technologies.” He flipped through the pages contained inside. “He planned to eliminate Claire Nelson within the week, concerned that she was suspicious of his activities.” He put it back in the desk. “He takes any potential threats to a secluded house in Yuba City, where he can execute them. Only a few others knew of this house. They too, partake in the executions.” He cracked his knuckles and smirked. “But now, no one knows but us.” He nodded at the wound in my chest. “Put pressure on it. It’s not that bad, but it’ll bleed for a little.”
“I thought you were Hunter Calhoun,” I barely croaked, covering the wound with my hand. “The surgery… You did that to hide the scar from me.”
He put his hands in his coat pockets, standing erect.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Jonathan Ashe will only go back in time and eliminate his father if he believes that he is going back in order to save his father.” He tilted his head, watching my reaction.
“You let me believe you were Hunter. You lied to me.”
“I lied to myself.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone do that?”
“And you made yourself a fake identity.” I looked at his arm, picturing his Mark underneath the sleeve. “Steven Edward.”
“New passport, new license. New history.” His green eyes looked into mine. “You’ll learn how to rewrite your identity soon. And building a QRI printer is not that difficult. You’ll pick that up rather quickly.”
I rubbed my face, smearing the palm of my hand with blood. My body shook all over.
“I know that what you are hearing is substantial, and difficult. But trust me, it had to happen this way.”
It had to happen this way. The words repeated in my head. “That was you, too? The message left in my bedroom?”
“I meant what I said about steering you toward the right path.”
“Steering me,” I mumbled. “Steering you.”
“Steering us.”
“It was all you.” My eyes drifted to the broken window.
“It was all Jonathan Ashe.”
“And Alex’s mother?” I shifted my eyes over to him. “The car crash? That’s us too?”
“You’ve gone back in time before. Do you recall what happened to your memory?”
I thought back to the day that I went back in time to the gas station. When I went to save myself from David Kemp. My memory had failed me constantly.
“When you go back, you’ll remember your plan enough. Sometimes, you’ll even remember specific details. But when your double is nearby, the finer details will fail you. Plus, with the older we get,” he chuckled, looking down at himself, “the more our memory will fail us anyway.” He pointed a finger at his head. “The odd thing is our forgetfulness is part of what makes the time loop so consistent.” He took a breath, and after a moment, his countenance fell. “Yes, I paralyzed Alex’s mother in that car wreck.” He rubbed his wrinkled forehead. “Someone discovered me, so I had to run. They were in pursuit, and as I was escaping, my truck hit Claire’s.” He swallowed, looking down. “My memory had failed me then, and it will do the same for you. There’s no way to change it.”
I ran both hands through my hair. “Just like there’s no way to change this.”
My future self and I stared at the floor. I wiped my face. Everything around me felt unsettling. “You have Midas gloves…”
“Yes.” He held his hands in front of him. “You’ll be quite excited when you improve upon the technology.”
I didn’t know how to handle it all. Knowing that I would become Steven Edward. Knowing that the entire loop would never change. “‘Nothing is ever truly new,’” I said quietly.
“Sounds like you’ve been reading.” He nodded. “Speaking of which…” He reached into his coat and pulled out a dark leather book. It was the one that the man had given me in the restaurant.
I took it from him. “How did you-”
“I’m you,” he chuckled. “I knew which room you were in.”
I held the Bible at my side. “Every night, you left the house and went through a portal.”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He took his gloves off and placed them in his pockets. His right hand emerged with a small object held in his fingers. A ring. He put it onto his left ring finger. “I had to see someone. Had to make sure she was okay.”
The ring reflected the low light, and I remembered the man who I had assumed was an accomplice. “That ring. That means you’re-”
“Peter Simmons.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yes. Another identity change.”
“Why? We can both get out of here. Why are you going to stay?”
“Without a man to find, the police might look for a culprit more rigorously. Leaving a body behind will keep them from searching you out.”
I looked at this man that I would become. His wedding band glimmered.
“I’ve lived long enough, trust me,” he exhaled, his eyes calm and tired. “Besides, this ensures that we don’t become the man that Howard, David, and Jacob knew.”
“Better to know what’s killing you,” I said, looking to the side.
He sighed a peaceful breath.
“But if you die here, then who brings time travel to the future?” I wiped the tears under my eyes and held my chest. “Who prompted those men to go back in time?”
“Well, they certainly thought it was us,” He sighed. “But I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know what will happen. I’m ninety-three, Jon. In 2072, I used Model Seven to come back to this time. And in my entire life, no time travel device has even been hinted at to the public.”
“What about-”
“Jon,” he laughed, holding a hand up. “You’ll find the answers to the rest of your questions by living your life. Now give me your arm.”
I held it forward.
He pulled out a syringe full of clear liquid and quickly injected me. I winced, watching my arm. The Crimson died down. “It will take a long time for the Crimson to kill you, but you need to develop the remedy as soon as you can.”
“Can’t you tell me?”
He grinned. “I know some of the things I know because my future self told me, and I know the other things I know because he let me discover them for myself.” He lifted his watch and pressed the button.
I squinted my eyes and let the pain pass.
Future Jon took his coat off and dropped Model Seven in the left pocket. “Destroy this coat and everything in it once you reach your destination.”
“Destination?” I held the coat in my arms.
He picked up my double of my father’s gun and put it in the right pocket of the coat. Walking over to the past version of my father’s gun, he pulled a clean wipe from his pants pocket, wiped the handle, and firmly wrapped his fingers around it.
I watched him recreate the crime scene. Model Six vibrated. I glanced at it.
He placed the gun down and pulled a different pistol from the back of his pants.
“You said something about a destination,” I said.
“You’re going to get a chance for a new life, Jonathan.” He stood up straight, connecting his eyes with mine.
I raised an eyebrow. “What-”
“When the time comes, you’ll have to protect the string of events just as I have. But don’t worry. It will turn out okay.”
Footsteps resounded. Jason was coming down the stairs. Slowly. Cautiously.
The watch vibrated again. More furiously this time.
“But until that time comes, try living for someone other than yourself for a change.”
I opened my mouth, but then I stopped myself. I received his words somberly, nodding.
The knob turned, but the door was locked. Jason couldn’t get in.
“You
’ve spent most your life trying to secure your happiness.” Future Jon spoke softly. He nodded down at Model Six. “You’ll find that it’s much easier to make other people happy.”
I followed his gaze. The watch felt as though it were tightening around my wrist. “What’s happening?”
“Remember that they don’t have smartphones yet.”
“What?”
I never got a response. Instead, I got the sudden sensation of a whirlwind passing through me.
Chapter 39
The travel gave me a grueling headache. Plus, I got immediate ear bleeds, which I hadn’t gotten in a while in terms of internal time.
I fell to my hands and knees, dropping the coat next to me, and letting the feeling pass over me. My flesh touched something soft. Something different than the inside of that office. I opened my eyes. Grass. I peered over. I was in the same place, exactly where my house would be. But there was no house. A sign was posted at the front of the lawn, just by the curb. Vacant Lot. Covered across the sign was a sticker. Sold. I turned over and fell onto my back. The sun hung over me, sitting in the middle of the blue sky.
My brain felt like a blender. It’s over. My whole life had been one giant loop. Causing itself, responding to itself, leading to itself. I killed my father because I tried to save my father because I killed my father. I squinted and covered my eyes. The cut on my face was there to stay, and it would turn into a scar. In all the time that I spoke with my future self, he never really told me the answer to all this. Were we guided by fate or by our own decisions? Does man have a destiny, or does he choose his own path? Laying here in the grass, I finally realized that the answer was a simple, Yes.
I sat up and lifted Model Six in front of me. The time was 1:05 pm. I lowered my eyes to the next display, the date. My eyes read the number. I blinked. The date… I stared at that number for several seconds. My mouth hung open, and my eyes blinked a few times.
It was the year 2001. January 5, 2001. I rose to my feet and looked around the neighborhood. “2001,” I said aloud.
A few people in their winter coats were jogging, walking dogs, or raking leaves. Somehow, no one had seen me appear from nowhere, but I was getting a few looks for standing in the middle of the vacant lot in that suburb. I picked up the coat and looked across the subdivision.
Understanding what had just happened, I could do nothing but stare out at the world I had just come to. Jonathan Ashe would be born in 2020. He would turn twenty-two years old in 2042. Now, I was twenty-two years old in 2001, forty-one years in the past. I unstrapped the watch, pulled it off my wrist, and put it into the coat pocket.
A mixture of emotions filled me. Water still in my eyes from the sight of my mother, and the act I had to take against my father. No one that I had wanted to save could be rescued anymore. The future would be as it would be. I stood realizing that not only was my past unchangeable, but now, much of my future was set as well.
This feeling ran alongside a different one, though. Coming to the forefront was the realization that, in a rather unorthodox way, I had just been given that chance to live a new life. The chance that my future self told me about. No one knew me. No one had any expectations for me. No one was chasing after me. I could start over.
I reached into the coat and pulled out the book. I laughed. In the middle of an empty lawn, with tears in my eyes, I laughed aloud, and one thought was on my mind.
The Third Party.
∞
The following days were not without their difficulties, but through some persistence, I made myself a life. I disposed of the items, save for the book, as quickly as I could. Before getting rid of it all, I reached into the coat and found a single cigar. Additionally, I found another stack of cash. I smiled. “Thanks, ‘Steven.’”
After some time, I got a job as a specialist at a local computer shop, and I decided that it was finally time for me to try my luck at the stock market. I invested in this little startup company that showed some promise. Luna Computers.
With the money that my future self had left me, I was able to start a payment on a modest apartment, and with the money that was starting to come in from my own endeavors, I kept up my living there. It was a bit lonely at first, but it gave me time to think. Peace and quiet. Plus, reading. A lot of reading. I became interested in different areas to volunteer and get involved in the community near me; Sacramento was a busy place, so I found places to make myself busy in ways that would benefit others. I was trying my best to do what my future self had told me. To see what it was like making other people happy. I found that I liked it.
I remember a specific day during that first month of starting a new life; I was walking to lunch. That same sandwich shop that my father would go to everyday was already in place, even back in 2001. On my way to the restaurant, I walked by a movie theater, and a certain poster caught my eye. I stopped and circled back to it. “Memento.” Where had I heard that title? I scratched my head, but after a moment, I remembered. Hunter Calhoun.
Someone bumped into me, and I heard a thump on the floor. I turned around; a girl had walked into me, dropping her phone and purse. “Oh!” She bent down. “I am so sorry.”
I bent down with her and picked up the items. “That’s okay. Is your stuff all right?” The phone felt so blocky; I was still getting used to early 2000s technology. It folded in half, too. “Ashley’s phone,” the screen read. I closed the cellphone and handed her things back to her.
“It seems fine, thanks.” She had short brown hair and wore a dark green jacket. “Are you thinking about seeing that movie?” She nodded at the poster.
“Yeah,” I looked back at it. “My friend recommended it.”
“Really?” She asked. “It came out today, so your friend must be on top of things.”
“It did?” I checked my watch; for the first time in a while, this watch was just a regular one. It displayed the date: January 20, 2001. “I wasn’t really planning on it, but I might go see it.”
“You should.” She took a few steps, then turned her head toward me. “It’s what I’m seeing right now.”
“You’re going to a movie by yourself?” I asked.
“Look who’s talking!” She jested. “You were just about to do the same thing.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t have a comeback.
She smirked, held her hands out, and shrugged. “I was interested, but none of my family was.”
I nodded. “So we’re both about to see this movie by ourselves.”
“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck and looked up at me.
Without speaking, we both walked toward the ticket booth together. I took a final look at the poster. “I’ve never seen a movie with a stranger before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” she said confidently.
I glanced at her, stopping for a moment. She strode upright toward the ticket counter. I snapped out of it and caught up to her. “Yes,” I said, smiling. “Yes there is.”
Prologue: June 1, 2042
Hunter Calhoun stood at a metal table within Eclipse’s walls. Across from him stood his boss, Donald Lane. The two were alone in a small room, a concrete floor under their feet, and a big, harsh light over their heads. They looked down at a sheet of paper. Blueprints.
“It’s a masterpiece,” Donald said, admiring the design of the pocket watch.
“It needs work,” Hunter dissented.
“It will make us money, Calhoun,” Donald bit back. “I can’t wait any longer. Especially since you took so long.”
“Last time I checked, there wasn’t a deadline. Plus, everyone else on your mission died.” Hunter leaned his hands on the table, not even lifting his eyes to the man in front of him. Except for Ashe, he thought bitterly, thinking of the news channel he had just watched that morning. That one got away somehow.
Donald looked back down at the blueprints. “We need to start building this thing now,” he said, grinning.
“I agree.”
“We can sell it within the year.”
“I disagree.”
“Did I ask for your approval?” He suddenly slammed his palm on the table. The noise bounced off the walls.
Hunter didn’t flinch.
“I brought you in here to congratulate you. You got the pocket watch back for us.” Donald lifted the sheet to get a closer look. “But I forgot just how irritable you are, Calhoun.”
Hunter stood up straight, putting his hands in his pockets. He held a restrained face and glared into Donald’s eyes.
“Now, it’s time for your boss to do his job.” Donald ran his hand along the paper. “Who knows why George Ashe hid the machine from us all this time?”
Hunter kept his eyes on him. “He hid it because it’s not ready.”
“It can control time.”
“It will kill the user.”
“What it will do,” Donald rose his voice, “is make Eclipse into an empire.”
“You saw what it did to Jon,” Hunter asserted.
Donald snarled at the young man.
“The current design makes the watch a parasite,” he continued. “It will feed on whoever uses it until their is nothing left. That’s what was happening to Jonathan Ashe, and it will happen to anyone else who uses that pocket watch if we reproduce it the same way.”
Donald leaned toward him. “Does a drug dealer care about what happens to his buyers?” He spat.
Hunter tightened his jaw.
“Do they care about their… physical well-being?”
“In the long-run, a buyer’s health leads to more potential business transactions-”
“Shut up!” Donald curled his hands into fists.
Hunter breathed in and out through his nose.
“All that consumers will care about this device is that it can control time,” Donald said with intensity.
Hunter looked at him with unwavering eyes. “Then you are dumber than I thought.”
Donald bared his teeth. “What?” He yelled, pulling his hand back to strike him. Suddenly, though, he found himself unable to move.
Hunter’s hands had emerged from his pockets, and he now held them in front of him. He wore the Midas gloves.
