Surely, there must be some remedy for such a scenario. I mean, if time travel exists—and I know it does—there must be a way to make things right again. Surely my father had not put his entire life into something that was a dead end. Of course. Time travel makes all things possible. Circumstances cannot be changed, but decisions—actions—can, thus changing outcomes. But what? And how? There is a clear end to my father’s research. And he is gone. There is no section in his files—no manual—for rescuing lost love. I will be on my own, that much is apparent.
And the most pertinent piece of information I need right now is whether or not there is a computer chip inside Tess Turner. Finding out will not be easy, I know. But it is absolutely necessary. If there is a chip, things can be restored. If not, things will be immeasurably more difficult.
In my mind’s eye, as I sit there, darkness approaching, I can see Tess’s thin, willowy figure, standing across the park, the wind lifting her dark hair, blowing it across her face. She is not looking at me, but I can see her eyes anyway, because I know them—I feel them, with everything I have. There is a spark, deep within them, like two perfect stars. I imagine watching her intently for several minutes, soft music still playing on my car stereo. If she were here, and I could reach her, I could simply run my fingers across her head to the spot where I know the chip would be—the subtle, small protrusion that no one except one looking for it could discern.
If I could simply touch it…know it is there, I would have hope. And everything good begins in hope. I am reminded of H.G. Wells’ time traveler, again…in my father’s book. I’ve read it many times, and each time, I have learned something I’d missed the time before. Upon seeing the future world as a virtual paradise, still, the traveler is overwhelmed by the strangeness of what he sees. It is unfamiliar. He can’t understand it. He is confronted with the thought: “…like a lash across the face, came the possibility of losing my own age, of being left helpless in this strange new world.” He wonders, as most would, if he will get stuck here and not be able to return to what he knows.
To be honest, I’m feeling a little bit like that now…only, I’m in the here and now, and it’s far from paradise. It’s reality. The future, as well as the past, always appears lovelier than the here and now. And yet, what I wouldn’t give to be stuck somewhere else—anywhere, in fact. Anywhere that Tess is mine. What if I am simply stuck here with no possibility of ever being with the one I love?
My heartbeat speeds up and I feel a flush across my face. I grip the steering wheel in something of a state of resolve—and yet, I have no idea what I am going to do with that resolve. If it were within the realm of sanity, I would race back to that hospital, go right up to Tess’s bedside, and find that chip. A crazy thought crosses my mind then. Maybe I can sneak in, after everyone has gone home, find her sleeping, and take my opportunity. My face flushes even more with the ridiculousness of this thought.
The chip must be there, I decide, as if my conscious acknowledgement of it made it true. My heart nearly stops when I remember the wireless updates. Of course, why didn’t I think of it before? I can simply update her chip and all will be good. I smile uncontrollably to myself. My hands start shaking with excitement. Hope is alive and well. With a few keystrokes, Tess Turner will be mine again.
I am so excited that I go directly to the lab and pull up the Project Zero folder on the computer. Inside I find the file I had discovered earlier that explained the process of wireless updates. It occurs to me that, since the updates are automatic, something must have gone wrong with the connection when Tess entered the lightning storm—which is puzzling, in itself, since lightning is the catalyst for all this to begin with.
Not sure what to do next, I open up my email account, and find a rather strange message:
August 14, 2012
TO: Mr. Zach Webb
FROM: E.G.W.
SUBJ: Greetings
By now you have discovered my letter and the chip. As I have no way of knowing where exactly you are on the timeline, I can only assume that you are in some measure of confusion at this point. Rest assured, son, that I am well aware of this, and I am here to help. Please respond if you have received this message, and I will reply with further details.
E.G.W.
Wait—Son? What the heck? I re-read the email, my eyes locking on the initials, E.G.W. Edwin G. Webb. My father? My heart starts racing, my brain scrambling for footing. My initial thought is, Ok. Who is playing games with me? Who else knows about this research? About Project Zero? And then…a tiny thought flickers deep inside me. What if? What if my father didn’t die at all but ended up somewhere in the future, a future where he has access to everything that is happening to me right now. I grip either side of my head and gasp with the possibility and impossibility of it.
And then—the next big question. Should I respond? If it’s someone who has obtained knowledge of the research, he or she might use it to manipulate me or blackmail me for more information. After all, this is a fantastic discovery, one that has the potential to change everything we know about our world. I must be careful. In the hands of the wrong person, this could go terribly wrong. On the other hand, if I really is my father, I have the opportunity of a lifetime—something people only dream about, to talk to a lost loved one.
August 14, 2012
TO: E.G.W.
FROM: Mr. Zach Webb
RE: Greetings
Dear Sir,
I have received, and am intrigued by, your message. As you may suspect, I am in a tenuous situation which you have indicated you may be able to remedy. Please understand, however, that I must have definitive proof of your identity.
To my surprise, an immediate reply appears:
August 14, 2012
TO: Mr. Zach Webb
FROM: E.G.W.
RE: Greetings
Dear Zach:
On page 87 of H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine, you will find the information you are seeking.
E.G.W.
Immediately, I start rummaging through my backpack for the tattered copy of the book that I have carried around with me for years. I find page 86 and turn to the next one. Glancing at the bottom, I find it is page 89. Pages 87 and 88 are missing. Funny, after all the times I’ve read it, I’d never noticed it before. Frustrated at the publishing error, I close the book and stare at my computer screen, debating my next move. With a sigh, I grab the book again and open it to page 86. As I flip the page back and forth, I notice the feel of the paper between my fingers. Somehow, this page seems heavier. When I investigate, I find that the two pages are indeed stuck together.
Another message pops up:
August 14, 2012
TO: Mr. Zach Webb
FROM: E.G.W.
SUBJ: A tip
Dear Son,
You will need to steam open those pages.
E.G.W.
I am flabbergasted, thrilled, and completely blown away. My father has indeed contacted me from the future. I never would have guessed this possible, and yet, if I were to think about it with any degree of intellectual depth, of course, it makes sense. Not only did he discover time travel, but he made it accessible—to me and to Tess Turner. Presumably, we are the only three people in the universe with this privileged information. What are the odds? Excitedly, I type in a reply:
August 14, 2012
TO: E.G.W.
FROM: Zach Webb
RE: A Tip
Dad,
I can’t believe it! I am simply blown away by what you’ve accomplished. There is so much to talk about. Not only is your research incredible and life altering—indeed, universe altering—it is downright cool to be a part of it. I have a lot of questions, as you may suspect. And yes, I am in the midst of a particular quandary involving Tess that I won’t go into at the moment (though I’m sure you already know the details of it, intimately). For now, I will investigate the pages in The Time Machine (once I get home, as I have no way to open them here at the lab), and I will rep
ly as soon as possible.
Love,
Zach
Contact with my father eases my anxiety about Tess somewhat. If anyone can help me figure out what to do, it’s him. I can’t help think that somehow Tess’s chip can be re-programmed. It seems like the most logical conclusion. I reprogram her chip to include the memories of us, and all will be back to normal. Whatever normal is….
Tess
One thing that completely baffles me. After everything that has happened—a freak accident, out for eight days—for some reason, this cheesy movie was one of the first things that came to mind. The question just keeps nagging at me: What would it be like, to have never been born? Would the world be a different place, just like in the movie, It’s A Wonderful Life? Does one person have that much impact?
I’m still pondering these questions when I realize the room is empty. My parents are gone and I’m staring at an empty chair. It’s still light outside and the sun is filtering through the blinds. As if by cue, a doctor glides into the room with a clipboard, his glasses on the end of his nose, and sits deliberately in the chair beside me.
“Ms. Turner? I want to visit with you for a moment, would that be ok?”
Do I have a choice? “Sure,” I reply.
He shuffles some paper and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “What is your birthdate?”
Why does he keep calling me Ms. Turner? “April 18. And you can call me Tess.” I smile.
“Very good,” he says, scribbling on a piece of paper. “Now, how old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“And what is your full name?”
Really? “Tess Elaine Turner.”
“What year is it?”
“2012.”
“Excellent.” The doctor looks up from his papers and glances at me. “How are you feeling, Tess?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“I had some sort of run in with a storm, so I hear,” I reply.
The doctor nods. “And, what do you remember about that, Tess?”
Was this a trick question? “Well, my dad tells me I might have gotten struck by lightning.”
“Yes, but do you remember anything about it? Where you were? And what you were doing?”
“Not really,” I admit.
A slight expression—something between a frown and a smirk—creeps across his face, as if my condition both worries and excites him, in a professional sort of way. Maybe a doctor waits years to get a case as messed up—and, therefore, interesting—as mine. Finally, all his good education put to work. “Do you remember anything before that night? About your friends? School? Anything you can tell me would be helpful.”
Did I remember anything? Man is that a broad question. I swear I can literally feel my brain trying to wrap itself around it.
“I sort of remember a girl named Cricket.”
“Cricket? This is a friend of yours?”
I nod. “A friend from school.”
“And your other friends? The ones who were here earlier.”
My mind drifts. Of course. I vaguely remember Alex. He’d apparently dropped by to bring me flowers while I was out and had left word with my parents to have me call him when I felt up to it. And then there’s Dani. She had been here at the hospital when I woke up. We had been besties since we were kids. I remember waking up and being glad she was there, but my memories of the past were fuzzy. I knew we were friends—best friends, in fact—but I had the distinct sense that something was missing, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. But I knew, as soon as I saw Dani, that our relationship was not the same. “Dani Chase. She’s my best friend . . . .” I say it, but it doesn’t feel right, somehow.
The doctor is writing some notes, then stops and looks at me thoughtfully. “And the gentleman who was with her?”
I flush. You mean the insanely gorgeous guy who was with the equally gorgeous girl who happens to be my best friend? “Zach. He’s a friend of Dani’s.”
“All right, I think that about does it,” he says, gathering up his papers. He stands up. “I’ll be talking to your parents, Ms. Turner. Meanwhile, take care of yourself and rest.”
I nod. “Ok.” As he starts out the door, I add, “Am I going to be all right?”
“Of course,” he replies. “Rest now, all right?”
My parents come in later to tell me that I am likely suffering from retrograde amnesia, a type of memory loss caused by trauma. I can recall much of my past, except the events leading up to and including the trauma, which, by the way, is all right by me. I don’t particularly want to remember the trauma. The doctor is recommending six weeks of therapy—and since it’s summer, it won’t interfere with school. I should be fully recovered and ready for school in August. For now, at least I can go home.
Summer***
Within minutes of arriving home, I doze off while sitting on the couch. Ironically, after sleeping for eight days, I am tired. The doorbell wakes me up and I hear my parents talking in a low voice. Then Cricket is standing in my living room.
“Hey,” I say groggily.
“Didn’t mean to wake you up,” Cricket says, sitting down. “How are you?”
“Tired,” I sigh. “But ok.”
“I heard you got struck by lightning.”
“Maybe,” I shrug. “I don’t remember any of it.” Suddenly a memory of sitting with Cricket eating ice cream surfaced, and I have to smile.
“What?” Cricket asks, grinning back.
“Nothing, I just remembered being with you that afternoon. At the ice cream place.”
“Do you remember what we talked about before that?”
“No,” I admit.
Cricket looks surprised. “You wanted to meet at some old building downtown. You told me all these memories you never had before the accident, and that you knew who you were going to marry.”
“Right,” I scoff. The accident. Suddenly the memories of my 13th birthday party flood back to me—how I watched Dani and that kid from the bus sitting on the park bench, the feel of being on that swing, the change in the air, Dani running toward me…I feel a chill just remembering it.
“No, seriously,” Cricket insists. “You were all freaked out that you knew who it was going to be. Like some sort of premonition.”
“Well, who is it?” I ask. “Who am I going to marry?” I am intrigued. Plus, if I’d truly had some sort of premonition it would be sort of cool to know what it was.
“You never told me.”
I admit, I am a little disappointed. I mean—it could have been real. People have premonitions, right? And now I might never know. Then again, maybe I’ll get lucky and it will come back.
“Dang it!” I reply. “I can’t believe you didn’t bug the heck out of me to tell you.”
“I know. That was messed up.” Cricket is staring with a thoughtful expression. “You were so intense…You really didn’t want to tell me, so I respected that.”
“That’s cool. Hey, maybe it will come back to me.”
“You really want to know who you’re gonna marry, huh?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she says. “But, if you knew, you might not like who it is. You might do things to change the outcome based on how you feel about that person now.”
“True,” I consider.
“I mean, someone you wouldn’t dream of going out with now…things change, right? You just never know. So, who is it? Who are you gonna marry? Is it Alex?”
“No—I mean, I have no idea. I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Cricket says with a slight laugh. “Of course you can’t remember something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“No, I mean I don’t remember having that conversation with you. I don’t even know why I would say something like that, knowing who I’m going to marry. By the way? Doctor says I have amnesia, so don’t be surprised if there are a lot of things I don’t re
member!”
Cricket’s eyes widen. “Amnesia? For real.”
“Yeah. Certain things I remember, and others I don’t.”
“Woah. That’s major. So will they come back at some point?”
“Hard to say. Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Wow. So what do you think about that? Is it weird?”
“I have no idea…I guess if I don’t remember something that happened to me, I’m not really missing anything, right? It would be different if I remembered something that no one else did. Then I’d just be crazy. This way, I’m just a girl with less experience.”
Cricket takes a deep breath and sinks into the couch. “Well, let’s hope you remember all the good stuff then.”
“No doubt,” I agree.
But seriously? I am just sitting here, turning over the idea in my head—of only remembering the good stuff—and if you want to know the truth, my whole mind is pretty fuzzy just now. It’s like I have slipped into someone else’s body. I can remember Cricket, but for the life of me, I can’t remember how I felt about her. I mean, what was it that I liked most about her? Why did we become friends? I have no idea what her favorite color is, or what she likes to eat, or even her favorite movie. I have no idea who she likes, or if she has a boyfriend (although I have a feeling it’s Zach). I have a feeling I am going to be learning a lot of things, from scratch.
After Cricket goes home, I decide to text Alex. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he might know, better than anyone, how to cheer me up. Remembering Cricket’s suggestion that I thought of Alex as the person I would marry, I got a little nervous. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember what or who I had in mind when Cricket and I had that conversation. What if, by some strange twist, Alex is the one? I mean, not now, but then? I mean, everything’s changed, right?
Surfacing (Spark Saga) Page 2