by S. M. Baker
“Why should we listen to them?” Art ground, teeth clenching tightly together.
“You mean other than the fact that we gave them our word?” Grimacing he eyed Mary frustrated, anger leaking across his face.
“Besides, if that isn’t enough then consider and remember my uncle. The one that would disappear and re-appear for odd intervals, then one day, never returned.” Art grew quiet as he looked at his wife, shoulders slumping, face relaxing into reluctant acceptance.
“So...You’re our son.” Art didn’t sound like he was particularly inclined to believe him, but Bennett didn’t blame him. At least they hadn’t been kicked out of the house.
“Listen, I’m not any happier than you are about the fact that I have to tell you about our profession, and I like it even less that I have to ask you to abandon me.” His father tensed, face the expression of thunder. “However I’ve changed and affected too much of the past, and the future to do anything else. If the very thing that has made me who I am today is altered then reality as we currently know it would rip itself apart, and make a new, and even more horrifying one in its place. If I’m not there to change certain things time itself will unravel.” Bennett honestly didn’t believe he was that important. Their master would just find someone else to do his job. But there were other factors to consider. Such as his family’s safety from the very man that he served. Also, his ability to rip through time, and--at least early on--his inability to control it. What would happen to him if their master hadn’t taught him the control he needed? He hated himself for even thinking about it, but realistically it was a possibility. Another possibility was that Bennett would end stranding himself, and one—or both—his parents in the past, or even the elusive future.
“What happens to you...After we’re gone?” His mother's hesitant voice pulled Bennett abruptly from his thoughts. Pausing, he carefully deliberated, then began to speak. Bennet didn’t want to burden his mother with the reality of the horrors he’d endured throughout his time in the system.
“It was rough at first, but the system wasn’t so bad, for me at least.” Cynthia shot him a disbelieving glance. He’d never really told her about his time in the system. It was--and still remained--something he wanted to detach himself from. Not that he could pretend it had never happened, but Bennett wanted—no needed—it to grow numb and dull in his mind, like a bad dream that clung to you when you woke up, scream poised on your lips.
“Really, I’m fine. Some of the families that looked after me were wonderful.” That was a blatant lie, but Bennett didn’t regret it as he watched his mother's expression relax, though it was still pained and reluctant.
“Mom,” the word was almost physically painful for him to say; “I promise everything turns out okay.” Bennett watched, heart a wretched, broken mess inside his chest as tears swam in his mother's eyes. Glancing to his father, Bennett found his expression still a deliberate sort of blank.
He and Cynthia—spent the next few hours persuading, convincing, and at some point begging, his parents to do as he asked, that doing so would be the best thing, the only thing they could do to keep him, and everyone around him safe. Abandon him. When they’d drawn a reluctant agreement, Bennett’s mother excused herself, tears already trailing in rivulets down her cheeks. She mumbled an excuse that sounded something like rest, but her voice was so chocked that Bennett could only hazard a guess. She looked pale, withdrawn, and more than heartbroken. As soon as she disappeared down the hall, the soft click of the door trickling into their ears, Bennett’s father's expression twisted into grim frustration, lips pressed in a flat, unimpressed line.
“Now that your mother's gone, I want you to tell me truthfully how your years in the system really were.” At his father's words, Bennett felt his chest twist into a knot, a lump growing at the back of his throat, making it hard even to breathe. He glanced at Cynthia, wondering and at the same time knowing that she could read the indecision and fear in his eyes.
“I’m going to get some fresh air.” Her voice was dipped in careful detachment, eyes looking feline. Bennett knew it now to be her shield of choice. Rising Cynthia smoothed the bright red fabric of her skirts, then strode out of the room. He wanted to call out to her, beg her to stay so he wouldn’t have to face this truth alone. Instead, he remained quiet, watching Cynthia’s wild curls bounce down the curve of her spine with each step she took until she disappeared out the front door. Re-shifting his focus Bennett risked a hopeful glance at his father, praying that he would drop the issue. To Bennett’s dismay, his expression remained the same.
“Alright,” he finally conceded after a long stretch of tense silence. “My time in the system was anything but pleasant.” He paused, air hissing through his clenched teeth, as he exhaled. “Regardless of how terrible it was, it doesn’t change the need for it to occur.” His voice was deep, pained, and barbed with something darker than sarcasm. He was surprised when is father gave him a grim, but somewhat pleased smile. The confusion must have been plain on his face because his father barked a short and dark laugh.
“I see the family resemblance. You remind me far too much of your grandfather. He was...” Bennett’s father railed off, his expression unreadable. “He was just like you.” Was the finished reply. Shaking his head, like he could shake off the past draped across him from his mind.
“Tell me about him.” Bennett nearly demanded, something like hunger roaring inside him. A genuine smile, one resembling something like happiness curled across his father's lips.
“Alright,” he whispered, and the past spilled from his lips. Later, much later Cynthia returned, Bennett refocusing on her for a moment, gracing her with a minuscule smile before he returned his attention to his father. He’d learned so much about his family, and about himself. Bennett had always believed his odd quirks had been born of his reality of traveling through time; and while some of them were a consequence of that, many of them--it appeared—he’d inherited from his father, and grandfather. For the first time in--forever Bennett didn’t feel quite so alone like he was hurtling through time without an anchor or focal point. The feeling dimmed when he thought of what had happened to his parents in their lengthy separation. Were they even alive in his present? Pushing the morbid thought aside Bennett instead focused his attention on his father, determined to enjoy what little time they had left together.
When the sun began to sink behind the horizon, Cynthia nudged him in a gentle reminder that they needed to leave. His mother--who had returned at some point during his father's talk of Bennett’s grandfather—looked hesitant even to contemplate he and Cynthia leaving. Bennett wasn’t much different. The thought of leaving this place—with his very living parents tucked inside—almost made him sick. However, he sent a small, subtle nod in Cynthia’s direction, regardless of how he felt.
“We have to...get going.” An awkward silence choked the life in the room. Both Bennett’s parents froze, his mother's expression full of grief, and his fathers of grim acceptance and understanding. They were escorted carefully to the door, his mother's small hands like a vice around his arm. Cynthia’s expression was awkwardly apologetic as she watched Bennett and his parents, while he sent her rueful smiles between trying to burn the sight of them so deeply in his memories that he would never forget.
“I-I’ll leave you to your goodbyes,” Cynthia said. Before she could disappear Bennett’s mother reached forward and gave Cynthia a gentle hug, whispering something in her ear before she carefully pulled away. Bennett watched with curiosity as something resembling red painted itself across her cheeks. Cynthia smiled, flustered, in the direction of his father and then hurried down the cracked and uneven walkway, disappearing into the large factories and buildings that inhabited the streets further on.
“Before you go, I’ve got something to give to you. Just in case.” As his mother enveloped him in her warm, small, frame Bennett watched his father vanish into the house, the faint sound of his mutters carrying to the doorway, even as he r
emained hidden from view.
“Remember Darling; I love you. If you ever have doubted, or will doubt remember the truth: you are so loved. I have since the moment you were laid in my arms, and always will, even if I don’t always agree with your choices.” He knew she meant this choice, but he remained silent and tightened his arms, clutching her closer, savoring in the scent Bennett would now know as Mom. Reluctantly he released her as his father re-appeared in the doorway, holding a large worn leather suitcase firmly in his hand.
“So you’ll always remember where you come from.” His father said. Like he could ever forget. Bennett thought, smiling in thanks regardless. Maybe this would give him a way to find them in his present.
“See you on the flip side.” Bennett’s smile was wide and mostly forced. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned and walked away. When he reached the edge of the walkway Bennett couldn’t help himself and glanced behind him--trying to burn their faces even further into his mind—to find his parents standing together in the doorway, his mother buried in his father's arms, tears trickling down her cheeks. With one last smile he turned with a large flourish--suitcase heavy in his hands--and made his way towards Cynthia, who was standing on the corner of the block up, her face saddened as she watched him say goodbye. Then they disappeared from his parents home, Bennett feeling like he’d just torn himself apart.
~~~
Bennett wasn’t sure how he’d made it through the report to their master. He didn’t even feel like he was in his body. Cynthia kept shooting him worried looks, but he couldn’t respond, couldn’t breath, even as a part of him marveled at how open her face was now to him.
“Congratulations on another successful assignment.” Their master purred through the mouth of the young girl, voice and expression twisted and distorted. “I’m pleased you haven’t given me any excuse to be displeased with you.” Fury spilled into his views with a suddenness that stole whatever little breath in his lungs remained. Clamping down on the emotion he took a deep breath through his nose; teeth clamped to his tongue hard enough for him to taste the coppery tang of his own blood.
“Thank you for your praise master.” Cynthia bowed, face all sharp angles and feline pleasure. It was startling how open she had been with him, and how much he’d grown used to her lack of a shield, even in the course of a few hours.
“May we take leave to tarnish our hunger and rest our weary bones.” A pleased, and self-satisfied smile contorted across the girl's face.
“You may.” She gazed almost knowingly into Bennett’s eyes before she turned, already dismissing them from the room. Bennett wanted to throw himself at the creature and strangle their master right out of her frail body, and into the depths of sheouls despair. Cynthia’s nails digging into his arm kept him from acting on the rage that burned within him. She nearly dragged him from the room and through yet another doorway, muttering something about “safety,” under her breath before they disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Six
Nickola Tesla was not at all as Bennett imagined him to be. Instead of a sleek businessman who was determined to beat Edison in the race to electricity and light, he found a brilliant man with a five o’clock shadow and rumpled clothes. Although Bennett supposed some might find his sharp face attractive, he could only see the tired lines etched across Tesla’s face and the weariness in the slump of his shoulders and down-turned tilt of his lips.
“Hello, Papa.” Turning to gaze at Cynthia in shock and disbelief Bennett missed the appraising gaze of the genius standing by the fireplace.
“Cynthia, you’ve brought a guest.” The words were benign and cultured, but one glance at the man Cynthia called her father told Bennett they were anything but. He had the feeling this man was ready to rip him apart with his bare hands if he so much as caused his daughter to shed a tear.
“Papa.” Tesla smiled at the admonishment, and walked over to Bennett’s side, ignoring his daughter in favor of squeezing Bennett’s shoulder with more force than could be considered friendly.
“So Ben.-”
“Bennett actually.”
“So Ben, how did you come to know Cynthia?” Nickola growled with a pointed squeeze. Sighing Bennett glanced at Cynthia, asking with his gaze how much her father knew. She must have got the message because she glided over to them, prying her father's attention away from him and back to her.
“Papa, he works for the same company I do.” That seemed to startle the man because his hand went slack and fell to his side. Glancing pointedly at his daughter Bennett watched from the corner of his eye as Cynthia nodded, and then as Tesla relaxed and tensed at the same time.
“That’s a relief. For a moment there I thought you were going to do something stupid like marrying the poor man.” He grinned wolfishly at Cynthia’s outraged expression and then burst into deep, body-shaking laughter. Once the shaking had subsided, but the twinkle remained in his eyes, he jovially continued to speak.
“Come now darling. You know I’m only being honest. There are less than five men living in this present that you wouldn’t eat alive, and I’m one of them.” Shoulders slumping Cynthia sighed and rolled her eyes, passing Bennett as she threw herself with a childish huff and pout onto one of the overstuffed chairs.
“So, why’d you bring him here.”
“We got... Caught up in something, and this was the best place in a pinch I could think of to hang low.” Bennett thought it was best not to mention that they could have gone to his place. It was nice to see that Cynthia had a life outside of their work. For a long time, he wondered if she had a place to call home at all. Her father explained much about her reaction to the dull and mundane. Her life must have been brimming with excitement, even outside of time traveling. What’s more, Tesla seemed to have knowledge of why she disappeared, and even better seemed to understand and love her regardless. Bennett couldn’t help the ribbon of envy that curled through him at the realization. The envy was gone as soon as it had come. Although she had a father, Bennett knew she could never live a normal life, much like him. The only difference was, in her present, it was impossible to be gone for long periods of time with the expectations of the day, even for more modern men. It was hard enough in his present for people to accept his long absences with excuses of travel and work, in her time it wasn’t possible to use such excuses.
“Well, I’ll make the spare room up for you.” Nickola turned and smiled tightly at Bennett, then called for the maid, a mousy-haired woman with splotchy skin squeezed through a door on the far right. She bent at the knee slightly then led Bennett away. Before he exited the room completely Cynthia’s voice halted him.
“We’ll finish talking at breakfast if you’re up for it.” Nodding Bennett let the door close behind him just as Tesla began talking, a glass of what looked like whiskey held in his right hand. When he was alone for the first time in what felt like an age Bennett sunk heavily onto the bed, resting his head between his hands. He felt sick, insides twisted with sadness, guilt, and disgust for himself and his master. Why had he set himself up for the life he’d already lived, full of abuse and isolation? Bennett knew logically that he’d already done it, would do it, and should do it so that the timeline wouldn’t shred itself apart, or have two versions of him running around the time stream. Still, emotionally he wondered how someone could tell their parents to abandon them. What kind of man was he that he could condemn a child—even himself—to such a life? He wondered dully if this meant he was just as sick and twisted as the man he called master was. Shoulders slumping, he tiredly shook his head, gulping down the tears that clogged in his throat. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of weakness, even when alone. Bennett didn’t feel he deserved that, not after what he’d just done. The look on his mother's face, so proud and heartbroken, swam before him, teetering his control. Reaching down he shucked off his boots caked with one dried layer of mud after the other. Just as he rose to slip out of his equally muddy trench coat the door creaked open, Cynthia’s
sharp face appearing in the empty space.
“I thought we were going to talk in the morning.” He croaked, wincing inwardly at the haze of grief that lingered on each word. Cynthia took one look at him and pushed the door fully open, gliding determinedly to his side.
“It’s okay to grieve Bennett.” When he didn’t meet her eyes, instead staring at the uneven shelves on the far wall, he felt rather than saw her delicate hands as they tilted his chin down and to the side, directly in the line of her earnest and penetrating gaze.
“Bennett.” Sighing he raised his head to stare up at the ceiling before gazing down at her again, rueful and so very tired.
“Logically I know it's not my fault, that it had to be done.” Pausing he shook his head, rubbing at the base of his skull. “Emotionally, however...” Twisting he took a step towards the bed, turned and collapsed into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. Dropping his head he rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes, letting out another heavy sigh as he collapsed backwards, legs from below his knees dangling loosely, but still lightly touching the plank floor. Slitting his eyes open he watched Cynthia give her lip a violent tug and then sighed, face bleeding with exhaustion. Quietly she walked towards door pausing before she crossed the threshold into the rest of the house.
“Sweet Dreams.” And then Cynthia was gone. Bennett didn’t remember stripping down to his boxers, crawling into the fresh sheets or falling asleep. The next thing he knew was the trail of sunlight in his eyes spilling from the sliver between the gauzy curtains. Groaning, his voice nothing but deep gravel, he crawled to hiss feet and stretched, groaning at the pleasant feeling it brought.
~~~
Walking into the dining room, Bennett allowed himself a small sigh of relief when he noticed Cynthia’s absence. Ever since he’d convinced his parents they had to abandon him, his relationship Cynthia’s had become strange. He wanted things back to normal; he for craved it. What he wished, however, didn’t make him want to confront Cynthia about their odd dynamic anymore than he already did. Bennett hoped with avoidance the problem would go away. The small voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like the young woman, who he now knew to be his mother, reminded him that avoidance would only make things worse in cases like these. She wasn’t a drug problem or an addiction he could detox from.
