Wealth of Time

by Andre Gonzalez

“Attempted?”

  “Yes, attempted. It’s practically impossible to change a major historical event. The bigger the impact an event had on society, the more resistance you’ll run into. I know a guy who traveled to 2001 to try and prevent the terror attacks of 9/11. His truck exploded the night of September 10 while he was driving to dinner, never to be seen again.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Holy shit is right. However, saving your daughter shouldn’t have too much resistance, as it wasn’t something that directly impacted society as a whole. There will be some challenges, don’t count it out, but I doubt it will be anything life-threatening.”

  “I’ve been toying around with the idea of stopping the Columbine shooting.”

  “Columbine? Can you refresh me what that was?”

  “Major school shooting in 1999. The two shooters are currently freshmen at the high school.”

  “I see. Where I’m from—er, when I’m from—a lot has been removed from the history books. Censorship has skyrocketed under the administration. That’s why many of us have traveled back in time to rewrite history books for our safekeeping. It’s like an underground Wikipedia we’re trying to build.”

  “Oh, so you still have Wikipedia in the future?”

  “Sure, but it’s all censored. I guarantee you there’s no trace of Columbine High School if I were to look it up. Anything negative toward the Second Amendment gets automatically censored.”

  “Damn, glad I’ll be dead long before then.”

  “Yeah, it sure is an interesting time. To answer your question, though, I’d say you’ll have to be the judge as to how big of an effect this shooting had on society. I’m not familiar with it myself.”

  “At the time, it was the deadliest school shooting ever. President Clinton flew out here to deliver a speech. Personally, I consider it the shooting that sparked the hundreds that followed afterwards.”

  “Hundreds of shootings? I remember when I was younger, maybe around 2020 or so there were a few shootings, but they slowly started to fade. Then again, they could still be happening, we just never hear about them.”

  “I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty intrigued to visit your future, just to see what the world is like.”

  “It’s not pretty, believe me.”

  “What do you think I should do?” Martin asked, tossing his hands in the air.

  “Why do you wanna do this? I thought you were here for your daughter. Seems silly to me to risk her life for anything else.”

  “I have a lot of time to kill between now and September. My daughter is in her routine; nothing changes between now and then.”

  “So you’re bored and wanna change the world?”

  “Not bored, I’ve just never had the opportunity to do good for the world. I’ve lived in a black hole since Izzy went missing and have run on autopilot for the last two decades of my life. But, here, I feel so alive. So alert and sharp. It would be a waste to sit around and watch baseball all summer.”

  Calvin nodded, a closed fist over his mouth. “It sounds to me like your mind is already made up. Just make sure you’re careful, the past has a way of knowing what you’re thinking, and will push back. I don’t wanna hear about your car exploding while on a drive. I’d say if the president flew out here, then we’re talking about a very big deal.”

  Martin nodded. “I’m just gonna follow these kids around and see what kind of opportunity there is.”

  “No harm in that. Just be ready for resistance. When you feel it, it’s time to let off. You should probably get going now. We’ve been talking way too long. Try to stay away from here for at least another month if you can.”

  The way Calvin spoke made Martin wonder if someone was watching them. Surely Chris was, but there was no reason to fear the old man.

  “Understood, thanks for your help again.” Martin stuck out a hand to shake with Calvin. He left the liquor store behind and would never return, if he could help it.

  21

  Chapter 21

  Martin arrived at Columbine High School forty minutes later. The directions took him on a couple of wrong turns, stranding him in the middle of an unfamiliar neighborhood. He had to resort to an old practice that had since gone out of style in the mid-twenty-first century: going into a gas station to ask for directions.

  The attendant pointed him in the right direction and he pulled into the school parking lot two minutes later. He sat in the parking lot, facing the school’s main entrance. The entrance was a wall of blue glass that reminded him of a shallow beach. Beige stone walls made up the rest of the school’s exterior. Nostalgia filled Martin’s tiny car as he stared at the building where hell would break loose and change the landscape of America for many years to come.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be here.

  He sensed the magnitude of his side project and a natural doubt crept in.

  “Don’t be a chickenshit – you’re here, just go look around. It’s 1996, you can probably walk into the school and no one will pay you any attention.”

  Schools didn’t have a reason for high security measures yet. The doors would be unlocked, there would be no security guard on duty, and there might not even be a sign-in sheet.

  “Hi, I’m here to meet Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold so I can save your life,” Martin said to the imaginary secretary.

  He stepped out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh air. The grass on the front lawn was already a deep shade of green where a handful of students sat cross-legged with textbooks in their laps and composition books on the side. The school had to have housed at least 2,000 students based on its sheer massiveness.

  We’re not in Larkwood anymore, he thought, remembering his high school was lucky to even have patches of grass to sit on for mid-morning studying.

  Martin glanced at his watch to see lunchtime would be right around the corner. He walked to up a young girl on the lawn, and she looked up at him from behind big glasses and flashed a smile full of braces.

  “Hello,” Martin said. “I just had a quick question.”

  “Good morning, sir,” she replied warmly. “Are you looking for someone?”

  “No. I’m actually just wondering about your school. My family has moved to town and I’m out and about today checking out the different campuses.”

  The girl stood up, brushed grass off her jeans, and stuck out a skinny arm to shake his hand. “Welcome to town. My name’s Amy. I’m a junior here.”

  “Nice to meet you, Amy.” Her overwhelming kindness caught him off-guard. “My name is Martin.”

  “What kind of questions did you have?”

  “How big is your class?”

  “I think we have a little over 400 students in my class.”

  “Are the classes separated? Like are freshman in one section of the school? Seniors in another?”

  “For the most part. Classes are in different parts of the school, but our lockers are all separated by class, so everyone stays within their class for the most part during the day.”

  “I see. Do you know if the school offers any tours?”

  “I think so. You should be able to go into the office and they can help you with that.”

  “Thank you, I think I’ll do that. You’ve been very helpful, Amy.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The school’s bell rang out across the lawn at noon, prompting everyone to return inside the building. Martin waited back until it appeared everyone had gone inside, and then he followed.

  He stood in front of the school, watching dozens of students cross paths through the glass, and wondered if Eric and Dylan were in the mix. The thought sent chills up his back that he didn’t notice.

  Once the halls had cleared of traffic, Martin strolled to the building’s double doors and pulled. The door didn’t budge, shuddering in place as he kept pulling on it. His heart raced as he wondered if this was the past already pushing back at him. Schools didn’t lock their front doors until after the shooting that changed the world.


  The entryway was wide with three sets of double doors, so he shuffled down to another and pulled the door open with no resistance. He giggled at himself for panicking so quickly at one door being locked out of the six.

  The hallway in front of him led straight back 100 feet before splitting into two separate directions. The walls were lined with blue lockers and a banner hung from the hallway’s entry that read: HOME OF THE REBELS!

  The main office was directly to Martin’s right. He started toward the office when a cold hand tickled his back. He turned around to find no one. The hairs on his arms stood stiffly as he decided it was all in his head.

  The secretary inside the office watched him through the doorway, and waved him to enter. “Hello, sir, is there something I can help you with?” she asked. The nameplate on her desk identified her as Ms. Helms, an older woman pushing sixty with curly gray hair and a bright smile that shined through her early wrinkles.

  “Yes, ma’am, I was actually wondering if you do tours of the school?”

  “We sure do. Is your child here?”

  “Actually, he’s not. My family is moving from out of state. My wife and son are still back at home while I get things started here, so it’ll just be me for the tour.”

  Nice reaction, Marty. Looks like you do have a knack for this detective life.

  “I see. If you want to have a seat I can find someone to show you around the school in a few minutes.”

  “Sounds good, thank you.”

  Martin sat in the row of chairs that ran along the office’s wall. He could see into the empty hallway toward the exit that had played with his mind a couple minutes earlier.

  The office walls were lined with portraits of the school’s past principals. The photos all led to the back wall where an enlarged portrait of President Bill Clinton hung beside an American flag. A handful of offices were below these pictures, including the principal’s office. The clock on the wall approached noon, ticking away in the silent office among the soft hum of computers.

  Martin waited, not sure what to do. Normally, he’d pull out his phone and check his emails and social media accounts, but that was no longer an option in his current situation, so he fidgeted with his fingers and tried to erase the fact that some sort of force had brushed its coldness on his body when he entered the site of a future massacre.

  “Excuse me, sir?” a voice interrupted his thoughts. A young woman stood in front of him who looked like she was maybe a day removed from college. “You’re looking to tour the school?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “Great! My name is Jessica, and I’ve been a teaching assistant here at the school all year. I’ll be showing you around and I can answer any questions you might have.”

  “Terrific. My name is Martin Briar.”

  “I understand your son won’t be able to make it in for a tour.”

  “Correct. He’s still back home with my wife finishing up the packing.”

  “I see. Where are you all coming from?” Jessica asked in her cheery voice.

  “California. I got a new job opportunity I couldn’t pass up here.”

  “Very cool. Well, welcome to Colorado and welcome to Columbine High School, we love to add to our growing community.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been very impressed with the town so far.”

  “Perfect, well follow me.”

  Martin followed her back into the main hallway where she stood with her hands clasped under her tiny bosom.

  “So, this is the main entrance as you probably figured out. All of the administration is in the office should you ever need to meet with any one. Our school is two levels with the majority of the classrooms on the upper level. Down this hallway are most of the freshman lockers. Will your son be a freshman in the fall?”

  “Yes,” Martin lied.

  “Terrific. So this is most likely where his locker will be, somewhere in this long hallway. If not, he’ll be around the corner closer to the cafeteria, which we’ll go take a look at now.”

  They walked down the freshman hallway, Martin knowing behind two of the locker doors was the property belonging to Eric and Dylan. He remembered they had both kept disturbing journals and couldn’t help but wonder if those journals were already in the school building today.

  Martin recognized the cafeteria when they reached the end of the hallway. White circular tables with blue chairs spread across the entirety of the room, dozens of students filling the room to eat. The view from the cafeteria faced the massive Rocky Mountains in the distance, and overlooked the soccer field where hundreds would flee when word broke of a shooting in the school.

  He closed his eyes and remembered the images of the cafeteria he had seen on the news. Backpacks, books, and jackets were all left behind on the ground while abandoned food trays and drinks stayed on the tables, as if never touched. Two propane tanks had been placed around the cafeteria with hopes of blowing up that entire section of the school. Over 400 students were in the cafeteria at the time, but the bombs never detonated. Had those bombs gone off, the school would have surely been demolished and no longer exist in the future.

  “Mr. Briar?”

  He had gone so far off the deep end in his mind that Jessica’s voice had droned into a cluster of noise in the cafeteria.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you had any questions so far.”

  “Oh, sorry. I do not, thank you.”

  “Great. If you’ll follow me through the cafeteria, I can show you the few classrooms we have on the first floor.”

  She led them through the cafeteria where Martin couldn’t help but stare out the window to the open soccer field. If only you knew.

  Jessica guided them through a side door on the other end of the cafeteria, and when the door shut behind them, they stood in a short hallway in complete silence.

  “Is that a soundproof door?” he asked.

  “It is. Since we have lunch hours from 11 to 2, we don’t want any of the noise to carry into this hall.” More blue lockers lined the wall as they walked down and passed numerous classrooms in session. “These classrooms are home to our business and foreign language departments. So basically, any math class is over here, and then we offer Spanish, French, German, and Latin.”

  Martin looked around, hoping to see a glance of young Eric or Dylan somewhere. With the school’s size, it would be a long shot tracking them down so easily.

  Jessica kept strolling through the halls, and Martin followed as she pushed open a small door that led them back to the lobby at the main entrance. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Martin hadn’t noticed the stairwell when he first entered, but it was directly to the right of the doorway and twisted upward to the second floor landing. Two long hallways stretched in opposite directions.

  “Up here are the rest of the lockers. As you can see, the space spans all the way to the back of the school. The rest of the classrooms are up here, too. Language arts, science, the art studio, and the music room are all on this floor along with the library.”

  The library. He needed to see it—that’s where all the drama occurred just before the boys turned their guns on themselves and called it a day.

  “Let’s go check out the east hall first and we can finish in the library,” Jessica said, starting in that direction.

  A knot twisted in Martin’s stomach. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. The library was a regular high school library. It hadn’t seen any tragedy and it would be filled with students studying like any other day. He started to sweat and wiped it quickly off his forehead before Jessica could notice.

  They walked down the hall toward the band room in what felt like slow motion. Martin suddenly felt lost in his mind, as if walking down a dark hallway by himself. He watched his body walk down the long hallway, having a true out-of-body experience.

  Am I dying? Martin felt like he should be panicking, his heart should be pulsing, adrenaline should flood his body, but nothing happ
ened. Everything felt numb. Jessica kept talking, probably creeped out by the strange father and wanting to end the tour as soon as possible. Her voice echoed in his mind, how it might sound when you could somewhat overhear a conversation through walls in a hotel room.

  A sound filled his vacant head, reminding him of slithering snakes. “Get out,” a voice whispered. “Get out. Get out.”

  As if shoved in the back, Martin returned to himself, feeling control over his body. He studied his hands as if he’d never seen them before.

  “I’m sorry, Jessica. I’m feeling a bit off. I think I should leave.”

  “Oh. Are you sure? We’re almost done.”

  “How much longer?”

  “We can skip the classrooms and I can show you the library and gym before we wrap up.”

  Don’t go to that library.

  “Okay, I think I can manage.” The temptation to see the library proved too strong for Martin, even in the midst of whatever was happening in his head.

  Just go look, nothing bad will happen from looking at the library.

  He wondered if a place could be haunted before a tragedy occurred, because walking through the halls of this storied school certainly felt like it.

  “Can we just do the library and call it a day? Seen one gym, seen them all.” He offered a forced chuckle, feeling normal again, but terrified of what had just happened to his senses.

  “Oh, sure thing.” She led them back down the hall, no longer speaking, and walking a bit faster than she had earlier in the tour.

  Martin could see the library at the end of the hall, a set of wooden double doors leading into the infamous room where the two shooters killed most of their victims and themselves.

  There was no further sense of an out-of-body experience as they approached the library.

  “Here we are,” Jessica said, the perkiness fading from her voice, as she pulled open the double doors.

  They stepped in. And nothing happened.

  He wasn’t sure what he thought would happen, but life carried on as normal in the quiet library. Students huddled around the few computers available, while others claimed their territory at the many tables scattered about the room between the dozens of bookshelves.