Escape Velocity: The Anthology

by Unknown

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry to say it, but it appears we can only cover the other driver and his…three passengers? Yes, three. And their car.”

  He clicked the mouse and waited as the printer spit out three forms.

  “I just need your signature on this.” He passed it across the desk to her. “There’s a pen right there.” It was attached to a black tether, because too many people had stolen his custom-made pens.

  She picked it up. Her hand seemed more liquid than solid, the way it wavered, the way the pen shook in her grip. She signed. He took the paper back and was surprised to see that her signature was very neat. He folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket.

  “There’s a lot of paperwork involved,” he said. “You know, they can invent a time machine but they can’t come up with an alternative to all this paperwork.”

  He always thought that comment was funny – or at least interesting – but Mrs. Anderson did not react.

  She stood, but her legs appeared to be unable to support her body. She leaned heavily on the back of her chair with both hands. “Please. I’m just asking you this as a favor. Please. He’s my husband.”

  His secretary was now leaning forward in her chair and folding her arms beneath her chest, pushing up her breasts. As Mrs. Anderson composed herself, Timothy thought maybe seeing Janet wasn’t such a bad thing. He realized he could stare at her cleavage all day, and it was pretty funny watching her pretend to be picking something up off the floor as Mrs. Anderson turned to leave. Not funny. Cute. He found it cute. He wanted to invite her into his office right then, clear off his desk with a swipe of his arm just as he’d done the first time, just as he’d seen in movies.

  But no. He had to take care of Mrs…. He checked the screen. Anderson. Mrs. Anderson. It would be an easy one. He looked at the glass front door. Mrs. Anderson was on the other side of it now.

  “I’m going to take care of the Anderson case,” he said. “Do I have any more appointments this afternoon?”

  Janet crossed her legs and leaned forward again. “Nope.”

  “Good. You’ll be here when I get back, won’t you?”

  “You’ll be gone, like, two seconds. Remember?”

  “Oh. Right.” He felt himself blushing. “I’ll see you in a few.”

  He stood, walked out into the front office and through a side door. He flicked on the light switch. The room was as big as his office. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, were silver. It was like stepping into a house of mirrors. A person could see all their flaws from every angle.

  In the center of the room, as silver as the walls and floor and ceiling, stood the Machine. Like a convex mirror, it made him look fat and stretched. Smooth and round. It was shaped, Timothy was often embarrassed to acknowledge at get-togethers, like a giant egg.

  The front of the thing jumped out a few inches with a hydraulic hiss, and then slowly moved to the side, allowing him to enter. As he climbed in, he thought about his wife, but just for a moment. Then, as he seated himself on the low bench and watched the door slide shut before him, he pictured Janet’s thighs. He punched the case number into the numerical pad that glowed on the wall beside him. He would not be traveling through space, but the trip always jarred him. He shut his eyes as the Machine began to shake. Colors danced across the insides of his eyelids, colors he knew no names for. A spectrum, he’d heard, outside the realm of physics.

  Then it was over, and the door slid open, and he stepped out into the same room as before. This time, he walked behind the Machine and through the back door, which opened into a garage that smelled equally of motor oil and new leather. Two cars, one silver, one blue, stood parked before two closed garage doors. To the side, various tools that the mechanics used on weekends for general upkeep. He climbed in the car nearest him, pressed the button to open the garage, and backed out into early evening. It still bothered him, entering, and leaving different times of day as quickly as passing through rooms in a house.

  He drove to the corner of Clark and Addison. He parked. He checked his expression in the rearview mirror. Thinking about Janet kept forcing a smile onto his face. He needed a neutral expression. He had to be calculating. This next part would be dangerous. He would be stopping an accident, but the people might prove difficult to deal with. He thought of his wife, and the smile melted away. In the glove compartment, he found the beacon light, a big red and blue thing shaped like an ice cream cone. He stepped outside. There was the car. He turned the beacon on and stepped into the street. He had to turn his face away because the light was so bright.

  The car slowed to a stop. Behind him, a car passed through the intersection. If he hadn’t been there, the Andersons’ car would have smashed into it. There would have been several deaths, although Timothy couldn’t remember exactly how many. He tossed the beacon back into his car and stepped to the driver’s window. Mrs. Anderson rolled it down.

  “Good evening. I’m Timothy Richards from Our Family Insurance, and I’m here tonight to prevent an accident.”

  “Good God!” Mr. Anderson said. He was a middle-aged man in a business suit with a receding hairline. He held his wife’s purse on his lap. “When would it have happened?”

  “Several seconds ago. The car that just passed through the intersection. Your car would have smashed into theirs, killing the occupants.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Mr. Anderson said. “Damn it, Rebecca, I’ve told you to pay attention. I’ve told you a thousand times.”

  “Oh my,” was all Mrs. Anderson said.

  Timothy reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small black device, the size and shape of a pack of cigarettes. “Mr. Anderson, could you please step out of the vehicle?”

  “Why?” Mr. Anderson said.

  “Sir, I need you to step outside the vehicle immediately. We are in danger of negatively impacting the flow of time.”

  Mr. Anderson appeared confused, but he handed the purse to his wife and climbed out. Timothy rounded the car and placed the black device on Mr. Anderson’s chest. A moment later, the old man crumpled to the ground. Mrs. Anderson screamed.

  A minute of hysteria passed. Mrs. Anderson was inconsolable. Timothy placed the black device back into his pocket.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

  “You’re sorry? You just murdered my husband!”

  “Your husband would have died in the wreck, and allowing him to live might have altered time in a potentially catastrophic way. It is for the best.” He pulled the form from his pocket. “You signed this, in the future. Can I please have your Visa card? If the deductible extends beyond your credit limit, you will be billed for the remainder.”

  She was crying. She took the form from him with quaking hands and held it up. In the waning light, it must have been hard to read. She shook her head. “Why did you have to…? Those other people would have died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, haven’t you changed the course of history by saving them? Why did you… why did you kill…?”

  “Ma’am, I do apologize, but we always recommend stronger coverage. May I see your Visa card?”

  She sat in the driver’s seat and shook her head, back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. Timothy reached across her and took her purse. She didn’t move. He opened it, leafed through tampons and loose change and packs of Kleenex until he found her Visa card. He placed it in his pocket. “Your card will be returned to you upon verification of fund transfer. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he snatched the form from her hands— “I must be on my way. Direct any inquiries to our corporate office.”

  He turned and left the woman to her tears. As he climbed in the car, he was already thinking about Janet. He pushed thoughts of his wife from his mind. No guilt tonight. Not tonight. Tonight would be for Janet, and then tomorrow, at the corporate dinner, he’d receive his promotion. Maybe he would take a vacation. With Janet? Yes. He would call it a business trip. He forgot her even be
fore he arrived back at the office, back to the present, at which point he really forgot her. Time flowed forward. She had never been to his office. To Timothy, she no longer existed.

  Caitlin Invisible

  Ben Bamber

  As a ten-year-old Caitlin knew she was ordinary. She found the new house extension mysterious, and her younger brother irritating. She didn’t always behave for her mother, for which she felt guilty, but not enough to apologise. For the most part she liked waking up late at night and staring out of the window of an unfinished extension window. It had an echo, which Caitlin exploited. For six months the extension remained empty, with tools and scaffolding lying around. Access to it was via the utility room, containing the washing machine and the deep freezer. Caitlin would often go into the room, kind of enjoying the danger of her imagination. The shadows, the cold, the greyness of the walls and ceiling as if it were a tomb. She never stayed long, waiting just long enough to shiver in her bedclothes then returning to bed.

  “Caitlin. What are you doing in here again?” Her mother grabbed Caitlin’s shoulders and walked her into the kitchen. “You’re freezing now. It’s going to take ages to warm you up.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re going to have to lock you in your room.” Her mother joked, but Caitlin was tired and didn’t respond.

  Her father walked in. “Was she in that room again?”

  “Yes. If you finished it we wouldn’t have this problem.” He grimaced.

  Caitlin peered round the frame of the door and watched him pour a scotch. She looked back before he noticed her, took the hot water bottle from her Mother then returned to her room in silence.

  Next morning Caitlin scrambled out of bed before being called. Wrapped in a quilt, her eyes puffy and her cheeks red from the heat of her bed, she wandered downstairs calling for her mother. Her parents always had the heat turned up too high.

  “You all right darling?” her mother asked. Caitlin smiled.

  “Can I have crispies please?”

  Her brother bounded in fully dressed, screaming and shouting. Caitlin pushed him away as he stood right up to her face and pulled a grimace to annoy her.

  “Harry!”

  After breakfast, Caitlin, wrapped in a large red duffle coat, played outside. She grabbed her bike, then Harry grabbed his to imitate her and they cycled in circles round the garden. Caitlin circled the garden three times before abandoning her bike to stop Harry copying her.

  Saturday night was always spent in front of the television. Her dad had rented a family film and Caitlin sank into it - its message, its story. She lost herself in an imaginary world, with the rest of her family sinking into the background. Then it was bedtime again. She was tired. As mother pushed them gently past the passage to the extension, she craned her neck backwards to look at it. She wondered whether her curiosity would take a hold and she would be there again tonight.

  At midnight she woke to the Disney clock light in her eyes. She stared at the luminous numbers as she tried to make out the time. The light doesn’t normally come on, but she didn’t give this much thought. In the house she could hear movement and decided to wait before she climbed downstairs to look in the extension. When she heard her parent’s bedroom door softly clunk shut, she climbed out of bed putting her feet straight into her slippers.

  She was wide awake now and the house was silent. She crept over to her dressing gown and slipped it on. It was a bit too small for her. She peered out into the corridor. She passed into the landing and down the stairs, which creaked. They gave her away last time, so she slowly placed one foot on one stair at a time. She turned carefully at the banister and walked towards the plastic sheeting covering the door into the new room. There was a good view of the park. When she arrived, the floor reflected light from the moon and the street lamps. She hadn’t noticed this before and strained to see what was different about it.

  She slid on the floor, so she stooped to touch it. It was a thin layer of ice. She crept across the floor, the ice cracking under her feet, making what seemed like a loud enough noise to wake her parents.

  The moonlight illuminated the room, creating a sheen on the bare plaster walls.

  At the window she saw what looked like several cars and people on the green. Trees cast shadows across it and she watched shivering with the cold. Lights flashed around and quiet voices reached her from the green, before she turned with a start to see her mother in a pink dressing gown and fluffy slippers shuffle past her. What was going on?

  Caitlin stepped forward and saw that there was a large machine with doors open and people walking like zombies through them then walking back out a couple of minutes later. She saw her mother, father and Harry walking, as if mesmerized. She moved closer. Now she could see tall thin grey beings herding people in and out of the strange machine. She began to shake and cry, and then marched out. It was bitterly cold. The alien figures didn’t look at her when she inched out of the door onto the street. Even her parents didn’t look up at her. She saw them enter the jaws of the machine; large open doors, flat and silvery, the rest of the ship hidden in the shadows. She waited, worrying they may not re-emerge. Eventually they marched past her as if she was invisible.

  “Mother,” she cried. “Dad.” Ignored. Then as her father turned to close the door she flung herself forward. She landed on the doormat with a carpet burn for her trouble. She rubbed it and stood. All three walked robotically inside. As she cried and called their names they continued to ignore her. She shook in terror. The door closed in Caitlin’s face. She stepped back to avoid having her nose smacked. She wept and sat on the doormat outside, knocking on the door, crying. Eventually the door opened and as if nothing had happened her mother spoke to her, seemingly back to normal.

  “What’s wrong, Caitlin?” She knelt and picked Caitlin up.

  Caitlin was hysterical. Her parents tried to calm her down, but Caitlin couldn’t stop. Her Mother began to cry, as she bobbed Caitlin up and down in her arms.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she asked her husband.

  Caitlin saw her father biting his lips and his hand folded backwards against the kitchen worktop, and his forehead worry lines deepening. Eventually, taking big sighs in between her words, she spoke. “I went into the new bit and it was icy on the floor.”

  Her mother looked at father. “Is it icy?” He shook his head.

  Caitlin continued: “I saw everyone climb into the spaceship and then come out, and then you and dad didn’t see me. You just walked past and I didn’t know what to do. And I had to jump into the front door.”

  “But me and daddy haven’t gone out, love.”

  “Why did they leave me out, Mother?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Caitlin began to cry again. “You don’t believe me.”

  Her mother put her down. “Get her a drink, Father.”

  Caitlin’s father poured a juice and gave it to Caitlin. She gulped trying to catch her breath between sobs. They walked into the living room. Caitlin’s mother switched on the heater and sat her daughter down in a chair.

  “Tell me again, Caitlin. What happened?”

  Father, with the deep look of distress and worry across his face, leant against the wall.

  Caitlin trembled. “A spaceship. You all got into a spaceship.”

  Her mother shook her head. “But there’s no such thing.”

  “She dreamt it,” her father added.

  Father and Mother dressed one at a time so they could keep Caitlin in her bedroom, while Harry wandered round upstairs looking lost and traumatised. When Father noticed blood on his shirt, he asked Mother where it had come from.

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. “You can see I have Caitlin to deal with, you silly man.” He threw the garment into the washing basket, and then called Dr. Peters.

  Father realized that the doctor and his colleagues would have to consider the possibility of his daughter having been sexually assaulted and whether he was fully engaged
in the problem. Was it just a bad dream? Father had every reason to assume that he would be under the spotlight now. If he agreed to her being assessed in a psychiatric facility, she would have the chance to explain what happened

  “Okay,” Mother said, and they sat in the kitchen to talk.

  “She needs to go to hospital,” Father said.

  “I agree. At least for a few days so they can assess her.”

  Father was relieved and surprised. “Okay, I thought that was going to be difficult.”

  “Why?”

  They discussed what might have happened, including an intruder. But there were no readily available explanations of how their sweet girl could have suddenly exploded into psychosis from nowhere. That evening she was removed from the house, screaming and crying into an ambulance. The doctors agreed with her parents that she must have an assessment in a safe environment.

  Mother cried, while Father talked to Harry about what was happening to his sister. He didn’t really understand, except to say that he had blood in his shirt too. Father shrugged this off, not having the energy to go and find Harry’s shirt and check it. He must have overheard him telling Mother. He and Harry sat closely together and watched television.

  Father said to Mother, “You could take one of those pills Dr. Peters prescribed.” Mother didn’t answer.

  Early next morning Father helped with breakfast so Mother could go to the hospital. He saw her pick a small piece of mud which fell off her slippers. She smelt it, then wrapped it up in tissue and put into the swing bin.

  At eight o’clock they headed out to the car. The grass had a large indentation in it and Father walked slowly over to it. Mother took out her camera and snapped a picture. She checked it on the screen and then drove away.

  Half asleep, Caitlin heard her mother.

  “Hi darling, how are you doing?”

  Caitlin covered up her knee graze but knew her mother must have noticed it.

  “Okay, though I don’t want to be here. Mother, why did they leave me out?”