Martin stood without hesitation and chased after the door before it mysteriously closed again. He swung the door open with aggression, adrenaline still pulsing throughout.
The store remained the same, although the sun finally started to set, causing an orange splash of light across the floor. Martin spotted the clock near the entrance and it read 7:14. His heart sunk as every part of him gave in to the reality of what had just happened. He could barely hear Chris speaking to him as the pounding in his ears echoed.
“Now stop playing around and tell me your thoughts.” Chris egged him on like a child daring a friend.
“Well, it definitely felt real. I saw myself . . . completely freaked me out.”
Chris nodded attentively, smirking.
“So do you want to go back to 1996?” Chris asked.
“This all seems so crazy. What am I supposed to do in 1996, play detective? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Chris nodded as if he understood, but Martin could see the thoughts swimming behind his eyes.
“Well, you could start planning now and go back to 1996 with a strict plan. Or you can just go back and follow your daughter. Like I said, it would be March when you arrive, so you’d have six months to get situated before she goes missing.”
Martin nodded. “Will you give me a glimpse into 1996 like you did tonight? I just want to know it’s real.”
“This is all legitimate. And no, I can’t give you a glimpse, that’s not how this works.”
“Then I want to know how this works. Everything. What’s in those pills? What’s in this for you? Who are you?”
Chris raised a hand to silence the flustered man.
“I’ll tell you what you need to know. The rules. One rule being that you can only do this once, and that’s why I can’t send you back for a peek into the past.”
“But you just did!” Martin snapped.
“Yes, that was a three-hour time travel, has no effects. Going back twenty two years will certainly affect you.”
“What do you mean affect me? What kind of drugs are in those pills?” Martin’s voice rose to a near shout. He stood across the counter while Chris leaned back in his chair.
“These aren’t drugs. The pills really do take you back in time, or forward, should you choose. But you don’t seem like a guy who looks forward to the future. As for the effects, that leads to your other question of what I get out of this.”
Chris stood up and leaned on the counter to look Martin straight in the eyes.
“This is serious business,” he said. “I don’t want any money from you. What I want in exchange is a part of you. During that brief moment when you feel like you’re flying after taking the pill, you’re in my domain. When you’re in there, I can take from your soul as I please.”
Martin narrowed his eyes on Chris, wanting to call a bluff, but remaining hesitant. “My soul?” he asked mockingly. “What are you? The Devil?”
Chris smirked. “I’m not the Devil. I’m the keeper of time, I’ve told you this already. Opportunities like this aren’t free. All I ask for is a part of your soul.”
“And what part of my soul will you be taking if I agree to this?” Martin played along. Every time the old man spoke, it seemed like a joke that was about to snowball out of control.
Chris pursed his lips and rubbed his head. “It may not seem like much to you, but I want to take your emotions.”
Martin raised his eyebrows. “My emotions?”
“Yes. You’ll keep your emotions when you go back to 1996. But when you return, you’ll be emotionless. Apathetic. No more joy, no more anger. Just a wandering zombie.”
“Bullshit,” Martin said flatly. “You can’t take my emotions, just like I can’t move buildings with my mind. You’re a goddamn liar! This prank is over.”
Martin stormed away from the counter, stomping his feet toward the exit. Nighttime had finally arrived and darkness filled the void through the windows.
“Wait!” Chris shouted, and Martin stopped short of the exit. All he wanted was to leave this damn store behind and never come back, but that glimmer of opportunity proved too much to resist. “Come back and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” Chris spoke as if making a hard statement instead of the pleading he was actually doing.
Guy must be desperate for my “emotions.”
Martin returned to the counter in a slow dragging of steps. “Tell me everything, and I’ll consider your offer tonight. I’ll need to sleep on it.”
“Sure, sure,” Chris said. “For starters, I’m not kidding about the exchange for the emotional part of your soul. You’ll still be a fully functioning person, normal for the most part. But you won’t be able to care for others, laugh at jokes, or cry at movies. Think of it as that emotional numbness you felt when your daughter went missing. Only this time it won’t be numb, just normal.”
“How does this all work? Am I really going back in time, or is it all a hallucination?”
Chris nodded. “It’s very real, my friend. I’m not going to get into the science of time, but what happens when you take the pill is a sort of transportation. When you arrive in 1996, you’ll still be yourself as you are now. Also, anything you have on your body goes with you, so play that to your advantage. If you want to take money with you, keep it in your pocket. Your money today can go a lot further in 1996. Gas was only a $1.30 back then.
“If you have money, great! If not, use your resources to find easy ways to make money. There’s really no restrictions on what you can do except for running into yourself.”
“And what happens if I run into my past self?” Martin asked, wondering this the entire time.
“Well, think about it. You essentially have two souls when you go back in time. If they meet . . . let’s just say it’s disastrous for you. You can end up in serious trouble, or worse.”
“Okay, I’ll stay out of my own way. What about my family and friends, can I talk to them?”
“Sure. If you think they’ll recognize you somehow, wear a disguise. I don’t know how different you look today compared to back then, so use your best judgment.”
“What happens if I lose my pill to come back to present day?”
“Then you stay and live the rest of your life out in that time frame. If you die in there, you’ll die here as well. So please stay alive, and don’t ever lose that pill.”
“Can’t you come find me if I lose it?”
“Sure, but that pill is a one-way ticket. Each pill I make is unique, so it’s practically impossible for me to replicate them.”
“What happens if I change something? What if I take my daughter and run away?”
Chris paused to consider the question.
“Well, changing an event in history will obviously alter the course of the future. You might come back to a completely different life if you change anything. I always recommend to not change anything too drastically. The results could be catastrophic.”
“How do you know this?”
“Martin, you’re not the first person who has gone back in time. There have been thousands before you and will be thousands after. Every person has their reasons for going back. I’ve seen some nasty consequences result from someone getting in over their head while in the past. The terrorist attacks on September 11th were a direct result of someone trying to tinker with the past. Your trip back in time is meant to be mostly observatory. Sure, you’ll leave a footprint and can effect minor changes, but a decision like running off with your daughter can end in disaster. Just remember that things happen for a reason, as the old saying goes.”
“Why me? Why did you pick me for this?”
“Simple: you have something I want, and you have something in the past that demands answers. I don’t go around offering this opportunity to random people.”
Martin wanted to ask what Chris did with the supposed souls he takes, but figured that would lead down a rabbit hole he had no business in venturing.
“I want to t
hink things over tonight. Can I come back tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“And no matter how long I’m in the past, when I take the pill to return only ten minutes will have passed?”
“Correct.”
“I’ll be back same time tomorrow.”
Chris smirked. “See you then.”
Martin jogged out of the store and found his car waiting under the moonlight. He drove home thinking about his daughter and where she was in the world.
7
Chapter 7
When Martin arrived home he wasted no time emptying a bottle of whiskey into a tall glass. His mind paced in frantic circles as he debated his next move. A sliver of skepticism remained, and he considered pretending that the whole thing never happened.
But it did. I really went back in time and saw myself.
He lay down on his couch as the room started to spin, his body tingling from the alcohol, and debated his own sanity.
Is this the boiling point? Have I finally reached it?
He wondered if a person could know when they’ve gone crazy, or if it was something only visible from the outside. This all could have been a nervous breakdown in anticipation of the upcoming weekend. Izzy was always on his mind during this week more than any other time of year. Maybe he was dreaming and would wake up tomorrow to jump back into his normal routine of hating his life.
But he knew better.
You can’t get drunk in your dreams, and I’m very drunk.
Martin tossed and turned for the next hour on his couch. He usually had no issue passing out and snoring the night away, but his mind refused to shut down for the day. It demanded a decision on what would happen when the sun rose in the morning.
“Ten minutes,” he whispered. “I could go in before work and still make it on time if all I lose is ten minutes.”
He’d be spending at least six months in the past, depending on what he found. Six months in history to find out what happened to Izzy, all to come back to return to the post office like nothing had happened.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Chris grinning, smirking, tempting him to go. That guy is a demon, Martin thought as he took one final swig to kill the last of the whiskey. Ten minutes. No one will even know I was gone.
He bolted upright and immediately regretted it as the blood and alcohol rushed to his head, causing the room to spin.
“I’m going,” he declared. “I’m going. And if I die, then so be it.”
Saying these words aloud provided him the confidence needed to take the gamble. He could either endure his life wondering what happened to Izzy, or he could take the chance to find out. How many people in his same situation would even debate the matter? It was a no-brainer and he couldn’t believe it took him so long to arrive to the right decision. I have to go. At this point, there’s nothing for me to lose.
Martin dragged himself into the kitchen to grab his laptop and a notepad. He rummaged through the cupboards for another bottle of whiskey, could only find vodka, and poured a glass of it mixed with orange juice before returning to the couch with all three items in hand.
The laptop wheezed to life and the screen’s glow blasted his face with bluish light. Martin needed to return to 1996 with a plan. First and foremost, he needed a way to make money, and he liked the idea of sports betting. Sporting results were all recorded and could be found with a quick search. Finding an underground bookie in Larkwood, Colorado, in 1996, shouldn’t be too difficult. He’d had some friends who got involved with the gambling ring around that time, and he often remembered them saying that the bookies would set a spread on any wager offered, including politics.
Martin noted down all the significant sporting events that would occur between March and September of 1996, and was delighted to find the results for the summer Olympics in Atlanta. Maybe I can afford to go.
Should I use an alias? He debated the matter. An alias was only helpful if he planned to immerse himself in the community and chat with people around town. Since the younger version of himself already existed in 1996, an alias wouldn’t do much—he needed to focus on dodging familiar faces. A disguise might be a better investment to not raise any suspicion. Besides, using a fake name would only cause confusion, and flying under the radar would be much easier to achieve.
After a half hour he had a handful of pages with every sports score listed neatly by the event’s date. With his income settled for the past, he shifted his focus to his personal whereabouts and life events in 1996.
He was obviously in Larkwood, but what was he doing?
Was 1996 when I had that data entry job?
Of course it was. He took a month off of work after Izzy went missing. They were accommodating of his situation and worked with him throughout the process. Some days he simply couldn’t make it through, and they sent him home with no complaints.
Synergetix. That was the company.
He had started there at the beginning of the year and would be well into his first year of employment by the time 2018 Martin arrived in 1996. He drove an old station wagon to work every day with his sack lunch packed every morning by his beautiful wife. Life was truly as good as it had ever been in the first half of 1996, and the nostalgia made him excited to go back to those times.
They would have been in the only house they lived in as a family, having moved in shortly after Izzy’s birth. Lela was a part-timer at the local daycare center, working most weekdays from noon through six. Martin’s data entry job provided a big pay increase and they enjoyed eating out every weekend as part of their new, luxurious lifestyle.
He would need somewhere to live in 1996, preferably close to his old house to keep an eye on things. All he really needed was to be around in September to keep a close eye as the eventual day of doom approached. March through August could virtually be spent doing whatever he wished. There was no need for investigative work during that time frame, as life had been rather normal. The night Izzy went missing was a night he had to work late and arrived home to everyone in bed.
This was a particular point of initial interest for the police. A missing girl and a father who had to work late the same night smelled awfully suspicious, but a couple of calls to Synergetix was all it took to clear his name.
September 9, 1996, he remembered. The day life went down the shitter and never recovered. Tears streamed down Martin’s face and dripped silently to the floor. The feelings from that morning had never left him. With every minute that passed, every shout of “IZZY!”, hope had slowly dissipated and gave way to fear, panic, and sickness.
“These things don’t really happen to people,” he had said to Lela when they returned home after an hour in the neighborhood. “Izzy wouldn’t run away.”
“She’s gone!” Lela had screamed. “She’s gone!”
That was all she had been able to say on that day 22 years ago. Even when the police arrived, she kept saying it, trying to assure herself that it was real.
The police had poked around the house and yard looking for any clues, coming up empty-handed. They technically had to wait another day before issuing an Amber Alert, but they had started the process and paperwork in preparation for the following day.
Martin and Lela spent the rest of the day driving around town, going to Izzy’s friends’ houses, her school, and the rec center. Those were the only places she ever went outside of the house. When the sun started to set and they accepted that they weren’t going to find their daughter, Lela burst into heavy tears in the car as they pulled up to their house.
“Why, Martin? Why did she leave us?”
I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.
8
Chapter 8
When the sun rose the next morning, Martin’s head throbbed as he rubbed his swollen eyes. The stench of alcohol seeped out of his pores, causing him to gag. He had fallen asleep on the couch, the stinging sun blazing through the living room window. His notepad was splayed on the ground with his chicken scratch n
otes. The digital clock on the stove informed him it was almost seven. He had just over an hour until he needed to report to the post office. Plenty of time to clean up and visit Chris for a trip back to the 90’s. Hopefully hangovers can’t travel back in time with me.
When he stood, the room spun violently around him and he collapsed back into the couch. Fuck, I’m still drunk. Martin belched and felt the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach as he stood again, this time with a hand on the couch’s arm for support. He staggered to the kitchen like a zombie to fill a glass of water and swallow a handful of ibuprofen. His brain felt like an over-inflated balloon trying to burst against his skull. Worst hangover ever? he wondered. He’d had plenty—more than he could count in the last twenty years—but couldn’t remember the last time he felt he might actually croak.
After chugging the water, he dragged himself to the bathroom to relieve his throbbing bladder and stared in the mirror. His hair was frazzled in every direction, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked a different shade, slightly gray.
“Damn, Marty. You are hung the fuck over,” he said to himself in an attempt for a laugh, but his body and brain ached too much to appreciate the humor. He spent the next ten minutes splashing water on his face, putting eye drops in, and swishing mouthwash until the taste of alcohol finally vanished. He stared at himself with a stern expression when he was done. “We’re gonna do this. We’re gonna save Izzy. No more booze until she’s found alive.”
The brief pep talk provided a slight boost of energy, but his head still pounded in protest as he gathered his papers and dressed for the upcoming trip, sure to wear jeans and a plain t-shirt to blend in for his 1996 arrival. He stuffed the cash he kept hidden in a coffee can into his wallet and left the apartment in a hurry.
The sunlight sent a shockwave of pain from his eyes all the way down his spine when he stepped outside. When he pulled his car out to the street, he looked around in every direction, searching for some past or future version of himself who might be watching. There was no one, and his paranoia settled down. Every time he saw a person on the road, he wondered if they were really from this current time, or if they traveled back from the next century to see what life was like in 2018.
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