Wealth of Time Series Boxset

by Andre Gonzalez

  Most gas stations in 1996 had a payphone outside, and this location was no different. The pay phone stood in its hefty, silver box, a white book at least five inches thick dangling beneath from a chain. A suited man stood at the pay phone, talking with his hand over the mouthpiece, and looking around suspiciously. He briefly locked eyes with Martin before hanging up and returning to his white BMW and skidding out of the parking lot.

  When the coast appeared clear, Martin strode to the pay phone and lifted the dangling phone book, flipping to the middle.

  There will be too many Harrises listed. Klebold will be my best bet.

  He flipped to the K section, running a finger down the page until he found what he needed: Thomas and Susan Klebold, the only Klebolds on the page.

  “There you are.” Martin pulled out his notepad and jotted the address; the phone rang out in a screaming, piercing chime.

  Martin gazed around, seeing if someone nearby was expecting a call. No one was in sight, so he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” a raspy voice said, sending chills down Martin’s spine.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  The phone clicked, filling his ear with the dial tone.

  What the fuck?

  Martin hung up and returned to his car, staring at the payphone through his windshield, wanting it to ring again.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” he whispered to himself. He racked his mind for a familiarity in the voice, but could find nothing. Chris was never one to cower behind a disguise. Could it be a Road Runner?

  Martin lacked the knowledge to know exactly how the Road Runners operated, but if anyone was trying to prevent the changing of a major historical event, they seemed the likely candidates.

  He stepped back out of the car and went inside the gas station.

  “Hello,” the clerk welcomed him.

  “Hi. I’m looking for maps of Denver, do you have any?”

  “Yes, sir, in the magazine section.” The clerk pointed to the row against the front window.

  “Perfect, thank you.” Martin hurried to the row, reminiscing over the old days of browsing the wide selection of magazines, books, and newspapers in the corner stores. Those times were long gone in 2018. At the end of the row was a rack of atlases and maps. Martin grabbed the one marked as Denver Metro Area, flipped through it to make sure Littleton was included, and took it to the counter.

  “Is there somewhere in particular you’re looking to find?” the clerk asked as he rung him up on the register.

  “No, I’m just new to the area and seem to get lost every day.”

  “Fair enough. This map should get you around town just fine.”

  “Thank you,” Martin said, grabbing his map and change before bolting out of the door. He’d normally contribute to meaningless chitchat, but he had pressing matters to tend, and apparently someone trying to stop him.

  When he returned to his car, he thought, Is this all worth it? I could get myself killed trying to stop these kids, and that’s not what I’m here for.

  “It may not be what I came here to do, but I owe it to the world to at least try,” he said out loud, backing out of the gas station and pulling onto the main road.

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  Chapter 24

  The drive to the Klebold residence took longer than expected; they lived eight miles away from the high school, roughly the same distance it would take him to get from Larkwood to downtown Denver.

  He followed the map carefully, turn by turn, as the quiet residential neighborhoods gave way to multi-level homes, before turning into open fields in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. At first, Martin thought he had taken a wrong turn as he zigzagged through a stretch of green hills and thick trees, but when he finally saw Cougar Road appear on a street sign, his heart beat a little faster.

  This is it.

  He turned onto Cougar Road, immediately feeling out of place in his junker of a car. All of the homes on Cougar Road were hidden behind tall stands of trees, somewhere at the end of a private driveway that started from the main road and ended in the woods, out of sight. Each driveway had a black mailbox at the front with the street numbers in white lettering.

  The homes were spaced hundreds of yards apart, providing plenty of privacy from neighbors. Martin drove another mile just to pass five different properties.

  He came around a blind curve that opened up to more trees and the towering red rocks that were a staple in Colorado. He passed a small red barn when he saw the mailbox reading 8370, and pulled to the side of the road, directly across the barn that stood on the Klebold property.

  Martin killed the engine and stepped out onto the dirt that served as an unofficial sidewalk along the road. Cicadas buzzed from the surrounding trees, echoing everywhere. He looked around, seeing nothing but green trees and more slanted red rock formations before stepping toward the Klebold driveway, to find it curved into more trees and vanished from sight.

  Do I really want to go up this driveway? If someone’s home or arrives home while I’m walking up, there’s very few explanations as to why I’m here, in the middle of nowhere.

  “I didn’t come here for nothing,” he said and started up the dirt driveway. If anyone asks, I can say I got lost and my car broke down.

  The driveway twisted a quarter mile uphill, causing Martin to huff and puff, as he still hadn’t been in any shape for the smallest of hikes. “At least it’s all shaded,” he remarked.

  When he reached the top a few minutes later, his jaw dropped at the massive white house. The driveway turned back into pavement that spiraled into a roundabout in front of the garage. Behind the garage stood the house with gigantic windows that he could see through into the kitchen and dining room. A swimming pool and hot tub were to the side, behind an open space with a basketball hoop where young Dylan likely played.

  “Holy shit.” Martin had forgotten just how wealthy the Klebold family had been. Plenty of comfortable families lived in Littleton, but this private area of the city was clearly where the high rollers lived. He couldn’t even see the entirety of the house from where he stood, but knew there was plenty of room for the boys to hide their stash of firearms that would accumulate in a couple of years.

  This has to be where they filmed those tapes of them shooting their guns in the woods, he thought, admiring the surrounding foothills. Taking in the scenery, Martin quickly understood the ease the two boys would have had in keeping their plans a secret. Even if they chose to not hide their arsenal in the house, there would be plenty of spots around the property to keep everything under wraps. With no visible neighbors, they could have taken their time at their homemade shooting range, firing rounds that would surely be heard down the road, but no one would be able to pinpoint the exact location.

  Martin stepped toward the house, planting his foot in a pool of mud six inches deep. “Motherfucker!” he barked, kicking his foot to shake it off.

  One of the garage doors, about fifty feet in front of him, started to slide open, prompting Martin to pivot and dive into the trees. The garage’s motor hummed softly as Martin positioned himself behind a tree stump to ensure he wasn’t visible. He watched as a silver Mercedes backed out, circled the roundabout, and disappeared down the driveway, leaving a trail of dust in its tracks. A woman, presumably Dylan’s mother, drove the car alone, but he couldn’t make out any features aside from shoulder-length hair and a pearl necklace.

  He saw no other cars inside the garage, leaving him alone at the Klebold residence. Martin tiptoed back to the driveway, the mud hardening on the skin around his ankle. Sensing his time was limited, he jogged to the main windows that overlooked the home’s kitchen.

  Everything appeared as pristine as he’d expected: polished marble countertops, wooden cupboards, and shiny black appliances—a standard luxury kitchen for the mid-90’s. He put his face up to the glass for a better look, but could only see into the living room where a boxy big-screen TV faced
a couch, and a gray cat stared back curiously before returning to its afternoon bathing session.

  It’s time to go. You’ve been here too long, Martin warned himself. He wanted to go around the house and see the rest of the property, but going any further would be too risky. You have what you need for today. You know where the kid lives, and can follow him to and from school until you figure out what the hell you’re gonna do.

  Martin surrendered and jogged back toward the driveway, skidding on his heels to keep from rolling down the hill like a boulder. As he left, he could feel the house pulling at him with a magnetic force, daring him to come back and have a look around.

  “Just get out of here,” he wheezed to himself, finally seeing the main road. “Go home.”

  Martin reached the bottom of the driveway and sighed in relief at the sight of his rust bucket waiting for him. Not a soul was present as he crossed the abandoned road. He sped off, eyes unable to look away from the house in the rear-view mirror until he rounded a corner and left it out of sight.

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  Chapter 25

  Martin took the rest of the week off, wanting nothing more than to sit around and drink himself into tranquility. The Klebold house had a pull on him that didn’t lift until he lay down on his couch, surrounded by a handful of moving boxes, that he felt at peace with the events of the prior two days.

  He was set to move in two weeks, leaving him that much time to set a solid plan before Sonya would be around during all of his free time.

  “This is never going to work,” he said, pacing around his apartment. It was now Saturday afternoon, and he had spent the last hour reading over the notes he had taken on Columbine, trying to figure out what exactly to do next, and how the knowledge of the Klebold residence could be used.

  First thing I need to do is meet the boys. I need to see how mentally stable they are as freshmen. It’s four years until the massacre, so they may be completely normal and happy.

  He briefly considered seeking employment at the school to be closer to them, but then he remembered that intense, death-like feeling he had experienced in the building.

  I’ll follow them until I learn their routine, then I’ll approach them casually, ideally in public if possible.

  The last thing he needed was to be the crazy fat guy who stalked teenage boys around a wealthy town. That would punch a quick ticket to the police station for questioning.

  The police. I could tell the police what the boys plan to do. Leave an anonymous tip.

  Martin scratched his head and rubbed his eyes in frustration. “It’s too early. They haven’t even considered getting a gun yet.”

  What about a private note to the school’s principal? I could tell them the exact date of the shooting so they can be prepared.

  “Still too early. Can be taken as an empty threat. Why would an educator in one of the best school districts in the state believe a secret note about an event that would happen three years later?”

  Martin sensed his inner voice wanting him to drop the plan altogether, and deep down he knew the risk was too big to guarantee his own safety.

  He sat on the couch and dropped his face into open palms. You’re here for Izzy. Not for Columbine. Izzy. Just forget about Columbine. Move in with your girlfriend, make love every night, and save Izzy in September. You don’t owe the world a damn thing.

  “You’re right.”

  The world could move on as planned. Even if he managed to prevent Columbine, there would just be another school shooting to take its place as the spark that changed the country.

  “I still need to know my limits. I can’t have any surprises in September when it comes time to save Izzy.”

  Martin poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank until he fell asleep.

  * * *

  The nap was the deepest Martin had slept in a few days. When he woke three hours later, he felt rejuvenated and ready to take on the world again. He decided he wouldn’t completely put off the Columbine project, but rather have it on the back burner. There was only a month until summer break anyway, so he might as well wait until school started again in August to track down the boys. The longer he waited, the closer they would be to their turning point that eventually pushed them over the edge. He could plan a couple of trips to the Klebold residence just to see if the boys might be around; he could even wander around the property from the backside, in hopes of finding their hideout in the woods.

  He still had a persona to maintain. Sonya would expect to see him off in the mornings and return home around the same time as her. They could cook dinner together, watch TV, take showers, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. The more normal he could make life in 1996 feel, the easier his mind could stay distracted from Columbine and focused on Izzy.

  He’d spend the days at the library or wandering around downtown. Denver wouldn’t be nearly as busy as it had become in 2018, and he could eat lunch in peace at the 16th Street Mall and watch the businessmen pass by with their hectic lives.

  Sonya had given Martin a key to her house and told him to start moving things in whenever he felt ready. With three boxes ready to go, he loaded them into his car and headed to his home of the next five months.

  “What the fuck am I going to tell Sonya in September?” he asked his empty car. He couldn’t up and leave her with no word. Even in the past, he couldn’t afford the kind of karma that would come with pulling the rug out from someone who actually loved him.

  Why does she have to exist in 1996? Why couldn’t I find her in 2018?

  Sonya would be in her late 60’s when he returned to 2018, over fifteen years older than him. Could two souls still love each other after going through time travel?

  “I could bring her back. Anything on my body when I take the pill comes with me. I can have Izzy in one arm, Sonya in the other, and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

  Or maybe she’ll continue to fall deeper in love with you over the summer and she’ll want to follow you into the future. Just take it one day at a time.

  Martin smirked as he pulled into Sonya’s empty driveway. It was a small ranch-style home with an unfinished basement, the perfect place to maintain a low-key lifestyle as he awaited the day he would save his daughter.

  “Or maybe I save Izzy and stay.”

  No, Martin, that would be selfish. Rescue Izzy and return to the future. See where life will have taken you with her around. Don’t forget how much you loved your life before she disappeared.

  That much was true. He’d had a steady high-paying job where Lela didn’t have to work. Izzy came home every night excited to see her parents and tell them about her day. Lela loved him just as much Sonya did now. Life had been perfect, and that’s all he really wanted.

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  Chapter 26

  On the first day of May, Martin stood in his apartment doorway, staring at the empty space. The sunlight filled the room much brighter than he recalled, as the studio no longer had a trace of his existence. The car was packed with the final few boxes, and all Martin had left to do was drop his key off with Vinny.

  Vinny gave Martin a sad smile when he arrived in his office.

  “You’re out of here for good?” Vinny asked, disappointment in his voice.

  “Afraid so. Thank you so much for everything these last couple of months, and for letting me leave like this.”

  Vinny put up a hand. “No need. You were a good resident, and a good guy. You’re welcome here any time. But you go enjoy that girlfriend of yours, seems like a keeper.”

  “Thanks, Vinny. I’ll stop by and see you, maybe we can grab dinner sometime.”

  “I’d love that.” Vinny stood and shook Martin’s hand, but they both knew the dinner invite was nothing more than a polite pleasantry. “I’ll see you around, Martin.”

  Martin left the complex and looked up the brick building, appreciative of the stable home it had provided him when everything had felt uncertain upon his arrival.

  He drove away, the next
chapter of life waiting at Sonya’s house, and had never felt so excited about the future. When he pulled into Sonya’s driveway five minutes later, he felt at home for the first time in years. Sure, he had his apartment in 2018, but that had housed nothing but cheap booze and cheaper frozen dinners.

  With Sonya he had a home: a clean house, home-cooked meals, decorations. And with him moving in, they now had a life together.

  Despite all of the budding positivity, that nagging voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him that September wasn’t that far away, and he’d be forced to make a difficult decision regarding Sonya.

  Next month, you’ll be halfway through this trip.

  Six weeks had passed since he arrived at the empty lot and wandered by the burned down church. All it took was six weeks to build a life and fall in love. “The past is dangerous,” he said as he stepped out of his car.

  It was a Wednesday afternoon and Sonya was at school, leaving Martin the day to unpack and settle in to his new home. Birds sung in the pine trees that stood in the front lawn, stretching its shade over the driveway.

  The perfectly groomed front yard had freshly cut grass and vibrant flowers that decorated the walkway to the front door. The porch was covered by the tree’s shade where two rocking chairs sat around a table big enough to hold a couple cups of coffee. Martin had never seen a neighbor in the surrounding homes in his many visits to Sonya’s house, yet today he spied an older couple across the street working in their garden. They waved, and he returned the gesture with a warm smile.

  Martin went inside before unloading any of the boxes, wanting a glass of water to kick start the busy afternoon ahead. When he walked into the kitchen, he found a note on the counter.

  Hey mister,

  I’m so happy we’re taking this next step in our relationship. I want to go have dinner where we first met to celebrate, then we can bring the party home.