The Continuum, page 13
part #1 of Place in Time Series
It takes me a moment to digest what he’s telling me, but when it dawns on me, I feel lightheaded.
“You know something about me. About my future… in the past.”
“I do.”
The words hit me like a slap in the face, and I forget to breathe. Black spots dance across my line of vision, reminding me of my need for oxygen.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t relevant before. Besides, you wouldn’t have believed me.”
“What about the Rules? The time-space continuum? Don’t you care how this could affect the timeline?”
“It’s already been done. I wouldn’t allow it if I weren’t positive. The Rules have to be broken. You have to break them.”
I try to read his eyes—big and bright and eager, as if he really wants to, needs to tell me what he’s kept a secret for so long.
“Tell me what you know.”
He sits, but his hands remain in motion, tapping on his thighs and furling and unfurling.
“My grandmother was the only child of two German immigrants. She used to tell me wonderful stories about her childhood in New York. She loved it there, but when her parents died in an apartment fire, she needed a fresh start, so she headed west.
“She arrived one day in the same small town where my grandfather’s family lived. When my grandfather returned home from school out east, they met at church and, well…” He smiles, a faraway look in his eyes. “They always said it was love at first sight. They were the kind of couple that people call soul mates.”
Despite my aversion to romantic sentimentality, Dr. Wells’ story strikes a nerve.
“What does this have to do with me?” The words nearly choke me; it’s obvious, but I need to hear it aloud.
When he looks at me, I can see the admiring little boy he once was, glowing in innocent joy at his grandparents’ love. He clears his throat and continues.
“My wife, rest her soul, loved genealogy. When she researched my lineage, the facts didn’t add up. There was no evidence of my grandmother’s existence prior to 1900—no birth certificate, no baptism records. There were no records of her parents, either, nor the fire that took their lives. No census records, ship manifests, newspapers, or immigration documents. It was like one day, she simply… appeared.”
“And you’re trying to tell me that your grandmother…?” I can’t even finish the thought.
“I’ve carried her picture with me since the day I met you.”
He pulls out his wallet. Behind an aged photograph of his wife is another picture. The fragile black and gray portrait, though faded with time, shows a young woman only slightly older than I am now. She wears a dark gown with full sleeves and a high collar, and her hair is pulled back. A secret, Mona Lisa-smile plays around her lips. The plain, round face is too familiar to deny. It’s the same face I see every time I look into the mirror, the same hint of a smile I betray every time I’m told not to smile.
“When I met you at the convention,” Dr. Wells says, “I thought the similarity was a coincidence. The more I got to know you, the more undeniable it was. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I don’t know how else to assure you that it will all be okay, that this is the right decision.”
“And if I change my mind? Decide to go somewhere else instead?”
“You won’t. Don’t you understand?”
I understand all too well.
I don’t want to know how it all ends. I can’t bear the thought of spending my next years just waiting for it all to transpire, waiting to reach the final pages of the book already spoiled for me. I don’t want to know my own future, even if it will be a happy one.
But what’s done can’t be undone, and I can’t forget all I know…
Then it occurs to me. Maybe I don’t have to spend the rest of my life going through the motions like I’m reading a script. Maybe there’s another way.
“I’ll go. But there’s something I need to do first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
April 15, 2012
The danger of TUB discovering I’m back in 2012 weighs on my mind. I hurry, constantly searching for dark-suited, sunglass-shaded agents. Finally, I arrive at the hotel—one of those ritzy ones owned by some famous millionaire.
The receptionist calls the penthouse, frowning as if it’s against her better judgment to relay my message. I glance over my shoulder at the windows that open onto the street. The pinpricks of color from the street lights and taxis shimmer like stars. In the darkness, it’s like looking out into space. My mind wanders again to Chandler.
The receptionist hangs up. “Top level.”
When I arrive on the top floor, the elevator doors slide open. I hesitate, feeling out of place here.
Marie steps out from another room—tall, elegant, and incredibly modern. In her tailored suit with its plunging neckline and her bright red sandals with three-inch heels, she looks just like the image on her CD covers.
“Have a seat,” she says, showing a hint of her previous façade’s poise. As she sits across from me, I notice the slight tremble of her hand, the way she avoids eye contact.
“I’m here unofficially,” I say. “I don’t work for PITTA anymore.”
She raises her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I delivered your message.” I’m uncertain whether I should apologize for the pain I caused her back in 1912 or attempt to justify it. It strikes me how much we’re alike, caught between eras.
She turns away, trying to hide her tears.
“He wanted you to have this.” I hand her the pocket watch, uncertain how to continue. What good would it do to tell the truth of what he discovered when he found her, how it had smashed the pedestal he’d placed her on, and how that disappointment had changed him?
“He loved you very much. Right up until the end.”
She smiles ruefully, the pain in her eyes shining through the spite. “He’s gone, is he?”
I nod. Again, I’m the bearer of bad news, and the pain is still as raw as the last time I shared information that would break her heart. I want to slip out, to leave her to her grief, but I need her help.
“How much do you remember of what happened in 1912?” I ask.
“All of it, now. It’s insane, looking back, that I forgot about… about now.” She snaps the pocket watch shut.
“Would you mind telling me more about the hypnosis? Please?”
She narrows her eyes, as if suspecting a trap, but she must sense my desperation, because ever so slowly, she nods.
“I should really thank my life coach for the idea,” she says. “Before my trip, I was trying to clean up my life, and she suggested hypnosis to help me quit smoking. I went to a hypno-therapist, learned some self-hypnosis. Six weeks later, I’d broken the habit.”
She smiles wryly, pulling out a pack of Virginia Slims and lighting one up. “Well, I did, anyway, until I went back in time and forgot those sessions.” She coughs and extinguishes the cigarette with a sigh. “I get mixed signals now.”
“So,” I say, “You saw a hypnotist after you Jumped and then sailed overseas, convinced that you were an American heiress.”
“When the man at your agency warned me about the possibility of memory troubles and that whatever-you-call-it—”
“Confabulation?”
“That’s it. Confabulation. When I heard about it, I immediately thought of how my hypno-therapist altered my mindset and wondered if I could apply the one to achieve the other. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to find anyone to help me. When I walked into the hypnotist’s office in 1912, though, he acted like it was no big deal. We met daily, and I practiced self-hypnosis on the voyage to Europe. By the time I emerged from my cabin, I wasn’t pretending to be someone else, I was someone else. Or so I thought.”
“Can you give me his name? The hypnotist you saw in 1912?”
She hesitates, then scribbles a name and address onto a takeout menu. As she hands it to me, she tilts her head, squinting slightly as if picturing me in an entirely new light.
“At the time, I wondered why Dr. Mooney believed me so easily,” she says, not breaking eye contact. “When I asked, he gave the strangest response. He told me that ten years before, another young lady had requested the same thing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
April 15, 2012
“You took care of what you needed to do?” Dr. Wells asks as he enters the Jump prep room.
“Yes, thank you.”
Dr. Wells’ eyes linger on mine, and I know he wants to ask me where I was, but this secret is best kept between Marie and me. I fumble at the drawstring of my handbag.
“I hope this will suffice; it was all I had available for that era.” He hands me a thin stack of paper bills.
“I’m grateful for anything you could spare—” I stop as I catch the amount of each: $500.
“I can’t.” I push the money back into his hands. “Each of these is worth a year’s wages in the early 1900s.”
“I need to know you’ll be okay.” He closes my fingers around the notes. I hesitate, then tuck them into my handbag. At least I won’t be destitute.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure him. I clutch the takeout menu in my pocket—the one with the address that will help me forget all this—and take a deep breath.
“The Box is ready.” Dr. Wells clears his throat. “Whenever you are.”
The year is set to 1902. My entire future is built around the conviction that somehow, I’ll find my way to the unknown little town where I’ll meet the young scholar who will sweep me off my feet. He certainly has his work cut out for him. I don’t know where that will be, or when, but the butterflies fluttering in my stomach make me realize, for the first time, that I’m looking forward to it.
“I’m ready.” And I am ready. Ready for my life to begin. I step into the Box.
I’m going home.
The unchecked thought surprises me. A home. A lifelong love. A family of my own.
My handbag is strangely light without the Wormholes’ weight; my feet could float right off the ground. Dr. Wells stands outside the door. At the last moment, he hesitates and pulls me in for a hug. It’s awkward, knowing who he is now. How strange these past years must’ve been for him.
“Were you close to… Were we close?” I ask, hoping he understands what I mean.
“My grandmother was extraordinary. She used to tell me stories about climbing into a box and visiting the future. She said it was a dream she’d have sometimes. That’s where I got the idea for the DeLorean Box.” He pauses, choking up. “I’ll miss you.”
With his simple explanation, my vision blurs. Standing before me, in the body of an elderly man, is a little boy who’s losing his beloved grandmother all over again. I’m frozen in place, immobilized by the realization that this final Jump will set so much in motion.
I lean forward and kiss him on the forehead. “Thank you. For everything.”
Releasing his hand, I step into the Box.
Dr. Wells flips the switch and steps back. With one hand, I grip the handrail. The other rests on the glass: a silent, final goodbye.
Want to be the first to know about the next A Place in Time book? Join the author’s newsletter here
About the Author
Wendy Nikel is a speculative fiction author with a degree in elementary education, a fondness for road trips, and a terrible habit of forgetting where she’s left her cup of tea. Her short fiction has been published by Fantastic Stories of the Imagination, Daily Science Fiction, Nature: Futures, and various other anthologies and e-zines. For more info, visit wendynikel.com or subscribe to her newsletter here!
Review this Book
Don’t forget to leave a review of this book online at Goodreads, Amazon, BarnesandNoble.com, or wherever you buy books or discuss them online.
More Science Fiction from World Weaver Press
CAMPAIGN 2100: GAME OF SCORPIONS
Larry Hodges
The year is 2100, and the world has adopted the American two-party electoral system. When it comes to the election for president of Earth, the father-daughter team of Toby and Lara Platt are the cutthroat campaign directors who get candidates elected by any means necessary—including the current president, Corbin Dubois of France. But when an alien lands outside the United Nations, claiming to be an ambassador from Tau Ceti, Dubois orders her attacked. Toby resigns.
The alien survives—and so, it seems, might Dubois’s corrupt reelection campaign, now run by Lara. But Toby vows to put his daughter out of a job. He challenges the two major parties—one conservative, one liberal—and runs for president himself with a third-party moderate challenge. He’s a long-shot, but he’s determined to fix the problems he created in getting Dubois elected.
Amid rising tensions and chants of “Alien go home!” the campaign crisscrosses every continent as father and daughter battle for electoral votes and clash over the ideas and issues facing the world of 2100 in this bare-knuckle, fight-to-the-finish political campaign. The world is watching. And so is the alien.
“Larry Hodges is an insightful political commentator and a kick-ass science-fiction writer. A dynamite novel full of twists and turns; this futuristic House of Cards is both entertaining and thought-provoking.”
—Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula Award-winning author of Quantum Night
“A tense, taut political thriller that rings much truer than you would suspect, given that it won’t be happening for another 8 decades.”
—Mike Resnick, 5-time Hugo winner and editor of Galaxy’s Edge magazine
FAR ORBIT
SPECULATIVE SPACE ADVENTURES
Edited by Bascomb James
Featuring stories by award winners Gregory Benford, Tracy Canfield, Eric Choi, David Wesley Hill, and more, with an open letter to speculative fiction by Elizabeth Bear.
“Put aside all of your preconceived notions of what ‘sci-fi’ is—whether you think you love it or hate, it doesn’t matter—pick up this book and get to reading!”
— Good Choice Reading
FAR ORBIT APOGEE
More modern space adventures
Edited by Bascomb James
Far Orbit Apogee takes all of the fun-to-read adventure, ingenuity, and heroism of mid-century pulp fiction and reshapes it into modern space adventures crafted by a new generation of writers. Follow the adventures of heroic scientists, lunar detectives, space dragons, robots, interstellar pirates, gun slingers, and other memorable and diverse characters as they wrestle with adversity beyond the borders of our small blue marble.
Featuring stories from Jennnifer Campbell-Hicks, Dave Creek, Eric Del Carlo, Dominic Dulley, Nestor Delfino, Milo James Fowler, Julie Frost, Sam S. Kepfield, Keven R. Pittsinger, Wendy Sparrow, Anna Salonen, James Van Pelt, and Jay Werkheiser.
MURDER IN THE GENERATIVE KITCHEN
Meg Pontecorvo
With the Vacation Jury Duty system, jurors can lounge on a comfortable beach while watching the trial via virtual reality. Julio is loving the beach, as well as the views of a curvy fellow juror with a rainbow-lacquered skin modification who seems to be the exact opposite of his recent ex-girlfriend back in Chicago. Because of jury sequestration rules, they can’t talk to each other at all, or else they’ll have to pay full price for this Acapulco vacation. Still, Julio is desperate to catch her attention. But while he struts and tries to catch her eye, he also becomes fascinated by the trial at hand.
At first it seemed a foregone conclusion that the woman on trial used a high-tech generative kitchen to feed her husband a poisonous meal, but the more evidence mounts, the more Julio starts to suspect the kitchen may have made the decision on its own.
“Mysteriously delicious. Tastefully romantic. With a GMO garnish.”
—Terry Bisson, author of Bears Discover Fire and Other Stories
“Murder in the Generative Kitchen by Meg Pontecorvo is a compact little story with a lot to say. Readers will find a fresh take on Asimov’s three laws, see a twisted future where vacations are paid for by the courts, and learn that the same old arguments will still be contested long after we’re gone.”
—Ricky L. Brown, Amazing Stories
“With Murder in the Generative Kitchen, new author Meg Pontecorvo cooks up and dishes out for you not one, not two, but three original sci fi premises. Enjoy and digest them well!”
—David Brin, author of Existence and The Postman
SCARECROW
Rhonda Parrish’s Magical Menageries, Volume Three
Within these pages, ancient enemies join together to destroy a mad mommet, a scarecrow who is a crow protects solar fields and stores long-lost family secrets, a woman falls in love with a scarecrow, and another becomes one. Encounter scarecrows made of straw, imagination, memory, and robotics while being spirited to Oz, mythological Japan, other planets, and a neighbor’s back garden. After experiencing this book, you’ll never look at a hay-man the same.
SIRENS
Rhonda Parrish’s Magical Menageries, Volume Four
Sirens are beautiful, dangerous, and musical, whether they come from the sea or the sky. Greek sirens were described as part-bird, part-woman, and Roman sirens more like mermaids, but both had a voice that could captivate and destroy the strongest man. The pages of this book contain the stories of the Sirens of old, but also allow for modern re-imaginings, plucking the sirens out of their natural elements and placing them at a high school football game, or in wartime London, or even into outer space.
Featuring stories by Kelly Sandoval, Amanda Kespohl, L.S. Johnson, Pat Flewwelling, Gabriel F. Cuellar, Randall G. Arnold, Michael Leonberger, V. F. LeSann, Tamsin Showbrook, Simon Kewin, Cat McDonald, Sandra Wickham, K.T. Ivanrest, Adam L. Bealby, Eliza Chan, and Tabitha Lord, these siren songs will both exemplify and defy your expectations.
