Every Last Minute (Time Wrecker Trilogy Book 1)

by Ellen Smith

  “A little shop in Georgetown, huh?” Elliott said. “Must be nice.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. She knew that tone. It was the same tone she’d heard since she was a child, whenever she came to school with new shoes or a monogrammed backpack or her own cell phone. She’d gone to a private preparatory school, after all. Most of the other kids were just as well off.

  But most of the other kids’ fathers hadn’t been congressmen. And most of their fathers hadn’t been accused of embezzling public funds, either.

  “I think it’s adorable,” Colleen said firmly, glaring at Elliott. “Come on, Mara. Let’s get to the Metro station before the next train.”

  It was nice to have a friend, but Elliott’s words still followed her all the way home.

  Demonstrators Converge on Mall to Protest Timeline Rectification

  Wednesday, March 30

  WASHINGTON, DC—An estimated three hundred protestors gathered at the National Mall Wednesday to protest timeline rectification, a criminal justice program that some claim does more harm than good. The protest was formed after the abrupt dismissal of Alicia Barnes, founder and former president of the anti-timeline rectification organization One Life, One Time. Barnes was dismissed from her position after it was revealed that she had been privately conversing with pro-timeline rectification rights lobbyists. In a leaked statement to the press, Barnes revealed that she thought the anti-timeline rectification sentiment had become too strong and had accepted money from lobbyists to discourage her organization from protesting the criminal justice program.

  Newly minted One Life, One Time president Conrad Gibbons organized today’s protest to “show Washington that we do not support altering the lives of hard-working, law-abiding Americans to give criminals a free pass.” Timeline rectification, which has been legal in the United States since 1999, has been bitterly opposed by the group since its inception. Specifically, One Life, One Time claims that allowing rehabilitated criminals to make adjustments to the past, however small, could be producing potentially disastrous ripple effects. Despite numerous attempts to challenge the legality of timeline rectification, the 1999 Supreme Court decision has held.

  Across the street from the mall, a small but determined group of counter-protestors held their own signs. They chanted, “Go back in time, undo the crime,” in unison, competing with—but not drowning out—the chants of “One life, one time,” coming from the National Mall.

  One counter-protestor, who asked not to be identified, had traveled all the way from Florida to speak out in defense of timeline rectification. “All through history, whenever there’s a new idea or new technology introduced, we see a bunch of people saying it’s going to be the end of civilization and a bunch of people saying it’s the wave of the future. Timeline rectification is progress. I’m here to say I was on the right side of history.”

  Staff writers A. Milner and C. Lindsey contributed to this report.

  Chapter Six

  WILL

  On Thursday morning, Will and Mara stood on the sidewalk of Pennsylvania Avenue, looking up at the Bennington Building. It was sandwiched in between the FBI building and the Department of Justice, so the sidewalk was teeming with business people, police officers, and tourists. As usual in Washington, DC, everyone was on the move. No one was wondering why Will and Mara were stopped there on the sidewalk—or why they were looking up at this particular building. More likely, the other pedestrians were just wishing they would move out of the way.

  After perusing the Timeline Rectification website over the last week, Will knew several things about the Bennington Building: it was named after Dr. Charles E. Bennington, inventor of timeline rectification technology; there had been a competition among architects to create a design that balanced the traditional architecture of DC with new, sleek, modern elements; and the only natural light came from three long, narrow windows across the front. The website had droned on about how the architect had to reconfigure the rooms to ensure they would have enough escape routes in case of a fire. Looking at the building now, Will wished the website had talked more about the real reason behind the mostly windowless design. However time wrecks were performed—and he still wasn’t sure exactly how it worked—they didn’t want to risk a security breach.

  Finally, Mara tugged at his arm. “We should go in,” she said. “We don’t want to be late.”

  Will wasn’t sure whether Mara was actually interested in the appointment. She’d promised to keep an open mind, nothing more. But Mara definitely didn’t like to be late.

  Will held Mara’s hand for as long as he could in the first security line, until they had to empty their pockets and walk through a metal detector. When the terse security guard nodded him through, Will gathered his wallet and belt and rejoined Mara.

  “Good thing I didn’t wear any jewelry today,” Mara said as she re-zipped her boots. Will stooped down to help, but she waved him aside.

  “So, do we know where we’re headed next?” Will asked.

  “Let me help you,” said a uniformed guard. “Suite two hundred? You’ll get on this elevator and go straight up to the second floor. I’ll escort you.” She walked Will and Mara the ten feet to the elevator and pressed the button for them.

  “That was . . . helpful,” said Mara, when the elevator doors closed and they started up.

  “They don’t want anyone wandering around,” Will said. “Here we are.”

  The elevator opened onto a second-floor lobby. It had marble floors and smooth, white walls that held framed black-and-white pictures. Mara pulled Will a little closer to the side so that they could read the plaques underneath.

  Dedication of the Bennington Building for Timeline Rectification,

  November 1, 2000

  Dr. Charles E. Bennington Receives the 1999 Medal for African-American Leaders in Science in Recognition of His Contributions to the Field

  Congressional Medal of Honor Awarded to Dr. Bennington and colleagues Dr. Nguyen and Dr. Wczerski

  In the middle of the lobby was a large bronze statue of Dr. Bennington, standing with one foot propped up on a pedestal and staring off into some imagined future. The plaque underneath read,

  Dr. Charles E. Bennington

  Leader—Inventor—Visionary

  Father of Time Travel

  Founder of the Timeline Rectification Program

  Will looked over at Mara to see her reaction, but she didn’t seem to be looking at the pictures or the statue anymore. She was turning slowly on her heel, scanning up and down the hallway.

  “Over here,” Mara said, leading him through a gray door marked with a brass plaque. Suite 200. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Come on.”

  Suite 200 reminded Will of his dentist’s office. The walls were upholstered in the same mottled gray fabric. The maroon chairs in the waiting area were pointed toward a television playing the news. If there had been posters of cartoon teeth happily holding floss and toothpaste, Will would have sworn he was at the dentist’s. Instead, the walls were decorated with gilt-framed posters of vague landscapes and shore birds.

  “Hello,” said a voice to his right. A woman’s voice, melodic almost, in contrast to the crisp, stern tones of the security guard. The woman was tall with dark skin and darker hair, dressed in a navy-blue suit. “You must be the Sterlings. The ten and ten-thirty appointments.” She thrust out a smooth brown hand with flawlessly painted nails. “I’m Nayana Patel, the specialist for your case.”

  Their case. Will bristled a little at the words. Talking about their case made it sound almost as if they had wanted this. As if he and Mara were the ones who had instigated the whole mess.

  Will shook Nayana’s offered hand. He noticed that Mara was keeping both of hers tightly curled around her purse. Mara didn’t like shaking hands, since most people tended to pump arms furiously with no regard for her damaged right side. Will was relieved to see that Nayana warmly smiled at Mara instead.

  “It�
��s nice to meet you both, although of course I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. Please, follow me.”

  Didn’t we get letters for separate appointments? Will looked at Mara, who looked equally confused. Well, if they got to go in together, he wasn’t going to argue.

  Nayana Patel’s heels made soft indentations in the carpet as she led them out of the waiting room and down a narrow hallway. Her black hair looked like it was probably the same length as Mara’s—just past her shoulders—but it was tied up in a bun.

  Her office was on the left side of the hallway. It looked dark, even though three sets of fluorescent lights hummed from the ceiling. There were no personal touches. No framed photos of family or pets or anything. Just a wooden desk and beige filing cabinets. Two maroon chairs that looked just like the ones in the waiting room had been arranged to face the desk. Nayana herself sat back in a rolling desk chair.

  “Please, sit,” Nayana said. She poured the remnants of her water bottle onto the tiny bamboo plant in the corner of her desk. “This poor thing gets so thirsty in here,” she remarked. “No sunlight to keep it going.”

  She’s trying to keep things upbeat, Will thought. He smiled back. Beside him, Mara stayed tense. He put out a hand and realized that her right side was closest to him. He dropped a hand on her knee instead.

  Nayana tapped the topmost file with a shiny polished fingernail. “All of your paperwork is in order. I was just double-checking everything before you came. So. During this initial intake, I like to start by letting you take the lead. So much of this process will involve us tossing information at you. What questions do you have for me?”

  Will felt like a young child who had been suddenly called to give an answer in class. All the thoughts he’d ever had seemed to evaporate at once.

  Mara cleared her throat. Thank God, Will thought. Mara always knew what to say.

  “My primary question would be—why now? We’ve had several interactions with the offender, from the trial to numerous appeals, and timeline rectification was never presented as an option before.”

  Mara was using her professional voice. The one that sounded nice but demanded answers. Will moved his hand up a little higher on her knee.

  “Great question,” Nayana said. “I did see in your file that the applicant—Jason Mann—had gone through the appeals process several times, which certainly could be a cause for concern. However, the paperwork from the corrections officer is in order—he’s completed a rehabilitation program, which is very intense for a timeline rectification.”

  Mara waited a beat before asking, “And what does that involve, exactly?”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not personally involved in that end of things, but I do know that the program runs for six months. Offenders meet with licensed counselors and psychiatrists to determine their ability to understand the program, articulate what they would change, and show that they understand the effect their crime has had on others. Many people begin the program and drop out. Only sixty percent of the offenders who apply for the rehabilitation program actually complete it.”

  That sounded rigorous to Will. Sounded like Jason had done some work, at least.

  Mara’s dark hair had swung over her face, blocking her expression. “And if a timeline rectification was approved, how quickly would things move from this point on? I read online that the process can take around six weeks before final approval,” Mara said. “Is that accurate?”

  “Six weeks is a fair estimate. Sometimes it takes a bit longer, and sometimes things move along more quickly. In your case, for example, there’s a minimal number of participants, a strong recommendation from the corrections officer, and a straightforward argument that a time wreck would reverse a physical injury. I would anticipate that the process would be six weeks or possibly even less.”

  Mara frowned. “Why is the physical injury most relevant to the case? Shouldn’t the emotional and psychological effects be just as relevant?”

  “Or justice for the offender,” Will added quickly. Please take the focus off me. “I would think that giving the shooter a chance to take back what he did is a pretty good argument on its own.”

  Nayana nodded a few times after they’d finished speaking. “Exactly. What I meant was, in the context of the resentencing trial, we need to prepare our arguments carefully. Timeline rectification has only been around since 1999, remember. The morality of resentencing is still under debate for some people. Some judges tend to press harder about whether, for example, a rectification would take away a hardship or growth opportunity that ultimately benefited the victims.”

  Beside him, Mara drew herself up, tall and stiff. They knew about that perspective, all right.

  Nayana continued. “Now, in this office, obviously we understand how psychological and emotional effects of trauma—such as PTSD—are just as harmful as a physical injury. However, it can be harder for those cases to gain traction. Having an obvious physical injury—such as a gunshot wound—is a more clear-cut case.”

  “But the time wreck would benefit everyone,” Mara stressed.

  “Correct. We absolutely want to change the event and the negative effects for all involved.” Nayana finished her statement with another smile.

  “So does this mean . . .” Will started. Nayana nodded encouragingly. “Does this mean the time wreck would be a sure thing? The letter and the website made it sound like we could still get denied.”

  “Great question. At this point, there are only a few things that can derail a timeline rectification. For example, as I’m sure you know, a rectification cannot move forward if a minor is involved—and yes, that does include embryos.” Nayana laughed, as if she’d said something funny. “So, Mara, if you were to get pregnant, that would take the possibility of rectification off the table. Similarly, if you two had had any children since the crime, Jason’s case would automatically have been dismissed. Fortunately, that’s not the case for us.”

  Mara swallowed and tucked her hair behind her ear. Will could see the hurt etched onto her face.

  Nayana continued. “Obviously, a case also couldn’t go forward if either of you or Jason were to pass away—but all three of you are young and healthy. That’s more of a concern when one of the participants has more critical health issues or advanced age. For your case, the most likely obstruction would come from the judge at the resentencing trial. That’s always a consideration, but it’s fairly unusual for a judge to dismiss a timeline rectification application. Generally, judges tend to rule in favor unless there’s compelling evidence that the offender or victims aren’t ready to redress the crime.”

  “What does that mean? What kind of evidence?” Mara asked.

  “Before the trial, you’ll each meet with a psychiatrist to determine whether you understand the ramifications and that you’re capable of making this decision. That’s more of a concern in other situations, where the crime might have actually harmed a victim’s cognitive ability.”

  “So assuming everyone’s sane, the judge approves everything, and the rectification goes forward—then what happens?” Will asked. Both Nayana and Mara turned to him at once, and he realized how blunt he’d sounded. “I mean . . . I don’t understand how a time wreck actually works. I get that the offender proves to you that he’s rehabilitated and that we prove we’re okay with living without this crime, but what happens that makes us go back in time? What do we actually have to do?”

  “Right. That moves us into the second phase of what we’re here to talk about today,” Nayana said.

  Oh, no. This sounded like the beginning of a lecture. Will shifted in his chair and tried not to sigh.

  “I’m going to start with the phrase you used—I’m not trying to embarrass you, Will, but this is a common misconception. Timeline rectifications don’t send you ‘back in time.’ We think of time in a linear way: first one thing, then the next, and the next, and so on.” Nayana used her hands to demonstrate making points on a line. �
��But truly, time is much more complex. Rather than a point on a straight line, each moment of your life is like a set of coordinates on a map. Each point affects multiple moments in your life in many ways.” Nayana fumbled a bit with the folders on her desk before reaching into a drawer. “I like to use this to explain. Here.” She smoothed a rectangle of graph paper on the desktop. “So, we might see this edge of the paper as the beginning of your life and the other as the end. However, the chronological order of events is only one factor. There is also your comprehension of time—you don’t remember being in the womb or being born, for example, but those events occurred and obviously profoundly impacted the rest of your life. Your first memory might be at age three or even two years old, but the event you remember might not be significant to anyone but yourself.”

  Will nodded. Made sense so far, but Nayana looked like she was just getting warmed up.

  “The first event you considered life-changing might not have happened until you were ten or twelve years old, or even twenty. Meanwhile, the way the events in your life affect other people is important as well. If you were in a car accident, for example, that likely affected not only yourself but other passengers, the driver and the passengers of the other car, the police, the medical personnel, et cetera. We also have the ways in which each moment affects our life—perhaps an event in your life changed your relationship with another person, changed your future career path, and changed your spiritual beliefs all at once.”

  This was sounding more complicated, and she still hadn’t answered what they would have to do for a time wreck. Will shifted his weight, and one of the chair legs squeaked.