“Arghh!” she growled trying to head butt me.
“Where the bloody fucking hell has Miss Wylde gone?” I demanded, struggling to contain the woman beneath me. It didn’t help that every time she moved I fell farther into all manner of unspeakable places. Felt every single press of her skin against every single part of me.
Just like my dream.
“Damn it, woman!” I yelled.
And then she kissed me.
I’d been bamboozled by her intelligence. I’d overlooked entirely the fact that coupled with her lightning fast reflexes, her surprising ability to adjust to any situation with exemplary talent and success made her far more lethal than she’d at first appeared.
Machiavellian even.
Well, two could play that game.
I kissed her bloody well back.
I Was The OE
Mimi
He kissed angrily. I liked it. But it was nothing like my dream. Then he'd kissed me languidly like he'd kissed me a thousand times before and planned to kiss me a thousand more.
Now he kissed me almost hungrily, desperately, wildly. As if he was trying to make a point. To me? Or him? I didn't know. Either way, it was a point well made. His kiss ruled my body.
His kiss left me slightly insane.
I wanted more; my hands frantic, my tongue desperate, I was sure I was moaning. He wrapped a fist up in the strands of my hair and tugged. Hard. As if to say, not here. Not in this. I kiss, you get kissed. End of bloody story, Miss Wylde.
I bit his lip. He growled, pulled me closer, kissed me harder. Ruined me for other boys.
And then someone said, "Shouldn't we stop them?"
No! This was my dream.
"Nah," someone else said. "They'll run out of steam sooner or later. Just ignore them.” I liked that plan. Downright genius in fact. "Besides, it could get entertaining."
"There is something seriously wrong with you, Dr Hoffman."
"Why thank you, Miss Groves. I do try."
"No, seriously. I think we should stop them."
"Oh, all right."
I made a sound I'm not proud of, something between a mouse squeaking and a cat hissing. But I challenge anyone to do better when doused with a bucket of cold water.
"Bloody fucking hell!" Evans shouted, rising out of the water like a wrathful sea god. And then he looked around. Spotted me on the floor of the module, equally as wet and dishevelled, and swallowed.
"Welcome back," Hoffman greeted. "And congratulations. You've now trained our Novitiate in all aspects of prophetic dreamscape realisation. I'd give her a solid A+ on problem-solving. And a C- on letting things play out."
"Fuck," I thought I heard Evans mutter. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at much, really. But then he lifted a slightly shaking hand to his lips, let it hover for a suspended moment, before reaching for his scar.
Right then. Evasive Evans was back. Good to know.
"The coordinates?" he asked, just as Groves handed me a towel. I started angrily drying my hair, the hand movements reminding me of Jack's equally hard kiss. Wasn't going to forget that anytime soon.
"All fired up and ready to go," Rafe answered.
"Good. Engage, then."
As if none of it had happened.
I stood up stiffly from the cold floor and crossed to the command chair. Evans stiffened. I scowled. And dumped the now wet towel on his lap.
That should do it.
A few seconds later he was up and hiding in the bathroom doing whatever it was he did when he evaded.
"Well, that wasn't at all awkward."
"Dr Hoffman! Really."
"You know, Groves. I think I liked you better when you were silent."
"Oh," she gasped. "You don't mean that."
He smiled. "Not in the slightest." And then he turned to me.
It was always going to happen, sooner or later. But I would have preferred becoming the centre of attention much, much later.
"So, seen any good movies lately?" Hoffman asked. Groves stifled a giggle and studiously returned her attention to her screen. I shook my head.
Hoffman watched me for a while and then crossed his arms over his chest and kept staring.
"The better question would be," he said eventually, "have you had any good dreams lately?"
I knew that was a question better left unanswered.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, mirroring his stance; arms crossed over chest lightly.
"There's a lot you don't know about time travel, Mouse," Hoffman said. "A lot."
"And you're not going to enlighten her," Evans interrupted from the bathroom.
He was washed and dressed, this time in a cardigan and tie, a combination I hadn't seen in anything other than old photos. And then I realised what he was wearing; clothing appropriate to the early sixties. Clothing appropriate for our next trip. Back in time.
It would have been easy to get distracted and demand what clothing I should be wearing, but I was a much more tenacious scientist than that.
"And why can't I be enlightened?" I demanded Evans.
He flicked me a look that said more than words could ever convey. I saw a conversation's worth of sentences in that one intense gaze. Are we to do this again, Miss Wylde? Will you attack? It didn't go so well the first time I tried to explain.
OK, he had a point. And that was the last time I would bring out Hyde, I decided. I swear. But he didn't exactly fight me off with a stick, did he?
I cocked my hip. Tightened my crossed arms over my chest. And raised my eyebrows at him.
"Try me."
His lips twitched, but he fought the smile valiantly. Crossing to his command chair, he checked the sine wave on the screen and took a seat. Only then turning his attention back to me. He played games, I realised. Not the nasty kind. I wasn't even sure if he was aware he did it. In his evasion, he laid traps.
I was never very good at avoiding obstacles.
"Or are you a coward, Dr Evans?"
Rafe snorted. Groves gasped. And I thought perhaps I'd gone too far this time.
Evans blinked once. Twice. And then shook his head, jaw firming.
"Why you?" he muttered.
"Maybe fate decided you needed a challenge, Jack," Hoffman offered helpfully.
"That'll be enough of that, thank you, Dr Hoffman."
Suitably chastised, Rafe returned his attention to his screen. There was nothing on there of interest, so it was obvious he was just humouring Evans more than anything.
"The more you learn of our time, the harder it is to get you back to yours."
It was a simple statement that made no scientific sense at all. But I didn't take Jack Evans as a jokester.
"That's ridiculous," I mumbled.
"Travelling through Time carries risks, Miss Wylde. Not just physically, but temporally. The longer you are out of time, the farther away you travel. Not linearly. We're still only half a century past yours in terms of history. It's not the accumulative years, you see. It's the number of loops you bisect. And you have bisected two at once. Minimising your knowledge will ease your return."
"I don't believe you." Such a childish thing to say. But I couldn't accept returning to my time would be so difficult. We'd already travelled to 1969 and 1961 respectively, and none of the RATS team looked remotely worried about getting back to their time.
"Were you this argumentative with your professors?" Evans asked.
"Always."
He laughed. It surprised him, I think. It certainly surprised me. I'd heard him laugh once already, but I was beginning to think each time I did would be as if a precious gift received.
Evans sighed, the laughter subsiding much too quickly.
"The less you learn, the easier your return will be."
Ever the scientist questioning things, I said, "This still doesn't make any sense at all."
Hoffman turned around in his seat, letting us know he hadn't missed a thing staring at nothing.
"He's righ
t, Mouse. It's a proven fact. But he's not telling you everything."
"Is there a reason why you continue to defy me, Dr Hoffman?" Evans barked.
"She won't understand unless you tell her the truth."
"The whole point of keeping her in the dark is so she'll return to her time unscathed."
"At this rate, it's already too late, and you know it."
Silence.
"What does he mean?" I asked Evans. He didn't reply. "Sally?"
"Please don't, Mouse," she whispered.
"Why is it so hard for any of you to tell me what's going on?" I demanded. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere until I find my sister. You can't get rid of me, so you might as well tell me. What does Hoffman mean?"
"You're an Origin Event," Evans said softly. Gently. That tone.
"Unpredictable, I know," I offered.
He smiled. Amused but not. There was too much sadness.
"Origin Events have to be corrected."
"And we will correct this one," I said. "Find Carrie. Go home."
"Sometimes how they are corrected is...unpredictable."
"You're talking in circles."
"The bane of a Surgeon's life," Hoffman quipped. "Causal loops? Temporal paradoxes? All one big bloody circle."
"Yes, thank you, Doctor," Evans said. "We get the picture."
I hated to admit it, but it had to be said. "I still don't understand."
Evans sighed. It sounded weighty. "Origin Events are unpredictable, yes, but why they are is quite well known. More often than not they're a temporal paradox. Usually, an ever evolving one until the loop is broken and the OE fixed."
He was losing me again. Not hard, considering the subject matter. But still...I needed to comprehend this. Something told me, it would be vital in finding Carrie.
"Explain," I said. Evans leant forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes glued to mine, seeing everything.
"A self-perpetuating loop. Event two causes event one, which in turn causes event two, which causes event one again, and so on and so forth. But an Origin Event is bigger, stronger, wider reaching. Event two causes event one, which causes event three, which causes event four, which causes event two, which causes event one. But herein lies the rub, event three and event four are undecided. They aren't set in stone, even though, technically, because this is a causal loop we're talking about, they've already transpired. In an Origin Event, they can be changed.
"They will happen. But how they happen is open to influence. Such as an Origin Event learning too much."
"Such as me knowing about event three and four even existing," I finished for him.
He sat back in his seat and grimaced. "Yes."
"So now what happens?"
"I don't know. Event three and four are still unwritten. If we can keep it that way, we may have a chance of correcting this loop."
"And returning me to my time."
"Yes."
I didn't say what I was thinking. I didn't voice the hurtful words on my tongue.
There was nothing for me in my time without Carrie. Mum and Dad were gone. My Ph.D in tatters. I'm not even sure I could pick up my thesis now and believe in what I had been trying to prove with it. So much had changed. Least of all my knowledge of time travel.
It exists. It actually effing exists.
How did I go back to talking about quantifiable hypotheses when non-quantifiable ones existed?
I couldn't. Event three had already happened.
I was tied up in this inextricably. I was as involved as RATS. As committed as Sergei and his Lunik team of mercenaries. He had Carrie. The moment he'd threatened her life, event three happened.
I looked up from where I'd been staring at the metal dimples on the floor and met Jack's eyes. A whisky so rich I could almost taste it.
"What is it?" he asked. He could read me so well. "What's put that look on your face, Miss Wylde?" I could have sworn he felt my pain, as well.
I smiled. If you can call a twist of the lips filled with such heart-rending agony a smile.
But I didn't say the words. Words failed me.
"Mimi?"
I shook my head. I was just so effing tired.
"It takes it out of you," he said softly. "The first few times are hell on the upper hypothalamus. The part of the brain that stimulates wakefulness and sleep. It throws you out of kilter."
I was thinking, perhaps, it was more than that. Maybe a mix of exhaustion and knowledge. The knowledge I wouldn't be going home.
It was almost no choice at all to embrace it. But still some part of the mind rebels. Being out of time went against all known parameters. Being out of time felt wrong.
But going back would feel worse.
"When we find Carrie and fix this loop, what will happen?" I asked.
"We'll get you both home."
"And if the Origin Event doesn't allow it."
"That won't happen." It was a promise.
One he couldn't keep.
And that knowledge was perhaps what made it easier. At some point in the last few seconds, I'd made my choice and accepted it.
"He says he'll kill her if you don't destroy the Orions."
The silence was almost deafening; it seemed so complete.
And then Evans burst out of the bubble in spectacular fashion.
"What the bloody fuck do you mean? He did threaten you, didn't he? Bloody fucking bollocks, Mimi. Why didn't you say something?"
"Because knowledge changes everything."
He stopped pacing and stared down at me, his fists slowly unclenching.
"Event three."
"Bloody hell," Rafe muttered.
"Oh, no," Sally added. "It's too late."
"It is not too late!" Evans growled. "This is still doable. The loop has expanded, granted. But we can contain this."
"You mean me," I said.
"Yes. No. That's not what I fucking well mean."
"Jack," Hoffman warned.
"Shut up, Rafe. I just need to think."
"He's here."
Evans swung around to look at the sine wave on the screen. I was sure it hadn't been orange before, but a pinkish colour. Now it was bright International Orange, glowing softly.
"Bollocks," Evans muttered. "Did we cause this by coming here?"
"This is the most unpredictable OE I've ever seen, Jack. There's no way of telling what is causing what right now. But us being here has to be for a reason."
"To get Carrie."
Rafe looked across the Vehicle to me. I saw such a depth of pity there; I couldn't breathe.
"We'll get her," Evans murmured. Another promise I knew he couldn't keep. He met Rafe's eyes and shrugged a shoulder. "It seems to be the only constant. Carolyn Wylde. We get her; we might just save the OE."
Three sets of eyes shifted to me. Yeah, I got it. I was the OE.
In A Manner Of Speaking
Jack
The longer I knew her, the harder it was to breathe. As if what I'd ridiculously called breathing before Mimi Wylde visited my dreams was no longer working. As if I needed to learn how to do it all over again.
As if the mere thought of returning her, losing her, made breathing impossible.
The only time I'd felt like oxygen was reaching my lungs was when her lips had been pressed against my own. When her breath had sustained me.
I couldn't breathe air anymore. I needed to breathe Mimi.
Oh, this was a disaster. A bloody fucking nightmare. Not a dream.
She was an Origin Event. And every single Origin Event I'd ever encountered had required all parts to be returned to their original plane. The original combination of dimensions. Stitched. Remade. It didn't matter how as long as all components were back where they were meant to be.
If I returned Mimi to where she needed to be, there was a distinct possibility that I'd suffocate without her.
I wanted to laugh in the face of that thought. I wanted to tell it to bloody well fuck off. But then
I'd try to breathe, and all I felt was an ache in my chest so deep, so debilitating, that I realised I was suffocating.
Without Mimi.
But she was still bloody here! Right here inside the MPCV. Right inside my dreams.
I needed to rest and to eat. I needed to think. But an orange sinusoid meant only one thing. Time was unravelling. The original rip tearing apart this plane as much as it had done 1969. Sergei had either followed us here, or we were as much a part of the temporal paradox as Carolyn Wylde.
Egg meet chicken. Chicken meet egg.
I slammed my fist down on the dashboard of the module, making Groves startle and Rafe swear out loud. Thankfully Mimi was in the bathroom. Hence the reason why I couldn't breathe.
"You all right, Jack?" Rafe asked solicitously.
"Never better," I ground out. "What do we know about Silverstein in this time?"
My Intern jumped on the question, needing as much of a distraction as me.
"By 1961 he was Associate Director of the Lewis Laboratory, as it was known back then, at NASA," Rafe said, reading off his tablet screen. "He'd had an influential hand in the eventual success of the Mercury Project, well on the way to establishing the technical basis for Apollo."
"No mention of Orion probabilities?"
"None, but that's not to say he hadn't already started research into the possibility."
"If killed now, though, it would solve Lunik's problems."
Rafe leant back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Not much to see there other than exposed pipes and wires, a few electrical circuits and bypass switches. But he studied it all with a singular focus.
"It doesn't make sense, Jack," he finally offered.
"What part?" I asked. "Picking up passengers on a massive OE? Or going to 1969 first?"
Rafe's head came down, and he stared at me, finger out, pointing.
"Exactly. Why try to eliminate Silverstein in 1969 when it's more than likely he'd already started research on Orion probabilities? Why not bypass that time and head straight for now? A known plane where Silverstein will be, well before Orion was made public knowledge. We've found evidence of Orion in the early seventies. By 1969 Silverstein would have been discussing its possibility around NASA. Taking him out then wouldn't have destroyed Orion. Just delayed it."
Losing Time (Lost Time, Book 1): A Time Travel Romantic Suspense Series Page 11