by Ellen Smith
“It is ordered that the defendant, Jason Mann, shall proceed with a timeline rectification to the offense as soon as such rectification can be arranged. Until that time, defendant is to remain in custody and transported to the simulations with security.”
The bang of the gavel thundered through Mara’s body, from the burning sensation behind her ears down to the deep, sinking pit of her stomach.
So this is how our lives unravel.
5 Fast Facts You Need to Know about the Timeline Rectification HOAX
April 14, 2011
1. Nobody Remembers Having Had a Timeline Rectification
This is the most glaring proof of all, so we put it first. Seriously, thousands of people have had timeline rectifications and not one person remembers it? Not one of these timeline rectifications was botched?
*Update: Some commenters have noted that Deirdre Collins claims to have evidence of having a timeline rectification. For more on why we know her claims are bogus, click here.
2. Yet Somehow, the Government Has Data “Proving” That Timeline Rectification Works
Huh. So there’s a massive crime problem in the United States that is actively being solved by an equally massive rehabilitation-and-rectification movement, thoughtfully provided by the government. And it totally works. And nobody even has to be bothered by memories of the original crimes. We’ll just have to go ahead and take their word for it that all kinds of crimes have been miraculously undone.
Sure.
3. Total Arrests and Incarcerations Have INCREASED Since 2000 . . . the Year That Timeline Rectification Was Supposedly Approved
Time wreckers would love to have you believe otherwise, but go ahead and do a little digging. A simple Internet search will tell you that’s completely false.
4. The “Rehabilitation Program” Is Bogus
What is this magical rehabilitation program that turns convicted criminals doing hard time into poor, misunderstood souls who just need another chance to go back and make a better choice? Were they not aware that they were doing something illegal before? Was being charged and jailed not enough of a hint? Were they not aware of the difference between right and wrong?
5. Amazingly, Crimes Are Still Occurring
These claims about timeline rectification would be somewhat plausible if we could see some shred of evidence that it was working. Read your local paper. Watch your local news. Heck, look out your window. Crime is still happening. It’s an everyday part of our existence.
Now let’s stop talking about the fairytale that the government is going to solve all our problems by undoing our crimes and start looking for what it is they’re trying to cover up.
Chapter Twenty-Four
WILL
“How long do we have?” Mara asked. Will noticed that she winced every time the van went over a speed bump, but her voice stayed steady. Traci and the security guard—Ken, a large man whose chest seemed to strain against the shoulder strap of the seat belt—sat across from them.
Since they’d been hurried out of the courthouse and into the large, dark van, Will had half-wondered if they were being protected or if they were being kidnapped. Traci talked nonstop about moving them to a secure location, whatever that meant.
“I can’t give you an exact ETA,” Traci said carefully, “but it’s going to be quite a while before we arrive. Do either of you need snacks? Drinks?” She moved toward her large, cracked leather briefcase, as if it held a vending machine.
Maybe it does. It is a pretty big briefcase.
Will shook his head. So did Mara. The van was moving fast, zipping in and out of traffic like they were on a high-speed chase to nowhere. They were heading outside of the District now onto a highway. I-66, Will guessed, although he wasn’t at the right angle to see the signs.
Will took the time to get his bearings. It had all happened so fast. After the trial, he and Mara had been whisked away to another room. A room without Jason, Will had noted. A wave of relief swept over him. They’d have to be around him again at some point. But at least it didn’t have to be right now.
In the inner room, Will and Mara had had to surrender their phones. Then, they’d had to be searched—again, even after going through the metal detectors before the trial—and the security guards had needed to look through the duffel bag they’d packed too.
“Any laptops? Watches? Anything at all with a tracking device or signal?” Traci had asked, before she handed over the duffel to the gloved security guards. Mara cringed when the guards took everything out of the carefully organized bag for inspection and then haphazardly threw it all back in.
That was when they had met Ken. Traci had introduced them as if they were meeting at a cocktail party. “Ken, this is Will and Mara Sterling.”
“I’ll be your security detail,” Ken said. His face gave no trace of a smile and his arms seemed permanently crossed over his sizeable chest. Ken’s bald head gleamed shiny and brown under the fluorescent lights.
“Nice to meet you,” Will had said weakly, while Mara mustered a “Hello.” Ken nodded in response and retreated to a back wall.
“Congratulations,” Mara whispered to Will, as soon as Ken seemed out of earshot. “You finally met another guy as tall as you.”
“I’m pretty sure I weigh less than one of his biceps,” Will said, keeping a wary eye on the back wall. Ken was watching them. Maybe they hadn’t been out of earshot after all.
Now that they were in the van, speeding off to who-knows-where, Ken’s demeanor hadn’t changed. Traci still seemed to be determined to turn this time wreck into a social event by being bubbly and friendly. She was talking Ken’s ear off about the best place in the District to get crabs that were “as good as the crab shacks in Annapolis.” Ken barely nodded and grunted in response.
They had taken an exit off the highway. Will lost count of the turns and side streets the driver took them down. Wherever they were going, they were far outside the District. Will watched out the windows as the highways gave way to smaller roads. Less busy. Better.
They were in Virginia now, he guessed. Gradually, the smaller roads disappeared, too, and there was only a highway with large, vacant fields on either side. Occasionally, a church or farm would appear in the distance. Mara was looking warily out the van’s window, either trying to guess where they were or trying to forget what they’d left.
“How’re you holding up?” Will asked, leaning closer to Mara. Traci was too busy talking and Ken was too busy tuning her out for either of them to listen in.
“I feel like I have whiplash. Not physically. Like, emotional whiplash,” Mara said.
“Tell me about it. It feels so weird to be without my phone. I have no idea what’s going on in the world now.”
“Gotta keep up with those web comics and cat memes?”
“I meant the news,” Will said, bumping her knee with his. Mara grinned before suddenly turning serious.
“I feel like I’ve left without saying goodbye,” she said. “I didn’t text Robyn this morning, and we didn’t even check on Tristan to make sure he got home okay. Your brother could be anywhere right now.”
“What do you think is going to happen if he gets to our place and figures out we aren’t there?” Will asked. At least when he’d had his phone on him, he’d felt like he could keep track of Chris’s updates on his FundItUp campaign. Now, he only had his own guesses to occupy his mind.
“Your mom is going to lose her mind if Chris doesn’t report back to her that we’re safe, sound, and turned away from sin,” Mara said. “And my parents are going to figure out that we’re definitely having a time wreck if we’re missing from our apartment.”
“I guess it’s good not to have our phones after all,” Will said. “Some things are probably better not to know.”
“I don’t need to read the news to know how my parents will react,” Mara said. “It’s always the same. I’ll never be good enough for my parents’ legacy. This t
ime, I’m just being a more public disappointment than usual.”
Will wasn’t sure what to say to that. Not our problem? Maybe it’s not that bad? “You’re not a disappointment,” he finally said.
Based on how Mara leaned in on his shoulder, that was the right answer.
Finally, the van turned in at the parking lot of a motel. Traci gestured to them to wait while she checked in. She returned with two key cards and motioned for Will and Mara to follow her.
Their room was going to be on the third floor of the motel. The stairs creaked warily underneath their feet as they climbed. Ken swept room 312 before he allowed Mara and Will inside. Will didn’t know whether all the precautions made him feel safe or not. Sure, there were a lot of people who would want to stop a time wreck—but would anyone actually kill them to do it?
Given Ken’s terse expression as he stepped out to guard the door, it seemed like a possibility. Will tucked an arm around Mara’s waist and surveyed their new home. For the rest of this life map, anyway.
It wasn’t much of a room, but then, it wasn’t much of an occasion. There were two double beds with blue-and-gold striped comforters. They were separated by a nightstand that held a lamp and a clock radio. The peeling beige wallpaper was punctuated by gold-framed abstract artwork. Will could tell at first glance that the two pieces over the bed were hung crookedly, while the one across from the bathroom was about five inches too low. That was going to bother him.
“Ken will be staying in a room down the hall,” Traci said. “If anyone else contacts you—anyone at all—dial three-one-four on your room phone immediately. That’ll connect you straight to Ken’s room. He’ll bring you your meals, too, and the van will come and pick you up in the morning. We’ll begin our first simulation then.” Traci paced a bit before putting her hand on the doorknob. “Can you think of anything else you might need?”
“I think we’ll be okay,” Mara said. “Thanks.”
“Oh! Also, I know you both know better, but I have to say it. Please don’t make any outside calls or attempt to contact anyone. Your safety is the top priority here.”
“We know,” Will said. Actually, preventing anything that could put a stop to the time wreck is your top priority.
Traci hesitated a bit. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry this has been so tough for you two. You really deserve all the best.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
MARA
Spending the whole night offline had been strange. Without the steady stream of updates, Mara drove herself half-crazy wondering what people were thinking.
“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” Will had said, as usual. But Mara noticed that he kept checking the peephole at the door and picking the phone up to be sure there was a dial tone. As if anyone could find them here, in this middle-of-nowhere motel.
For the first time in a long time, Mara spent most of the day reading. Every now and again, she would look up, surprised to find herself stretched out on the lumpy comforter of a no-tell motel instead of ducking in and out of the front lines in a Revolutionary War battle. Will was reading too—one of his thrillers. No wonder he kept checking the peephole and the phone line.
The van arrived the next morning at 7:00 a.m. sharp. They had a long ride ahead of them, Ken told them, and Mara wished she’d had the foresight to bring her book with her. Instead, she and Will looked out on the passing fields and occasional barns as they sped down the highway. They weren’t going back to DC—they were heading even farther south. Or west. Mara wasn’t sure.
They came to a stop at a complex of large, gray buildings with metal roofs. If they had passed by it on the highway, Mara would have assumed it was just some type of farm equipment, maybe a place to store grain or something. The buildings were unmarked and the complex was ultimately forgettable—something a traveler would see and forget in the blink of an eye.
Which made it the perfect place for an outpost of the Department of Timeline Rectification.
Ken led them into the first building, which had cracked linoleum floors, plain walls, and glaring fluorescent lights. Everyone else was already there. Nayana Patel and Dr. Hendrix were talking quietly by the computer. Traci Bryant was comfortably situated in a chair, chatting with a tall man. Mara recognized him from the trial as Jason’s rehabilitation officer.
To the side, sprawled across another chair, was Jason.
Mara stepped a little closer to Will. Jason was in his gray prison uniform today. Without his sport coat and tie, he looked vulnerable again. Like someone who could feel. Someone who could hurt.
Someone who could snap.
Nayana turned and waved Will and Mara over to her. “I see everyone’s here. We’ll begin now,” she said.
Someone had arranged two rows of the maroon waiting room chairs to face a large projector screen. Will and Mara took a seat on one side of the front row.
“You okay?” Mara whispered to Will when she saw him sneaking glances behind them.
“He’s sitting on the other end of the back row,” Will whispered back. “Nowhere near us.” He put an arm around the back of Mara’s chair, which was sweet until his hand brushed against her throbbing shoulder. She flinched.
“Sorry! Sorry,” Will whispered. He moved his arm down and held her good hand instead. Mara wished he could put his arm around her. It made her feel safer.
“In this initial phase, we’re going to watch a simulation on screen. We’ve used your witness statements, forensics, and the footage from the security camera to compile a detailed timeline of the event,” Nayana said. “Take notes and record your initial impressions as you watch. If anything feels confusing or inauthentic, please speak up.” Traci passed down memo pads and ballpoint pens. Reluctantly, Will let go of her hand and they both got ready to write.
Dr. Hendrix spoke next. “It’s important that we’re all here, doing each part of the simulation process together. Each of you will benefit from the rectification, so you all have a vested interest in ensuring that the simulations are accurate and that the eventual rectification will be successful. After our work today, we’re going to use the data to create a more realistic simulation for our next session. You may find that these initial simulations of the event are triggering. If you do, I encourage you to signal Traci or myself with a raised hand to indicate that we need to take a break.”
Mara cast a look toward Will. Was he ready for this? He’d seemed to sleep well last night, but watching the event unfold in front of him couldn’t be good for his PTSD. Mara awkwardly tried to pat his thigh but succeeded only in leaving a long, dark pen mark on his jeans. Will raised an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Dr. Hendrix flicked off the lights, plunging them all into darkness. Nayana must have turned on the computer screen then, illuminating the room with a spinning color wheel.
“It should load in a few more seconds,” she said.
Mara felt Will shuffle closer, so that their hips and knees rested against each other. The closeness helped. She hoped it helped him too.
Finally, an animated sketch of the Student Union appeared on the screen. There was the entrance to the college bookstore on the right, and the long, empty hallway to the left. Straight ahead was a bank of student mailboxes. Cartoon Will was standing at one of the mailboxes. He looked like a paper doll, with a swirl of blond hair and large silver glasses.
“I look like a character from the Sims,” Will said, under his breath.
“I think you look like a hipster,” Mara muttered back. “All you need is a beanie.”
Will stifled a laugh. “Yeah. I liked time wrecking before it was cool.”
Nayana shushed them.
The screen panned slightly to the right toward the bookstore. Cartoon Jason was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. He was pacing back and forth in front of the bookstore, kneeling by the water fountain, then jerking up and pacing again. Even though the character’s face was flat, the
movements alone made him look anxious. Mara felt almost as though she should avert her eyes. It felt private, watching Jason have a breakdown, even if it was just a simulation. One minute of his jerky, puppet-like movements stretched into two, then three. Mara could hear the other people in the room shifting in their chairs.
“All this footage was taken straight from the security camera,” Nayana said, as if another explanation could make the silence less awkward. It didn’t work.
Finally, the screen pulled back, showing Jason on the right, Will at the mailbox embankment in the middle, and the long hallway to the left. Mara’s heart started to hammer. I’m going to come down that hall.
Cartoon Jason ran both hands through his hair and reached down to his side. To the left, Mara saw another figure emerge. Cartoon Mara had long, dark hair and a pleated gray skirt. She was holding a white box. It had been a Styrofoam takeaway box, Mara remembered. She’d gone to the Student Union for mozzarella sticks from the café.
Cartoon Jason pulled a gun and aimed it up at the ceiling. He fired a shot.
Beside her, Will jumped. “I’m okay,” he whispered immediately. “I’m okay.”
Onscreen Will looked frozen. He stood flat against the mailboxes, looking to his right and left again. Onscreen Mara froze too. The simulator played a yell—could that really be her voice? No, it had to be a sound effect they’d pulled for the simulation—and Cartoon Mara turned and ran. Jason jumped back and then lowered the gun toward the hallway. He pulled the trigger. Another shot. And again.