I shake my head and grin. “Dick.”
I open the box beside my chair and line up the different sized bottles with an array of glass droppers. Rows of amber capsules filled with Drops sit neatly in their places.
The door swings open. “Coming in,” Terry shouts.
I clear my throat and sit up straight. A tall, pudgy man in a black business suit walks through. Terry closes the door behind him.
“Come take a seat, man.” I wave him over.
He walks to the seat in front of my desk and continues to stand.
“You can sit if you’d like,” I say.
“It’s quite all right,” he says in a higher pitched voice than I expect from a large man like him. He clasps his hands behind his back and looks around the room, a permanent angry frown stamped on his face.
“New client?” I ask, pulling up the spreadsheet on my laptop.
“Yes. Vincent Galler.”
I type his name into the database, creating a new file.
He looks at me and gives me a confused gaze. “Um, a-are you Miller?” he stammers.
I look up at him, returning skeptical eyes. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Shouldn’t you be a little…older? And a bit better dressed?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Uh, why should I be older?”
He lets out a disappointed sigh. “My apologies. I just expected this to be a bit more…professional. Let’s just get on with this.”
Wow, I almost mouth. I hold back the slick remarks flowing through my head, and I bite down hard on my lower lip, imagining some steam flowing out of my ears. Trying to return to business, I slide my chair out of the desk and bend over to the box. “All right, Vince, I’ve got−”
“Vincent,” he says.
I pause to give him a good, long glare. “Sorry. Vincent.” I look back down at the box and pull out a few bottles. “I’ve got a few samples here if you’d like to try them out first. I have hallucinogens for both the future and the past. Are you buying by the bottle or by the box?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not here for your drugs.”
I stop pulling out bottles from their sample boxes. “Oh.” I put them aside. “What can I help you with then?”
“I’d like to purchase an insight.”
An insight. A pretty damn expensive question that grants you an answer from the future. A peek into what’s ahead. Haven’t had someone ask for this in a while.
“No problem,” I say. “You’ve got three options: general, specific, or personal.”
“Personal,” he says, pulling out a thick envelope with what looks like a brick inside.
“All right.” I start to type up the transaction on the laptop. “I’m going to need a copy of your license and a fingerprint.”
He slides the envelope across the desk. “Everything’s inside.”
I pick up the envelope, place the money in the cash counter, make sure the necessaries are inside, and then place it all in a drawer. “Cool, looks like you’re set. Come back tomorrow night and have your question ready.”
Before I can finish my statement, he dips his chin and walks out. A quick customer. A quick day. Looks like I get to leave early.
Terry walks in and leaves the door open behind him. He sits down in the chair in front of my desk and says nothing, just grins.
“What?” I ask.
“What’d you think of Mr. High and Mighty?”
I shake my head. “Guy seemed like a real prick.”
Terry chuckles. “I’ve been dealing with him for the past two weeks getting him ready for this appointment. Talk about high maintenance.”
“Seriously.”
Terry gets up from the chair. “You got anything planned for the rest of the day?”
“Nah,” I place the bottles back in the box and close it up. “Just gonna warp to the future and get this insight report ready. You can leave if you want, man. I’ll lock up.”
Terry enthusiastically nods his head. “Don’t need to tell me twice. I’ll catch you later.”
“See ya, Terry.”
He walks out, and just before he closes the door, a woman pats him on the back and walks inside. Terry looks past her, gives me a wink, and closes the door behind her.
“Hey, Miller,” she says, walking up to my desk.
“Hey, Jackie.” I try to hold back a smile, pretend I’m angry. “You’ve really gotta stop coming in here unannounced.”
She takes off her dark jacket and hangs it over the chair before sitting down on it. She waves me off and says, “You’ll get over it.”
I shake my head and let the smile out this time. “What’s up, what are you doing here?”
“Not much,” she says, placing an empty amber bottle on my desk. “I’m out. Was wondering if you could fill me up.”
“I’m out too, actually. I’m gonna go get some later today.”
She looks around the room with a confused look on her face. “You literally have boxes of it here.”
“Can’t take any from the stash. Those are for customers only.”
She frowns and shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, well, all right. Say, by the way, what’s an insight?”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Where’d you hear about that?”
She gives me a coy smirk. “I may have overheard it somewhere.”
“You snooping little scoundrel.”
She laughs and slouches further down into her chair. “So, what is it?”
I continue typing away. “An insight lets you ask a question about the future. There’s general, specific, and personal.”
“What’s the difference?”
“General is just a general question about the future. Specific lets you ask about a specific event or specific person. Personal lets you ask a question about your future self.”
Her eyebrows perk up. “Oh. Sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
She fidgets in her seat, looks around the room. It looks like boredom may be taking over her, but I’ve known those little fidgets for too long to know they’re anything other than the fact that she has something to say to me. Then, sure enough, she looks up at me and says, “Hey, are you okay?”
I look up and see one of her perfectly neat eyebrows arch up. And then I realize she’s asking about my eyes. I look back down at the laptop and rub the itch away.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not from the drops, just haven’t been able to sleep lately.”
She furrows her brow, knowing it’s a lie. She nods anyway, not wanting to argue.
I flip the laptop screen down and swivel the chair to face her. A silence lingers between us as she stares those beautiful brown eyes towards mine. She pulls her dark hair back over her ear, and I start to remember the day I met her, that day I fell in love with those eyes that shine like mahogany. I notice how they haven’t changed a bit since that day, and I start to wonder if she’s actually dropping. Maybe she’s just using these drugs as an excuse to come see me. Maybe she buys these bottles and throws them out once she’s gone, just for the chance to come talk to me once a week. Guilt runs through me as I think of these things. But then she curves her thin, pink lips into a smile. And the guilt turns to joy.
“Hey,” she whispers, inching her hand over towards mine. “When are you going to buy me that drink you promised?”
I think about inching my hand over as well. I picture myself wrapping my fingers around hers, pretending like nothing’s wrong, like somehow, in some way, we’re still together. I can even hear my voice telling her, Let’s go get that drink now.
But I don’t. I remain still. I keep those visions inside, preventing them from becoming reality. Sometimes I have to remind myself of what can be real and what cannot. Even when I’m sober.
“Next week,” I say, smiling back at her, putting it off yet again.
She frowns, knowing what it means. “Okay.”
She gives me a half-hearted smile, masking the lie that she’s not worried about me. But eye
s like hers can’t help but tell the truth. And the truth is that she misses me, worries about me, wants me back. She looks at me and I know she’s wondering if I want the same thing. And the truth is that I do. But these tired, drugged eyes of mine can tell much better lies. And so I keep it from her. I let her wonder until she’s had enough.
She gets up from the chair. “All right, well, I’m gonna let you go.”
I get up from the desk. “I’ll walk you out−”
“No, its fine,” she says, putting on her jacket. “I’ll see you next week for that drink, right?”
Guilt stings my chest, and I wonder if it hurts me as much as it hurts her to go along with this lie, this act that we’ve been playing for months. “Yeah,” I say with a smile. “I’ll see you then.”
She leaves and shuts the door behind her. I look down at the box and contemplate taking a sample bottle from the stash, to escape these feelings of guilt and regret. I want to hallucinate memories of us, back when we were together. I scratch my eyes and decide against it. I put the laptop away in a desk drawer, slide the box back to the wall, padlock the door on the way out, and head home.
4
I flop down on my couch, waiting for the machine to warm up down in my basement. My leg twitches up and down, my hands start to sweat, my eyes itch. I really want some drops right now. I look at my amber bottle for the thousandth time, as if somehow it’ll magically fill up if I look at it enough times. I shake away the craving and head downstairs.
A giant and rusted metal box rumbles in the corner of the basement. The time machine is whirring and buzzing, almost ready. I walk over and boot up the touchscreen dashboard on its side, set up the time coordinates, and reuse the same location I always warp to. Pre-Warp Sequence Complete, the dashboard notifies me. I grab the envelope holding Vincent Galler’s money and information, pat down my pockets to make sure my bottle is with me, and then I step inside the box.
I sit down in the lone seat of the cramped interior, protective padding and wires running all along the walls. I go to close the heavy metal door on its moaning hinges, but then I open it wider again so I can slam it shut, remembering I still haven’t fixed the locking mechanism’s misalignment. The interior dashboard boots up, offering the only light on the inside.
I press Initiate Warp.
Everything goes dark. Silent. For a moment I’m blind and deaf, vaguely aware of my own existence while I travel in this short space between the present and the future, silently speeding through the gateways of time.
And in the next instant, I arrive in the future with a clap of thunder.
My sight slowly returns, my eyes adjusting to the world from a blur to more and more detail. My ears also unmute the sounds around me, slowly, like I’m turning up the volume one knob at a time.
“Miller,” a voice calls, and a hand reaches out to me. I grab the hand and it lifts me up off the ground. “Miller, good to see ya, buddy.”
“Hey, Jax.” I wipe the blur away from my eyes, massage my ears until they pop. I’m standing in a small office with an array of tablets and desktops all along the wall. Through the window I can see the vast and open warehouse where they produce and package the Drops. Jax sits down at one of the desktops.
“You got your quota already?” he asks.
I pull out Vincent’s envelope. “Yeah. Got it right here.”
“Man,” Jax smiles through his thick, blonde beard, opening the envelope and smelling the cash. “You’ve been pushing some serious money lately. You’ll cover your pop’s debt in no time at this rate.”
My eyes itch. I take my bottle out. “Do you mind filling me up while I’m here?”
Jax picks up a radio from his desk and puts it up to his mouth. “Hyde, send over four ounces of Drops, will ‘ya?” He swivels around and gives me a wink. “I gotcha, buddy.”
A little jolt of warmth sparks through me, knowing I’ll have some Drops soon. “Thanks.”
“Take it out of your quota like usual?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He takes a small bit from the brick of cash in the envelope and sets it to the side of the cash counter. He searches the envelope further and finds the license and the fingerprint copies. He raises them up towards me. “Is this for an insight?”
“Yeah, personal, going to need a full report.”
“Coming right up.”
Jax types Vincent’s information into a database, some program that hasn’t even been invented yet in my time. He holds the copies of Vincent’s license and fingerprint up to the webcam for a short second, and the computer instantly recognizes Vincent Galler’s information. He presses a few more commands, and the program begins to compile a report on Vincent’s life, detailing him in every conceivable way.
A tall, burly man in an apron walks into the office, grease and wax covering his clothes. His gray beard falls all the way down to his chest and swings in every which way he moves. In a raspy voice, he says, “Got your four ounces right here, Jax.” He lifts a clean, freshly-made amber bottle of Drops in his hand.
“Thanks, Hyde,” Jax says, then looks at me and points at the bottle. “There’s your refill, buddy.”
Hyde turns to me and is instantly hit with shock. His mouth hangs open, his eyes widen, his face goes pale. He steps further in and shuts the door behind him. He places the bottle down on the desk and walks closer to me, raising his hands, wanting to touch my shoulders and touch my face, as if to make sure I’m real.
“You Miller’s boy?” he whispers, his soft voice almost cracking.
I’m about to nod my head when Jax says, “You’ve never met Miller Jr.?”
Hyde doesn’t cut his gaze from me, only puts a hand over his mouth when he knows for sure that it’s me.
“Miller Jr.,” he smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, son.”
We shake hands. “You knew my father?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. He was a friend. And a good man.”
I wouldn’t be here if that were true. “Thank you. I didn’t really know him that well. At least not that much towards the end.”
Hyde bows his head, as if he’s apologizing on his behalf. “Yeah, he was over here a lot. Sometimes the Drops just makes you lose control.” He looks at the bottle on the table, and then back at my eyes. “Make sure to take care of yourself. It was nice to meet you, Miller.”
When he leaves, I’m left there with a sick feeling in my stomach. My eyes feel dry, my eyelids growing heavy. I just want to go home. Pinch off a few drops of Drops. Sleep. And dream. The dreams I dream when I’m asleep. And the dreams I see when I’m awake.
“All done.” Jax hands me a USB. “Interesting fella’ you got there.”
“You’re telling me.” I reach out and shake his hand. “Thanks, Jax. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”
“All right, buddy.”
I walk out of the office and head over to their return pod. I set the coordinates for time and location on the dashboard and step inside.
The dark confines of the return pod offer me quiet and solace. The box rumbles as it prepares to send me back into the past. And now that I’m alone, my impatience overcomes me, and I pull out my amber bottle.
I twist off the glass dropper, pinch the rubber end to get a decent pull, and hang the other end over my eyes. I pinch and squirt a few drops. My eyes turn to ice and then erupt to fire. And then they go numb. I let out a deep sigh, my body relaxing its muscles, my worries and my stresses vanishing. I blink and the few droplets caught in my eyelashes hit my eyes and create the sensations all over again, only this time in smaller doses.
I put the dropper back in the bottle and put it away. I barely notice my travel through time, barely notice anything’s changed when I arrive back in my present, didn’t even hear the clap of thunder upon my arrival. I look around and I’m back in my room, sitting down on my floor. I run my hands all along the carpet, feel the grooves in the cotton and the wool. The Drops is hitting me now. I look up. And there’s my father.
“Hi, Dad,” I whisper, lifting a hand up to his golden, dusty shadow. I go to touch his leg, but my hand goes straight through him, breaking the dusty outline. He reaches down and goes right through me, picking up the shadow of my younger self and carrying him off.
The sick feeling in my stomach goes away. The mental picture of my father with Hyde fades. I only see the father I love now. Not the man I’m so desperately trying not to become. Not the man I’m so hopelessly failing to stray from.
I crawl into bed and tuck myself in under the sheets. I’m about to fall asleep when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Message from Jackie:
I’m coming over tomorrow. Not unannounced this time. :)
And then I fall asleep, a smile on my face, my father in my eyes, and Jackie in my thoughts.
5
“Hey,” a soft voice whispers into my ear. “Wake up, sleepy.” Warm lips kiss my cheek, and I open my eyes to the wild and messy brown hair of Jackie at my side.
“Hey,” I groan, still waking up.
“Finally.” She kisses my cheek again. “Terry texted you. Said you have five clients today.”
I flex my arm that’s wrapped around her and squeeze her tight. “Quit snooping through my phone, you little scoundrel.”
She giggles and pinches my stomach to soften my grip around her. “Why don’t you take the day off today? Tell Terry to push the clients back to next week.”
I roll over to my side and lean my head on my hand. “You know I can’t. I have to work every day to pay off that debt.”
She frowns and nods her head. “I know, I know. Say, speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How much longer do you think it’s going to take? To pay off your dad’s debt, I mean.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. If things go well, maybe another ten years. If things don’t…maybe a lot longer.”
She nods her head, holding back her disappointment. She wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight, trying to be strong, trying to tell me that she accepts it for however long it takes.
The Time Travel Chronicles Page 32