Short story I recently wrote. It’s in extremely rough draft mode. I haven’t even begun editing it. So, comments, critiques and sugar cookies are all welcome.
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(pocket watch from folksy.com)
The Time Travelerâs Assistant
JCD Kerwin
It was a Thursday afternoon. I was at Ye Olde Ale House, celebrating my first legal drinkâŠalone.
I was used to being alone, sure, but at that particular moment I couldnât suppress a feeling of loneliness. It hadnât been a very exciting birthday. I spent the day at work, answering the phone and arranging meetings for this onerous bank executive, and then went right to the bar. I hadnât seen my friends, but then again, I didnât really have any friends. My mother had sent me a âthinking of youâ card three weeks ago with a scrawled âhappy birthday, sonâ inside. She was always far too drunk to ever know what was going on in my life. (Donât ask about my father; Iâve never met him.)
So, I was most surprised, but also rather delighted, when a horse clopped in. The thingâthe horse, I meanâcame right up to me, its giant head inches from my left shoulder. I donât remember having much of a reaction other than staring at the beast from the corner of my eye. The beer glass was in mid-flight to my lips.
And then the voice: the most fantastic, assuring voice I had ever heard. âStop! Don, stop! Come back at once!â ordered the male voice. It rolled with a hint of what Iâm sure good brandy sounds like, and lingered in my ears like the aftershock of fireworks.
âWell, I am just so very sorry,â the man connected to the voice apologized. He pulled the horse back by its reigns. He raised a hand at the horrified bartender and manager, âYes, I know, Iâm very sorry. I suppose this is considered a health hazard, yes?â He sighed and turned to me, âI do hope he hasnât caused you too much distress.â
I put down my glass, shook my head.
The man (who I guessed to be no more than 40, if a day) wore a pair of tan khakis, Oxford button-down with a red vest overlay, and a rather tattered-looking gray fedora. Coupled with his voice, he looked like something out of a Conan Doyle novel.
âNo, not at all,â I said as he began to lead his horse away. I nodded to the equine, âQuite a handsome specimen.â
âOh the bruteâs all right when he likes to be.â The horse snorted.
âI guess so,â I tried, fighting for the words.
âYup.â My visitor was rightly distracted. âWell, take care.â He turned to the employees, âReal sorry. Again. Caio.â
He tipped his hat before leading the horse away. The manager erupted in an incoherent cacophony of commands and curses. Iâm not entirely sure why, but suddenly I slapped down a twenty and hurried out the door.
It was chilly but at least the sun was out. I glanced around. Itâs not as if a horse was inconspicuous. Then, I spotted the swish of a tail disappear around a corner.
I skidded into the alley, calling, âHey! Hey, wait!â
The man tilted his head. âEh?â
I shifted my weight. âUm, well, whatâs with the horse, anyway?â
He turned to face me and smiled. âDon? Oh, heâs my travel companion. Handy for a sidekick, you know. No one really bothers you if youâve a horse and all that.â
âTravel companion?â I looked at the beast. âDon?â
âDon Quixote, actually.â
The horse snorted and wagged its monstrous head. The man patted it gently and nodded.
I scratched my own, tiny head. âWhereâd you come from?â
The man raised an eyebrow. âRather curious for a stranger, arenât you?â
âSorry. Iâm James. James Paxton.â I stuck out my hand and he eagerly shook the life out of it.
âWell, olâ Jim boy, itâs great to meet you. Iâm Gregory Larrabee.â
âUh, yeah. Hi.â I examined my lifeless hand.
Mr. Larrabee remained for a moment then saluted again. âWell, itâs been a pleasure. See you.â
He spun on his heel and gave a low whistle. Don Quixote clopped after.
âHey, wait!â I tried.
Iâm not sure why I was so interested in the guy, but he was damn interesting. Maybe it was the horse I was really curious about. Whatever the reason, if not for my curiosity, I would have never been introduced to the extraordinary world of Mr. Gregory Larrabee.
Gregory looked over his shoulder. âAh? What is it then?â
I glanced at the dirty papers on the ground. âUh, well, want to get a drink?â His facial expression quickly caused me to follow with, âI mean, Iâm just wondering about your horse. Iâve bet on races before and all.â
He looked at the overcast sky and then shook his arm so an oversized wristwatch slid into view. He frowned. âIâm afraid not. Iâm in a bit of a hurry.â
âOh, yeah, never mind. Some other time, I guess.â
âIâm sorry to say there wonât be a next time,â he mumbled, then smiled, âPleasure meeting you. Take care.â
I mulled over the words as he wandered farther down the alley. He rounded another corner. I wondered where he was even going by taking the alleyway. Maybe he was lost. I was about to turn away, but as soon as Don Quixote, too, dropped out of sight, I followed.
I peeked around the corner. Mr. Larrabee and his horse had stopped in front of a garbage dumpster. He was poking around the bin for something. I wondered if he was just a homeless guyâŠ.a very articulate homeless guyâŠwho owned a horse.
He pulled what looked to be a wide, long belt from the rubbish. Various wires and electronic doo-dads dangled from the piece. He wrapped it around Don and fastened it. He did the same with an identical belt he then pulled from the garbage. I had no idea what it was all about. Perhaps it was a new sort of harness.
âSort of rushing this time, old friend,â Gregory muttered to his equine companion. The animal stomped its foot.
âIt hasnât worked again,â he said, pulling a brown vest from the trash bin. It, too, was covered in the same sorts of gadgets. He looked at the horse, âI keep failing, Don.â
He stared at the straps and then cleared his throat. âWell, no matter. Letâs be off.â
He pulled at his sleeve and the large watch slid into view. He poked around at it and suddenly lights and wires on his vest and Don Quixoteâs belts began to glow. He replaced his fedora with a leather aviatorâs hat atop his head and tossed the prior.
The wind picked up and I jumped. Papers swirled in the alley. Mr. Larrabee hopped atop his mount and the wires across them both began changing colors.
âWhatâs going on?â I demanded, emerging from my hiding place.
Both mammalsâseemingly with the same shocked, horrified expressionâturned their heads to me.
âWhat are you doing?â Gregory exclaimed.
âThatâs what Iâd like to know.â I approached for a better look at the electronics and leather.
âYou must get out of here!â
I straightened. âWell, youâre being rude. I mean, yeah, Iâm the asshole for sneaking around, but still. You shouldnât orderââ
âYou must get out of here at once!â
âWhy? What are those things?â I reached to tough one of the straps, but Gregory slapped away my hand. He caught a glance of his watch.
âItâs too late!â He gasped. He suddenly grabbed me by the collar and pulled me half on the horse. âCome here! Hold on tight to my vestâhere!â
âWait, whatââ
In a rush, he slapped my hand onto Donâs strap and the other on his vest. Wind rushed like a hurricane around us, screaming in my ears, and, quite alarmingly, my insides dropped and rose again.
Then, I heard birds singing and felt waterâno, soft rainâon my face. I realized I had shut my eyes at some point and so slowly opened them. The alley, the city, was gone. We were in a well-manicured field. An orchard of some sort was to our left.
âOh, get off, you twit!â My stranger-friend ordered, giving me a hard shove.
I fell onto soft grass and blinked.
âWhatâŠIâŠwhereâŠâ I stumbled over the thoughts.
âYou fool,â he snapped and then examined his horse. Don Quixote seemed uneasy on his feet. Mr. Larrabee turned to me, âYouâve gone and made him ill.â
âHowâd I do that?â I glanced around at the expansive grounds. A large house sat in the distance. âWhere amââ
âBecause youâve strained the machine! Itâs not meant for more than 1500 pounds. Weâve been able to travel quite comfortably but your added blockheaded weight has severely strained the calibrations. The temporal flux has pulled on Don much too severely.â He jammed his finger in my face, âThanks to your imbecilic meddling.â
âDid you say travel? Temp what?â I stopped and suddenly wretched. I vomited onto the verdant, plush green and held my head. It throbbed.
âThat very well serves you right,â Gregory Larrabee chided.
I didnât notice the three men approach us. One led Don Quixote away.
âDo check his vitals. Heâs been knocked a bit this time,â Gregory called after.
âAnother successful trip, sir,â another man remarked, accepting the vest, hat, and gloves from Larrabee.
âDoes it look like a success?â The master of the house snapped. He looked indicatively around, then pointed at me. âDoes he look like a success?â He snorted and then spun on his heel.
The subordinate hurried after him and I was pulled to my feet.
âDonât worry about Sir. Heâs most upset from traveling so often,â the servant helping me walk said. âIâm sure you must be very interesting for Sir to have taken you along.â
âHuh? He didnât really take me along, I guessâŠâ
âHmm. Well, no matter,â he said. âWelcome to Briar Ridge.â
I marveled at the white-painted mansion in front of me. Vines grew around columns; tall glass windows opened to the cool, rainy breeze; exotic flowers dotted window boxes. I gulped bile and spit, and tried not to look overtly nervous.
An odd-looking car sat in front, in the misting rain. Iâd never seen such an automobile. Through the slightly tinted window, I noticed a large dashboard with a series of buttons and knobs scattered about. There was no steering wheel. Iâm also fairly certain the machine had only three wheels; its front slightly larger than the back.
âIâll have to adjust the mass capacitor,â Gregory Larrabee was saying when I stepped into the large hall. I could see my reflection in the hardwood floors.
Two manservants scurried away. I watched a maid (maybe?) click her way past me with a large, potted plant. It was full of similar exotic-looking flowers as the window boxes. Gregory had been whispering furiously with the remaining assistant. He suddenly smacked his heels together and stood up straight, arms at his sides.
âOh, Jim,â he called, âcome with me, please.â
He spun back around. His steps echoed. I cleared my throat and followed.
We passed through a heavy door and into a long stairwell. Once descended into the large basement, my host pushed a button near a stack of firewood. A door swung open in the concrete wall. Gregory nodded and went through.
I weighed my options. I could try to escape, but I had no idea where I was. Whether I could get to the point of trying to figure out where I was proved debatable in any case. Maybe Mr. Larrabee had bloodhounds to chase down escapees. Maybe his âassistantsâ were sharp shooters.
Or, I could follow the strange man into a dungeon, possibly to never return.
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.
âDo pick up your feet, olâ boy,â Gregory Larrabee said, poking his head back into the light.
I twisted my mouth around but decided to tag after him into another, danker and darker stairwell.
âYou mustâve figured things out by now,â Gregory posed, skipping a few steps and then waiting for me to catch up.
âWhat?â
He stopped and stood straight. âMy dear boy, that I am a time traveler.â
Iâd been postulating the possibility, but the logical part of my brain refused to accept the idea.
âThereâs no such thing,â I tried, though all evidence pointed to the contrary.
He gave me a quick, incredulous look and then opened the door at the bottom of the stairs with a skeleton key.
âWelcome to my laboratory,â he greeted, pushing the door open and waiting for me to pass through.
The room was vast. I could not comprehend how big, exactly, it was; it seemed to spread farther out than the house sitting atop it. A large, metal table sat to my left, covered with various models of computers and wires rushing with electricity. Various machines with blinking lights and spinning gears dotted the area, and several very large bookcases crammed with tomes sat to my right. Stairs led up and down rafters leading to other mysterious places.
In the center of the room sat a large, circular metal platform, surrounded by railings. Cords and wires ran from it to various machines. I spotted a table with what looked to be more of the odd belts I spotted on Don Quixote. These, however, were devoid of the same bright lights.
I slowly turned my head. âWhere am I? And what the hell is going on? And whoââ
âAm I?â Gregory inserted with a tilt of his head. He shut the door and stepped down into the laboratory main floor. âIâve told you. Iâm a time traveler.â
I took in my surroundings and stumbled down the metal stairs after him. My head throbbed.
âItâs not very hard once you learn the knack of it,â he said. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, âTime travel, that is.â
I stopped short at a large table covered in beakers full of strange liquids. I picked up a notepad scribbled with diagrams and numbers. He quickly pulled it away with a smile.
I held up my hands. âAlright. Where the hell am I?â
âYouâre at my home, specifically in my laboratory,â he answered, donning a white lab coat. âThough, I suppose what youâd really like to know is when are you.â
I didnât argue the phrasing. I waited for the follow-up.
âItâs 2030,â he answered.
I leaned forward. âCome again?â
â2030, Jim Boy.â He picked up a small, square remote control-like device and hit a button. A newspaper page projected onto the table. âSee? April 27, 2030.â
I gawked at the device, then the date, then between the two, deciding which was most impressive. I settled on the date. âI donât believe this,â I declared. I looked around. âI need to sit down.â
Gregory pushed papers off a paint-covered chair and pulled it toward me. I eagerly accepted. âHere, here. Pull yourself together. Youâre still feeling the after effects of your first jump.â
I held my head in my hands. âIf thatâs true, then just bring me back, okay?â I mumbled.
âI canât do that, Jim.â
I shot him a look.
âWell,â he started, shoving his hands in his pockets, âin theory, I canâŠâ
I tilted my head. âHuh?â
âTemporal paradox, you see,â he offered, as if I knew exactly what that meant. He quickly added, âItâs quite difficult to guarantee the time you return to is still on this plane.â
When he didnât clarify, I demanded, âWhat are you talking about? Just strap me into one of those vest things and launch me back!â
Gergory Larrabee chuckled to himself. There was a sudden condescending air about him. It made me bristle.
âJim Boy, it isnât that easy,â he explained. He pulled a yellowed piece of paper close and began drawing. âYou see, here we are right now,â he said, drawing a line and placing a dot on it. âThis is our time plane and I picked you up in the pastâhere.â He made another dot farther down the line. He then drew a series of parallel lines on either side of the first. âThis is where it gets tricky. There are other time planes, other âdimensions,â so to speak. Sometimes you can affect these other, parallel, time planes by altering your own.â
I raised my eyesâslowlyâfrom the paper to him. I let my expression do the talking. He seemed to understand my confusion and tried again.
âSo, Iâve picked you up in the past, eh? Well, that may have triggered the future on this plane so much that a parallel plane has become your time line. That plane, in turn, may have been altered to compensate, and so on.â He drew crisscrossing lines here and there, connected parallel ones. âThe more you change the past, the more you change each plane and the whole space-time continuum is altered forever.â
He dropped the pencil and frowned. âIâve, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.â
I let the last comment slide. I was, at that moment, more concerned with myself and the fat, lazy goldfish I left in 2014.
âYouâre saying the âmeâ in this world might not even exist?â
Gregory grinned wildly. âQuite a thought, isnât it?â
I looked at the paper. Then the horrifying realization dug a pit in my stomach and sat comfortably inside. âYou mean,â I swallowed, âI might be stuck here?â
âSorry, olâ boy.â Was his response. He slapped me on the shoulder.
âWhyâd you take me along?!â
âWell, it was either that or let you be ripped apart in a most gruesome death.â
I felt sick and dizzy. Again.
*Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *
I woke to the setting sun streaming through an open bay window. It flooded the large, excessively decorated room I was in. Trinkets and accoutrements littered every available spot in the place. They ranged from gadgets from lost centuries, to whirring devices I had not yet seen in my day. Seven clocks of varying size and design sat on the far wall, ticking in unison. The large, mahogany fireplace was dark. It was much too warm for a fire.
Small yard birds fluttered cautiously about the overflowing plant boxes on the balcony. The breeze made me question the reality of the situation, and so I slapped myself. I quickly regretted it.
I rubbed my cheek and slid off the four-post bed. My shoes were gone. I crossed to the open door and into the hall.
It was scattered with just about as much stuff as the room. Paintings also dotted the corridor walls. I tiptoed down the staircase and debated my next move.
As I was scratching my head (which felt infinitely better), a woman dressed in a conservative black dress came toward me. She carried one of those exotic plants with the magenta flowers.
âOh, youâre awake,â she said. âYou must be hungry.â
âA little.â
âHead on into the dining roomâjust that way. Itâs almost supper time,â she explained, pointing to our right. âMaster Larrabee will be along shortly.â
She didnât give me time to ask about my shoes and scuffed away. I made off in the opposite direction, to the dining room.
âUh, hello?â I called, pushing open one of the large doors.
A long, 14-seat able was the main attraction. Floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn and an opulent chandelier hung from the ceiling.
I spotted table settings at the far end. I might as well sit, I supposed.
The patting sound of my bare feet seemed to echo. I picked up a fork and raised an eyebrow at the many dining utensils at the place setting. I sat. And waited.
I jumped at the parade of peopleâhouse hands, I guessedâsuddenly coming into the room. They carried serving dishes and when they placed the food in front of me, smiled and retreated.
âUm, wait,â I tried, catching one by the sleeve.
âSomething wrong?â she asked sweetly.
âUh, no. Well, where is Gregory? And I donât know where my shoesââ
âOh, Master Larrabee will be along shortly. Heâs been in his lab all day,â she said, whispering the last part.
She hurried away before I could reiterate the problem of my missing sneakers.
I gazed at the platters and my mouth watered. I must have waited a grand 45 seconds before my patience wore out. I reached for the spoon in the roasted potatoes.
A tremendous âBOOMâ erupted through the place. Iâm sure it even rattled the walls; the chandelier certainly appeared to move. I dropped the spoon (more like flung it in fright) and froze.
âThat damn contraption! Worthless!â Gregory Larrabeeâs voice echoed through the halls. âDo good to remind me to get an engine motor that isnât 30 years old, will you?â
He appeared in the doorway, a manservant nodding furiously. He looked just about as worried as me.
Larrabee wore his lab coat, which was covered in dust and grime. He pushed a pair of old, polarized goggles atop his head. His face was covered in dirt, except the places where his eyes had been covered.
He stomped his way to the chair by me, at the head of the table. He dropped into the seat, slapping his hands on the arm rests. He continued to grumble until he noticed me. He shot forward with a grin.
âAh! Youâre awake finally! How do you feel? Youâve been sleeping for hours!â
âIâm okay, I guess.â
âWell,â he began immediately. Iâm not sure he was paying much attention to me. âI guess thatâs not fair to say. I mean, I barely sleep anymore, so perhaps you really havenât slept that long at all,â he mused aloud.
He stabbed a hunk of ham and wiggled it onto his plate.
âUh,â I started, âI seem to have lost my shoes.â
He held up his wine to the light and mumbled, âWell this doesnât look particularly clean.â He switched hands and gazed at his palm. He smiled. âOh, wait. It seems Iâve just gone and made it filthy.â He turned to me, âHas the realityâliterally speakingâof your situation sunk in yet?â
I looked at my plate and shrugged. âI donât know if I believe you.â
Gregory let out a long laugh. âWhat? After all youâve been through? Youâre quite the skeptic, olâ boy.â
âI know,â I muttered, watching him grab a roll. âItâs hard to believe somehow everything about my pastâeven myselfâis completely different.â
My dinner companion leaned back in his chair. âYes, Iâd imagine that would be difficult to understand.â
I spun a spoon around on the tablecloth. âThereâs seriously no way I can go back?â
âQuite seriously. You could go back, but nothing would be the same, of course.â
âWhy not? Just plop me back on the same day and all that.â
âIâve told you, though: I cannot guarantee I would be able to âplop youâ onto your right timeline.â He tore the bread and munched a piece.
I stared at my plate. Finally, I offered, âWould that really be so bad?â
Gregory stopped, mid-chew, and eyed me. âIf youâre okay with the possibility of people and things being grossly different than you remember. Not to mention perhaps running into the âyouâ there.â He sipped wine.
I didnât lift my eyes. I started to feel angry at him, but I tried to rationalize the situation by convincing myself he was right: Iâd be dead if he hadnât taken me.
He noticed my look. âOh, come off it,â he said, patting me on the back. âItâs not all bad. Youâll stay here. Iâm sure youâll like this age.â
I tried to return his smile. He followed, âYou can help me with these god-forsaken contraptions everyoneâs asking for.â
âContraptions?â
âFor instance, the piece of rubbish in the lab right now,â he answered, pointing to the door with his knife. âThe state museum asked me to build an automated framing device. Itâs useless without a powerful enough engine to power the bloody thing.â
âYouâre an inventor?â
âEh? Yes, I suppose you could say that.â He looked at my plate and then dropped two heaping spoonfulls of roasted potatoes onto it. âWould you eat something already? I havenât had visitors in ages. The least you could do is pretend to enjoy my company.â He finished with a grin: an indication that he was just pulling my chain.
I grabbed a roll. âOkay, but would you tell me where the hell my shoes are?â
âWhatâs the matter?â
âMy shoes. Sneakers. Theyâre gone,â I explained.
He blinked. âIâve no idea. But it doesnât matter; weâll get you new shoes.â
I straightened but didnât protest. It didnât altogether surprise me.
*Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *
Two months later, I was wearing my own pair of polarized goggles and welding an antenna onto the roof of City Hall. The thing was meant not only to relay radio signals, but also to provide solar electricity to the needy city officials inside.
âAlright then, Jim Boy?â Gregory Larrabee called from the ladder.
He had told everyone I was his nephew who had just returned from stowing away with the French Foreign Legion, and now had been taken under his scientific wing. A fantastic yarn, really. Sometimes Iâd get overzealous and Gregory would have to nudge my side or stomp on my foot when Iâd romanticize about my secret life in exotic places, tracking down corrupt shahs and cruel warlords.
I had the most terrific time, once, at a charity banquet at the state museum. I wowed the eligible young ladies with my tale of sword-fighting a powerful sheik, even going so far as pulling a sabre from a display case and showing off my (non-existent) fencing abilities.
My professor was most amused, but put a stop to my antics once the mayor arrived.
âWe have to go to Ms. Pedagrooâs place after this,â Gregory shouted over the welder.
I finished securely fastening the radio-electric rod in place and flipped my goggles atop my head. âHuh? Whyâve we got to go there?â
âHer menagerie needs oiling.â
He offered no further explanation, picked up some tools, and descended the ladder.
Mrs. Pedagrooâs home was a small cottage, covered in vines and with a homey smoke trail floating from a crumbling chimney.
Gregory whistled his way through the small wooden gate and up the pebbled walk. He glanced at me over his shoulderâprobably to make sure I hadnât forgotten or dropped any supplies. I frowned. The stuff was heavy. I readjusted the bag about my shoulder.
My companion lifted the small, iron door knocker and let it fall back. Almost immediately, we were greeted by a small old woman with silver hair and sea-glass eyes. She had the most warming smile on her face. I would not have protested if she hugged me and tried to rub dirt off my cheek with a spit hanky.
âOh, Gregory,â she said warmly, âwhat a nice surprise!â She held the door open farther. âCome in, please.â
âAnd good afternoon, Lucinda,â he responded.
We both followed her into a crowded, yet cozy living room. A large, worn-in armchair sat beneath a sunny window. An unfinished crocheted piece of something sat on an arm. A cup of tea steamed from a side table.
âCan I get you something? A cup of tea?â she asked, puttering into the yellow and blue kitchen, and then back again.
âNo, weâre fine,â Gregory politely refused. âYou mentioned you were having trouble withââ
âOh!â She gave a little squeak. She stood up straight (as much as she could), and lifted her glasses from their comfortable spot, resting from a blue jeweled chain around her neck. She peered at me through the thick glass. âGregory, youâve brought a friend!â
The inventor smacked his forehead. âIâm terribly sorry! Forgive me. This is James Paxton,â he said, holding a hand toward me. âHeâs my nephew. Been helping me out lately.â
I pulled the strap up my aching shoulder. I took her outstretched hand. It was soft and wrinkly, and very small. âMaâam,â I said with a smile.
âOh, what a charming dear,â she said to Gregory. She turned back to me. âIt must be my lucky day to have two handsome, young members of the Larrabee family in my home.â
I spotted Gregory roll his eyes to the ceiling. He smirked.
âSo, about your collection,â he interjected.
She threw up her tiny hands and gasped. âYes!â She led us through the kitchen, to the back door. âSomething is terribly wrong with the peacock. Iâve done just as youâve said, though.â She unlatched the door and a tabby cat ran past us. âIâve kept it nicely oiled. I donât know whatâs happened.â
The little cottageâs garden was almost as crowded as inside. Iron lawn chairs with rusted, chipped white paint sat on a tiny patio. Various garden accoutrements scattered the lawn. Colorful pinwheels and whirly-gigs danced in the breeze. A variety of birds sat perched around; two, large toucans sat on a branch just over my head.
I leaned in for a better look at an egret standing at my side. Something wasnât quite right. Its feathers were not feathers at all, but intricately layered pieces of white metal. Its eyes were marbles. I glanced around; all the birds appeared the same.
âThese arenât real at all!â I exclaimed, poking the egret.
Mrs. Pedagroo had gotten onto all-fours and had her head in a bush. Gregory spun toward me.
âWell of course not. Do you suppose this is the appropriate climate for a peacock, scarlet ibis, or a quetzal?â He gestured to several colorful avian mimics.
One of the toucans squawked. I stood up and went to touch it.
âDonât touch them,â Gregory scolded. I snapped my hand away.
âDid you make these?â
âOf course I did,â he replied, matter-of-factly.
âIâve found the poor thing,â our host declared, trying desperately to right herself. I (thankfully) dropped the bag of tricks and we both rushed to her aid. âBless you both,â she said when she was standing. She pointed to the brush. âItâs in there.â
Gregory nodded at me. âBe a good lad and fetch it out.â
âFetch what out?â
But he was already leading Mrs. Pedagroo to a chair.
I grumbled something but reluctantly dropped to my hands and knees. It took me a moment to get the twigs and leaves out of my vision, but I spotted it. A large, round ball covered in the same metallic âfeathersâ sat in the dirt. Long coiled wires extended out at least three feet. Jewels and metal completed these exquisitely crafted tail feathers.
âUm, heyâŠbirdâŠyou okay?â I tried.
I was answered with high-pitched twitter. The âpeacockâ lifted its copper head and the thin, metal eyelid slowly open and closed. It opened its mouth again, but then froze. Its head twitched and a dull ticking rolled from the slack beak. It returned to normal after a few seconds.
I sighed and grabbed at it. It luckily didnât peck at me or exhibit any sign of protest. It was, however, quite heavy.
After being jabbed in the side and eye by a twig, and scrapped by thorns, I emerged with the bird contraption. Gregory was entertaining Mrs. Pedagroo with a story. I dropped my shoulder.
âUh, hello?â I announced.
Gregory snapped his fingers. He lifted the tool bag and rushed toward me. The peacockâs long, wiry tail feathers smacked me in the face.
âHere, put it down here,â he ordered. I obeyed. The bird wobbled and looked around. It squawk-ticked and fell forward.
âLooks like a short. Easy to fix, not to worry.â
Gregory dropped to his knees and hunted around the deep canvas. He pulled out a screwdriver of some sort. (There were far too many jagged, misshapen tips coming off it.)
âEasy to fix,â he repeated, twisting off the star-imprinted screws on a panel atop the birdâs head.
Gregory fiddled with the various wires inside the panel. Eventually he let out a âta-da!â and snapped the cover back on. He screwed it back in place and wiped his hands on his pants.
âGood as new!â
The bird presently stood. It cocked its head to one side and then called. Mrs. Pedagroo clapped with delight. The peacock moseyed farther into the garden.
âOh, you are a live doll, you are!â She complimented. âThank you very much. Now, about that tea?â
âReallyâŠâ Gregory began to protest.
Mrs. Pedagroo was already on her way inside. âI wonât take no for an answer!â
We often traveled around the county, fixing other contraptions for people, much the same as Mrs. Pedagroo. I even accompanied Larrabee to an inventorâs convention where he gave a talk on time travel. He was met with stark criticism. We left: Gregory a fuming, grumbling mess of a man, and me trailing after, arms full of various papers and gadgets Gregory had picked up.
In the beginning, I wondered if I really was stuck with him. I began to accept the fact, however, after several months. I didnât so much as mind him as I minded being stuck in his time. (In fact, we had developed quite a rapport and sometimes I really did wonder if I was his long, lost nephew.) I couldnât help but miss âmyâ home.
I was very much appreciative that he had taken me in and let me become a sort of assistant. (Though, he was partially to blame for me being there to begin with. So I believe he also felt it was his responsibility to treat me as a guest. Just the same that I felt it was necessary I try to make myself useful.)
Heâd attempted two âtripsâ (as he called them), while I was around. I had not been allowed into his laboratory when he did so. He gave explicit instructions to one of the house hands that I not be allowed in. I most certainly was irritated. Up until that point, I had done nothing short of exactly what he told me to do, with hardly any complaining. Yet, he locked me out? I was most insulted.
But then he asked for my assistance. We sat on the veranda one warm evening, sipping shandies. The sun was setting behind the clouds. Don Quixote was plotting around the large yard. Every once in a while, he would come over to see what we were up to, and to nibble at my hair.
âJim, olâ pal,â Gregory began, without turning from the orange-red sky. âIâve run into a bit of a problem. I need your help.â
I raised my eyebrows. âAbout?â
He finally turned to me. âIâve made some adjustments to the machineâŠbut these adjustments also cause a problem.â
âWhat adjustments?â I hated that he was never direct.
âWell, Iâve discovered a way to travel back in time and control when I want to return. Remember I had set the machine to an automatic timer, yes?â He lifted a hand off the table linen. I nodded. âIâve figured out that itâs a simple as a button.â He snapped a silver box lighter open and lit a cigarette. He continued to play with the lid. âIâve simply placed controls on the same electronic frequency.â
I waited for him to say something else. When he didnât, I shrugged and adjusted my position in the chair.
âOkay, that sounds great,â I offered.
He exhaled toward the sunset. âBut the buttonâŠâ he began. âThat is the problem.â I again waited for the follow-up. He looked at me deliberately. âThe button has to be pushed from this end.â
I quickly figured out where the conversation was headed. I must admit, I could barely hide my interest. âSo,â I started, licking my bottom lip, âyou need someone in the lab?â
He nodded. âRight. Once the button on the machineâs end is switched, it sends a signal to this end. When that happens, this button needs to be hit accordingly.â
âI see.â I desperately tried to hide my excitement. âHowâd you figure this out?â
He stabbed the dying cigarette into the ceramic, turquoise ashtray. âOh, I put the machine on the automatic setting, but because of my recalibrations, I can see when it sends the signal.â
âI thought the point was to put it on manual?â
He tilted his head. âThe last I checked, a melon did not have any thumbs. I suppose itâd be quite futile to set it to manual when an inanimate object is involved.â
I looked at the table, embarrassed. I cleared my throat. âSo, you want me to be on this end when youâre actually the one going, not the melon?â
âQuite so. Iâd be most appreciative.â
âWhy havenât you done this before?â I finished off my spiked lemonade.
âThe thought did occur to me, yes. But I never had an assistant before!â
I chuckled. âYou could just have one of the maids help you.â
He sprang forward. âAnd risk them ruining the whole lot of it?â He sat back. âYou jest. I wouldnât trust any of them to work an egg timer.â
I was briefly touched that Gregory trusted me that much. But then again, the grandiose responsibility merely involved pushing a button.
âIâve a trip planned for tomorrow. Iâll call on you when itâs time.â He slapped his hands on the arms of the chair before leaving, rather hurriedly.
Gregory Larrabeeâs idea of âcalling on meâ the next morning was by flinging a pillow directly into my face.
I shot up in bed and surveyed the danger. I rubbed my nose.
âOh splendid, youâre up!â he declared innocently.
âHey!â I glanced at the maroon pillow and pointed at it. âDid you just throw that at me?â
He waved a hand. âHardly the point.â He spun on his heel and called over his shoulder, âWell, come on, we havenât got all day.â
I wanted to throw the pillow back at him. Instead, I grumbled as I ripped back the blankets. I planted my feet on the rug and grabbed for my house robe.
âCan I at least go to the bathroom? Brush my teeth?â I didnât let him answer. I was already crossing to the washroom connecting to my room.
Gregory frowned, but said nothing.
âWhatâs so important, anyway? Where on earth do you go?â I mumbled.
âTo the past,â he responded. He passed through the door. âIâll be waiting in the lab.â
He was adjusting the straps of the vest when I walked down the labâs stairs. I spotted a two-foot-long rectangular portable control box on the table by him.
âI was beginning to think youâd occupied yourself with something more deserving of your interest.â He scowled. I didnât respond.
Gregory held out the control box to me. âHere it is,â he said. âItâs an extremely primitive version. Itâll be much smaller and cordless one day.â With my eyes, I followed the wires from the box to a tall machine closeby. It looked like a computer from the 1960s.
âIs this all?â I flipped the box upside-down. Gregory nearly had a heart-attack.
âCareful!â he warned, lunging to catch the machine should I drop it. I held it steady and he tugged at his vest. âAnd, yes, as a matter of fact, this is all.â
âNot much to it, huh?â I inquired, squinting at the knobs. The entire mechanism only had two knobs, a small lever, and a very long antenna.
âMock all youâd like. Itâs an incredible advance in the realm of time travel.â He turned to the larger, standing machine (covered in infinitely more levers, knobs, lights and panels). âThis, here,â he said, pointing to a light bulb protruding from the metal, âwill alight and a most excruciatingly annoying sound will erupt when the buttonâhereâon my end is pushed, indicating Iâm quite ready for you to pull that leverâthere.â He pointed to the individual components, respectively.
It seemed simple enough. Then I made a realization. âWait a minute,â I started, as he fiddled with some buttons. The machine whirred and clanked to life. He made his way to the large, metal platform. I followed. âYou mean Iâve got to sit here at just wait?â
He smacked his heels together and stood, arms to his sides. âYes, obviously,â he affirmed. He raised a hand toward the horse. âRight, Don, letâs be off.â
Don clomped his way over the small ledge, onto the platform. He didnât seem overly excited to go. I wondered if we could trade places. Gregory hopped aboard his mount. He looked down toward me.
âRight then, best stand back,â he said, slapping his goggles over his eyes. âAnd watch for my return call, will you?â
I saluted and returned to my spot by the table.
âSee you then,â he said and pushed a button.
Electric blue jolts shot up from the platform. The wind picked up. It was the same reaction as my time travel experience. I did my best to shield my eyes. Suddenly, with a loud âzapâ-like noise, they were gone.
Some loose papers floated back to the ground. I cautiously approached the platform. There wasnât a trace of them.
âHumph,â I snorted. I turned on my heel and plopped onto a stool.
I was most jealous that Gregory had never invited me along on any of his trips. He was very secretive about them. I wondered where he went all the time.
I moved around some papers. When I tired of that, I spun around on the swivel stool. I started to get nauseous, so I quickly stopped that. I was already bored.
It only got worse, too. I puttered around Gregory Larrabeeâs lab, nosing about the papers and gadgets out of boredom and curiosity, and wandered up and down the platforms. I flipped through a couple of large, fat books on Quantum Physics, but almost immediately gave up that academia.
I was mumbling and scowling about my mentor by 8; remarking about his genius by 9; and by 9:30 I was asleep and snoring.
I was shaken from my slumber by the most obnoxious ringing sound. I fell off the stool and hit myself squarely in the back on a discarded wrench. I pulled at the paper stuck to my cheek (apparently Iâd been drooling), and scrambled to my feet. I held my hands over my ears. I spotted the light blinking.
âOh shit!â I hunted around for the control box. âWhere is it?â I demanded of no one.
I spotted it beneath some yellowed maps. I lunged for it and flicked the small lever. Nothing happened. I panicked, cursed, and grabbed at my hair.
Then I remembered the larger lever. I traced the wires to the large panel on the computer-like machine. After staring blankly for a moment, I yanked the large, silver handle. Things sparked and the rush of wind returned.
âBy God, I thought youâd forgotten about me!â Larrabeeâs voice made me re-open my eyes.
He and Don left the platform. Gregory began removing Donâs straps, then removed his own vest.
âThe thought did cross my mind,â I muttered.
âEh? Whatâs with you then?â
I changed the subject. âDid you have to make this thing have such an annoying sound?â I tapped the metal.
âLike I said, I wouldnât want you forgetting about me.â
He hung his vest and Don Quixoteâs straps over the platform railing. Don clopped across the room to a large metal door. The horse lifted a hoof and stomped on a large, square button on the floor. He whinnied and awkwardly backed away as the door opened. When the path was clear, Don moseyed up an incline and out of site. I could only assume the passage led outside.
âWell isnât that something?â I posed, looking after the horse.
âWhatâs that?â Gregory asked, hunched over a computer. He punched a few keys.
I watched him for a moment. I twisted my mouth around. âSay,â I started, moving a pair of pliers around on the table. âHow about letting me come along next time?â I braced for the answer.
Gregory paused. He glanced at me. âYou donât want to go where I go.â
It was an odd thing to say.
âWhy not?â I protested. âYou donât ever take me alongâŠâ I suddenly regretted raising the subject. I felt like a child being left with the sitter while his parents went out.
âI donât go to happy places,â he answered quickly.
âWell, okay. But canâtââ
âIt is none of your concern!â he scolded, smacking his hand against the table.
I was more surprised that the topic made him so upset than about the fact he yelled. I stood in my own shock and then declared, âFine!â I stormed away, up the stairs, out of the lab.
It was a very immature display, I can tell you that.
I sat in an iron lawn chair, scowling at the birds twittering happily in the grass. I slapped at one of the exotic magenta flowers in an opulent pot nearby. The petals sailed to the ground. I sighed.
I cared that I missed out on the Extraordinary Adventures of Gregory Larrabee and Don Quixote, sure; more, though: I cared that I was left behind. After all, Iâd left my entire world behind (not that there was much in that world). As much as Gregory made me feel welcome, I felt like an outcast. I didnât think I belonged anywhere. I thought maybe tagging along with Gregory on his trips would help ease that feeling. Or make it disappear altogether.
I mustâve fallen asleep. I woke suddenly to someone calling my name.
I looked around and jerked at the jabbing pain in my neck. Gregory Larrabee stood close by, arms to his sides, staring down at me. It was dark. The light from the hall inside spread across the concrete patio.
âWhat? What is it? Whatâs the matter?â I asked, rubbing my neck. I made a mental note to never again fall asleep in a metal chair.
He set his jaw, briefly looked at the stars. âIâd like you to accompany me,â he said.
My eyes darted left and right. âWhere?â
âA trip. I usually canât take more than one trip a month or so, but Iâm making an exception for you.â
âWhat do you mean you canât take it? Does it cause cancer or something?â
âNo,â he answered. He seemed impatient. âBut it is, in a way, quite painful.â
I blinked. âWait. Whatââ
âPlease. Iâve got it all set just now.â He sort of nodded and then started for inside.
âHey, right now?â
I hurried after him. A maid was there to offer me a cup of tea. I shook my head. I was much too distracted for a cozy cup of tea.
âNo time like the present. That is what they say,â Gregory recited. In passing a manservant, Gregory said, âWeâre off on a trip. Please see that Don gets a nice rub down before bed.â The man seemed surprised, but nodded.
The inventor swung open the basement door. âIf you ask me, though,â he whispered to me, âit is the past that can be far more worthwhile.â
I followed him into the lab. He lifted a switch and the place lit up. Dim, yellow glow from vintage hanging lanternsâmodified to hold incandescent bulbsâfilled the room.
He quietlyâalmost sadlyâdescended the metal steps. He absently turned on the machine and punched a few buttons.
âI must warn you, Jim, boy,â he started, pulling on his vest, âyou may witness something unsettling. Or, you may be witness to one of the grandest occurrences ever experienced.â
He held out an identical vest. I took it reluctantly and looked it over.
âIs thisâŠ?â
He nodded. âThatâs yours.â
I didnât have time to be grateful. He waited as I put it on. When we both were ready, I followed him onto the platform. He turned the dials on his wrist-watch and pressed a button on it.
âWe havenât got much time. Iâve set the timer.â
I barely nodded. I wanted to be excited and jumping for joy that I was finally going along. Instead, I felt dread. Something was wrong about the situation. I swallowed. Gregory clicked another button on his watch and then the air rushed by my ears.
I forced my eyes to remain open. The lab faded before my eyes. Furniture disappeared, then the walls turned slowly, brick by brick, to solid sheets of plaster. Blinding light rushed around us. Then, it stopped. We stood in some sort of storage closet that was much too small to comfortably fit two men.
I stared at the metal shelf in front of me. The corner of a box scraped my cheek. I felt nauseous.
âEr, sorry, olâ boy,â Gregory apologized, sliding by me to find the door. âGuess I didnât think about where weâd end up.â
I leaned over, onto my knees. âI donât feel so great.â Saliva coated my mouth. I closed my eyes.
âJust breathe through your nose, slowly,â my fearless leader suggested. âItâll pass.â
Soon, it did. I stood on wobbly feet. Gregory smiled.
âThere? Better?â
âAs Iâll ever be.â
âYou get used to the jolt after a few goes.â
I frowned. âSure.â
âLetâs see if we canât make some sense of our location,â he said, opening the door a crack. Presently he let a âAh! Perfectâ and opened wide the door.
I cautiously followed him into a brightly lit corridor. The walls were empty and the floor was covered in grey carpet.
âRight. This way, I believe, âGregory said.
I caught him by the shoulder. I pulled at my vest. âWhat aboutâ?â
âOh dear. I almost forgot!â He retreated into the broom closet and removed his vest. I did the same and handed it over. He stashed them in an empty box and set it atop a shelf, in the far back.
âHow do you know theyâre still going to be here when we get back?â I asked when we were out in the hall again.
âI donât, of course,â he answered. âBut it is a risk I must take.â
I didnât press the subject.
We wandered farther down the hallway until we emerged into a large gathering space. People dressed in business attire hurried here and there. Large glass windows showed a blue sky and warm sunrays. A large, circular reception desk sat in the middle of the room. Men and women punched away on computers or spoke hurriedly into phones.
âWhere are we?â I inquired and then quickly followed with, âWhen, I mean.â
âThis is the E.A. Gordon Financial Building in Boston,â Gregory said, tilting his head to a whisper. I had never heard of such a place. âIt is May 14, 2023 at 2:30 in the afternoon.â He looked at his watch and fiddled with a dial. âI believe we are in the right place.â He raised his head, squinted, and remained still.
He let out a pleased sigh. I waited as he crossed a crowd of people, to a lounge-like area. He returned with a newspaper. I looked around as he looked over the pages.
âAh yes! President John Darling,â he read. Satisfied, he flung the print atop a nearby trashcan.
âWait, what? Whoâs John Darlingââ
âHe was the runner-up in the 2020 Presidential Election.â
âHuh?â
âBut it seems he actually won, here.â He let out an incredulous âhumphâ and smiled.
âBut howâ?â
âRemember? We arenât on our time plane any longer, my dear Jim, boy.â He pat my shoulder and headed for the door.
I tried to process the situation. When Gregory was too far away for my liking, I ran after him.
It was warm. There was a slight breeze that made the leaves flutter ever so slightly. Nothing seemed overtly out of place, as if to give the impression it was not the 2014 I knew. Yet, somehow, it felt different. It felt as if I had left a room for a few minutes in which case something was taken. The trouble is, I had no idea what was taken.
I followed Gregory across the street and down the sidewalk. He stopped at a small coffee shop and sat at one of the colorful bistro tables set up along the walkway.
He looked at his watch again. A waitress came to the table; Gregory ordered us coffees. Despite the very pleasant atmosphere, I could not relax.
âWhatâs going on?â I finally asked. âWhy are we here? I mean, why did you pick this place?â
He held up a hand. âYouâll find out in a few minutes.â He remained silent, looking about.
The waitress returned with our coffees. Gregory didnât seem to notice. I smiled and thanked her. My companion added cream to his cup and began stirring with a spoon. I had never seen him so distracted.
Just when I was about to protest further, Gregory lunged forward. His face fell and he swallowed.
âWhat? What is it?â I demanded, following his gaze.
He was watching a woman cross the street. She wore a white dress, dotted with small, red flowers, and a blue sweater. She was coming toward us, toward the café.
She reached our sidewalk, politely said hello to a patron leaving the shop, and then went inside. Gregory rose from the table. He tapped the side of his leg nervously. It suddenly became quite apparent that the woman was why we were there. I twisted around in the chair so I, too, could watch the door.
She emerged with a to-go cup and Gregory practically tripped over the chairs to get to her. She stepped away and looked him over.
âAre you okay?â She asked, a bit apprehensively.
âDo you recognize me?â Gregory asked, though it sounded as though he already knew the answer.
The woman shook her head. âIâm afraid you have me mistakenââ
Gregory held up his hands. âPlease. I know this will sound weird, but would you mind having a coffee with my friend and me? Just for a few moments?â
The woman looked past him, to me. I didnât know what else to do, so I smiled. She turned back to my friend. âIâm sorry,â she said, shaking her head, âI am very late alreadyâŠâ
âWhat are you late for?â Gregory tried, calmly.
âIâm going to a lecture on time travel, not that itâs any of your business.â
âIf you donât mind me asking, who is giving the talk?â
She gawked at him. She shifted her weight. âI donât know, some Larrabee something or other. Look, I donât have an extra ticket, soââ
Gregory held her arm. âPlease stay, for just a moment.â
She pulled her arm away. âI donât know who you are.â
âAre you positive? Absolutely positive?â
âMaybe you saw me somewhere before. I donât know. I have got to go. Sorry.â She started down the sidewalk.
âWait!â Gregory called. She started to cross the street. âLucy!â he called again.
She briefly looked over her shoulder. She was about to say something, but nothing ever came out. The truck hit her, full-force. I let out a yelp and clamped my hands over my mouth. Onlookers screamed and rushed to her aid. It would be fruitlessâshe would have never survived such impact.
I sprang from my seat and turned to Gregory. He stared after her, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He set his jaw and before I could say anything, was crossing the street. I had no idea if that dimension had the same currency, but I dropped a ten on the table anyway before sprinting after him.
*Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *
Gregory flung his vest as he stomped up the stairs. It hit a table with a thud and skidded across the papers until it fell onto the floor on the other side. I worked to free myself from my own vest and scrambled after him.
âHey, wait a minute!â I shouted. âWhat the hell was that?â
He stopped. He turned his head slightly. âThat is what always happens. It is the same every time.â
âWhat? Who is that woman?â I draped my vest over the railing and clomped up after him.
He spun around to face me. âHer name is Lucy. She was my wife,â he said. âAnd she is dead. Everywhere, she is dead.â
âHuh?â
He turned to go but I grabbed his arm. âWait a minute. You canât just go away without giving me an explanation.â
He frowned. He looked around the lab, then back at me. âThree years ago Lucy was in a car accident. She died at the hospital not long after,â he said. He started up the stairs again; I followed.
âShe was a great scientist. Studied astrophysics, mostly,â he explained as we ascended to the main floor.
âBut she was right there?â I posed. I was confused.
âYes. The Lucy in other time planesâŠâ
I mulled it over. âSo,â I began after a few seconds of silence, âshe died here and so you are trying to find her somewhere else?â
We stopped in the main hall, by the basement door. Gregory put his hands in his twill jacket pockets. âYes, thatâs what it turned into.â I let him pause. He continued, âWe built The Machine together. The basic principles; the research. But then she died. I was determined to finish it. When I did, I tried to rewind time, tried to stop her from leaving that day. But she died anyway, a few days later. Electrocuted while changing a light bulb.â
I looked at the ground. âIâmâŠsorry. I had no idea.â
He started down the hallway. âI was devastated. I thought Iâd saved her, but then it didnât matter.â He stopped to touch some exotic magenta flowers. âThese were her favorites,â he said as an aside. I suddenly felt horrible I had hit that one flower on the patio.
Gregory continued on his way to the parlor, âThen I had an idea. I could save her, be with her, in some other place, some other time. So I explored temporal paradoxes. I made a trip. I found her. She was in the airport, on her way to Tuscany.â He crossed the room to the fireplace. âShe was on a bachelorette trip. Apparently, I learned as I watched, hidden, she and I had met the soon-to-be-wed couple at a bar. I was to be a groomsmen.â He sat in an armchair and pulled at the fabric. âIt was a strange sensation to watch myself interact with her. I wasâŠjealous, almostâŠof myself.â He looked up. âBut it didnât matter. Her plane crashed very shortly after take-off.â
I sat across from him, in a large red chair. âShe died there, too?â
âEverywhere. No matter how hard I tried, I could not save her. She died at the same time she did here, in every dimension I visited.â
I didnât know what to say.
âIâve gradually come to realize that there is no saving her from her fate.â He finished and smiled sadly. He sighed.
âIâI donât know what to say,â I finally offered.
Gregory looked at the fireplace, then around the room. âDo you know I had this place built for her?â
I shook my head. âItâs a great place.â
âI wanted someplace she would feel free. She loved to ride horses.â
I thought of Don Quixote. Then the flowers. I wondered what it had been like, all alone, in that great big house.
We were silent for a few moments. Gregory stared into the empty fireplace until he stood up.
âWell, olâ chap, Iâm off.â
Where, I hadnât a clue, but I didnât ask. He left the room and I looked at the carpet. I felt nauseous.
*Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *
I was seeing Mr. Darby to the door when a house hand came up to us and stood silently, waiting.
I glanced at the man out of the corner of my eye, but kept my focus on the client. âSo, if it causes anymore trouble, just bring it back. Weâll replace the whole thing,â I said, handing back his small mantle clock. It doubled as a weather forecaster and contained several hidden compartments.
âThanks very much!â
Mr. Darby tipped his hat and made his way off down the steps.
I spun around to the attendant. âWell, what is it?â
âMr. Larrabee requests your presence in the conservancy.â
âThe what?â
âThe conservancy.â
I had no idea what a conservancy was, much less that there was one in Larrabeeâs house. âWhere is that?â I asked before the man got too far away.
âFollow me,â he replied.
I did, and was pretty confused as to where we were headed. Iâd realized I had never ventured into the wing of the house we were in. It seemed every day that there was some new part of that house to explore.
We stopped at two large glass doors. I peered inside; leafy green plants reached across the place. The gentleman opened the door and waited.
âSir,â he said.
âUh, thanks.â
I moseyed inside. Sunlight streamed fiercely through the glass ceiling. I heard running water. I peeked at the variety of plants and passed a settee and small table with curled iron legs.
I rounded a very large fichus. âGregory?â
He was standing in front of a large concrete water fountain, hands behind his back. âYes, hullo, James.â
âI fixed that clock for Mr. DarbyâŠâ
âSplendid,â he said. He reached a hand out to touch one of Lucyâs flowers.
I shifted my weight. âWere you looking for me?â
âYes. Indeed I was.â
I waited for the explanation, but when it didnât come I cleared my throat. âIs something the matter?â
He still didnât say anything for a second. Finally he said, âIâve discovered something, Jim, olâ boy.â He inhaled slowly. âAll this time I have been desperately trying to prevent Lucyâs death. I had never stopped to think about the other variables.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âI have tried to prevent her death by trying to keep her by my side during the fated hour. Yet, every time, she still dies. It does not matter how hard I try to âjump inâ; she still dies.â
I didnât respond. It wasnât time yet.
I noticed him swallow. âIâve discovered the variable that needs to be negated in order to save her.â
âWhat is that?â
He finally spun to face me. âMe.â
âWhat are you talking about?â
He tilted his head to one side. âThere is somethingâoften quite a bit more than one thingâdifferent in each time plane. The only thing consistent is that Lucy met me once upon that time, and thus we ended up together. Iâve made a diagram of each way Lucy has died; all of them are because we are together.â
âThatâs ludicrous,â I suggested.
âShe was electrocuted here because she lived here, with me; she was killed a plane crash because she was going to a bachelorette party of friends she met at a bar, with me; she fell out the building window where I worked because she came to visit me⊠I could go on, but it is far too painful to think of each one, individually. But you, personally, saw her hit by a car because she was on her way to a lecture, by me!â
âIsnât that a little desperate?â I tried.
âEach time she has died has been a result of us being together.â
I straightened at his sullen disposition. He reached out a hand to some of her flowers in a pot nearby.
I raised my shoulders. âSo what do you want to do?â
âI am going back, one more time. I will save her.â I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off. He said, âI am not entirely sure it will save her everywhere, but my studies have shown that if I tweak this one thing, it will domino into other planes. I can only hope it will prevent her deaths, there, as well.â
âWhat do you plan to do?â
He didnât answer the question, specifically. âYou can come with me, if youâd like. Actually, Iâd prefer the companionship.â
He started past me, his head lowered.
âWhen?â
âSoon.â
He didnât share his definition of âsoon,â but later that evening, he approached me in the parlor. I was reading up on my Quantum Physics. I was having a horrible time of it, too. I glanced up from the intimidating tome as he crossed to me.
âAm I interrupting?â He asked, peering at the book.
âNot in the least,â I said, letting the cover fall shut. I stood and dropped the book onto the cushion. âI have no idea what that thing is talking aboutâŠâ
He stared at the book and then sniffed. âQuite ready then?â
âUh, sure. If you really want to do this.â
He didnât answer, just tried to smile and gave a nod. He spun on his heel and we were on our way. (To what, exactly, I hadnât a clue. Though, that was a common occurrence.)
He didnât say much as we descended to the laboratory. I didnât try to make conversation. I was mulling over his plan. I wondered, really, if it would work. It was an extreme decision to make. It was, after all, the love of his life. I wondered if his plan was suited for the situation. I declined to offer the idea of âfate,â and nonetheless kept my thoughts to myself.
âIâve done some careful calculations,â he said, adjusting a few knobs and buttons on the machine. âIt will take us to precisely 19 years and 265 days ago, our time.â
âHowâd you manage that?â
âSimple, really,â he said. âIâve recently discovered a way to pinpoint the precise coordinates for our dimension.â He emphasized with his hands. âThough, I havenât the slightest idea how to do it for other dimensions. I donât suppose Iâll get to that point, though.â
I didnât particularly pay attention to the last part. âWait, you can choose exactly where you want to go now?â
He knew where I was headed. âYes, Jim. And I would desperately like to pay you back for all that youâve done for me by returning you to your home.â
I blinked. I couldnât hide a smile. âWell, gee. ThatâsâŠâ But then I stopped. I couldnât decide if that was a great discovery or not. I didnât want to think about it at the moment. âWell, should we go?â I asked instead.
âRight. Very good,â Gregory said with a nod.
He handed a vest to me and put his own on. He set the timer on the machine. I followed him to the platform where he wiggled some knobs on his watch.
âI do appreciate you accompanying me, Jim, olâ boy.â
âYeah, sureââ The trip cut me off.
My head whirled. I leaned over my knees. âThat does not get better, Gregory,â I mumbled. I blinked at the asphalt.
âIâm sorry you wonât be able to get used to it,â he answered quietly. I didnât know what he meant.
I steadied myself. We were in an alley of some sort. Gregory didnât bother to remove his vest, so I didnât either. He made his way to the sidewalk of a very busy street. Tall buildings rose all around us. A gentle mist fell from a gray sky. I stepped out of the way of a woman running past us. She was talking furiously into her cell phone.
Gregory sighed. He looked at his watch. âWeâre just in time,â he said. He glanced up the sidewalk and then the other way. After second he stepped past me.
He leaned in to whisper, âDo you see that small shop there?â He nodded to the very busy coffee shop. Patrons rushed in and out, receiving their hot cups of coffee before the day.
I nodded. âYeah, sure.â
âThat is where I met her.â
I straightened. âWhat?â
âWe, quite literally, bumped into each other. I was coming out as she was going in. We ended up sitting at a table inside, just by the window.â
âWait, why areâ?âI started, but he put a finger to his lips.
âJust a moment,â he said. âJust wait.â
I waited, and then I saw itâor rather, him. Gregory quickly moved so that I blocked his person. He said, âDo you see?â
I nodded. A younger, slightly thinner Gregory was moving through the crowd, into the coffee shop. He wore a pair of dress pants and a blue sweater. His hair was combed back and a pair of brown glasses sat on his nose. He smiled politely at the other patrons around him and disappeared into the establishment.
âAm I gone?â
âYeahâŠâ I breathed.
He studied his watch and looked around. He inhaled sharply. I spotted what he was looking at: Lucy. I was sure it was her. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose braid. She carried an armful of books. She seemed in a hurry.
Gregory tapped his leg: his nervous tick. He frowned. âI must,â he whispered, though not to me.
He stepped out and casually walked toward her. Then, all of a sudden, he plowed directly into her. She spilled her books and dropped to the sidewalk. He bent down to help her pick them up.
âIâm so sorry!â he apologized.
She barely looked up. âItâs okay.â
âI wasnât looking where I was going,â he kept on.
She piled the volumes back into her arms and stood. At the same moment, the younger Gregory passed through the doors, sipping his coffee. He looked at his watch and made his way down the sidewalk. Then, he disappeared around a corner.
Young Lucy stood and mumbled âthanksâ before passing through the cafĂ© door. Gregory remained standing, staring after her. I cautiously approached. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He didnât let me ask. âIt is strange,â he said. âThis feeling is unlike anything Iâve ever experienced. Just in this moment I can now remember two different worlds. I still remember life with her, but I also remember all these years without her.â
I swallowed. âGregoryâŠâ
âBut,â he started, sadly, âthe memories with her seem so far away. Like they were just dreams.â
I put an arm on his shoulder. He shook his head.
âRight,â he tried. âOff we go.â
I didnât protest, but I looked in the direction of Young Gregory, then to the cafĂ©. Suddenly, I felt sick. But it wasnât the trip.
*Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â *
Gregory was in his study when I knocked on the doorframe. He was standing in front of the large holographic television. The news was on.
âGregory?â I asked, going into the room.
âShh,â he said, quietly.
I stood by him and studied the news. There was a story regarding a NASA space mission. It appeared that a robot had sent back photos of the universe, from behind the Milky Way.
The news anchor read the teleprompter, âAstrophysicists Dr. Lucy Rafferty and Dr. Michael Welch are here to discuss the anticipated results of this extraordinary accomplishment. Doctors?â
The camera panned out to show an older gentleman with gray hair and wrinkled hands, and a woman about Gregoryâs age. They both wore casual suits. Lucyâs hair was pulled into a tight braid. She smiled.
âIâve done it,â Gregory said. He smiled at the screen, at her. He looked at me. âI saved her.â
I wondered, at what risk. I asked, âBut how are you?â
He sighed. âIt doesnât matter. At least she will be safe,â he said. He turned from the television. âI donât suppose there is much use for The Machine any longer. I think I shall destroy it. That is, after you leave.â
I kicked at the carpet. âSure, but Iâll help you do it.â
He tilted his head. âBut wouldnât you like to go home?â
I paused, and then, âIâm not sure.â
It took him by surprise. âWhat do you mean?â
I shrugged and went to the window. âI donât really have anything to go back to,â I suggested. I looked over my shoulder with a grin, âBesides, I kinda like it here.â
He didnât seem to know how to react. Then his lips turned into a smile.
âAnd also,â I put in, âYou are going to kill yourself one of these days, building all those stupid machines. Somebody has to be the common sense of this operation.â
He chuckled. âQuite right, Jim, âol boy. Quite right.â
-END-
(April 2015)
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