Man Out Of Time (The Time Bubble Book 3)

by Jason Ayres

  The more he looked around the more he felt a growing uneasiness within him. Something wasn’t right here. And now he was talking out loud to himself. What was it that they said about that? It was meant to be the first sign of madness, wasn’t it?

  He was exhausted from being up all night and the excessive amount of drink he’d put away at the party was certainly not helping. Yes, that must be it, he concluded, as he struggled to fit together the pieces of this very strange jigsaw puzzle. Clearly he’d overdone it on the booze, and now his mind was playing tricks on him.

  All he wanted to do now was get home and get to bed. Everything would make sense again once he was rested.

  He passed the site of the now non-existent pub and walked another fifty yards to reach the entrance to his cul-de-sac. This was where he lived in the one-bedroom starter home he referred to as his bachelor pad.

  As he turned into the close, the sun was rising in the gap between two pairs of semi-detached houses at the end of the close. He winced at the brightness of the sunlight in his tired eyes, adding to the pain that the incessant noise of the early morning birdsong was already bringing to his ears.

  Approaching the house, he noticed that someone had had the impudence to park another brand new car right over his driveway. He didn’t even recognise the make of this one, but the fact that it was red was enough to make him see red. Those were Manchester United’s colours and he hated Man U. “Fucking park over my drive, would you?” he bellowed.

  Sensing the opportunity to get back at a random stranger to make him feel better about his own problems, he pulled his house keys from his pocket and scraped one right along the driver’s side door.

  “That’ll teach ’em,” he said, though there was still nobody there to hear him. He was talking to himself again, but it didn’t even register this time.

  He was half-hoping the car’s owner might have spotted him. He enjoyed a bit of confrontation and felt just in the mood to punch someone after the morning’s events.

  But it was far too early in the morning for there to be anyone around. The days of milkmen, postmen and paper boys heralding the start of a new day were long gone.

  If he thought he was in for a rest when he got home, he was very much mistaken. When he got to the front door he had his front door key in his hand, fresh from being scraped down the side of the car in front of his house, all ready to insert in the lock.

  Without even looking at the door he instinctively reached for the lock, but when the key bounced off the door he was alarmed to notice that the lock had disappeared. In fact, not only was the lock missing, it also wasn’t even the same door. His old, wooden door, complete with peeling blue paint, seemed to have been replaced by a glass and steel construction.

  He thought back to the other houses he’d seen earlier with different doors. This was becoming increasingly bizarre.

  Had he got the wrong house? He stepped back and looked around the street. It looked like the right street, apart from yet more of those peculiar little differences that he was now beginning to notice more and more.

  He looked at the number etched into the glass door: 14. It was definitely his house. A quick glance back to the cul-de-sac’s entrance across the road confirmed that it was “St Margaret’s Close”, the familiar sign in place where it had always been.

  He wasn’t that drunk that he couldn’t recognise his own house. It had to be the right one. So who had been messing about with his front door? And all the other front doors in the neighbourhood, come to that.

  He examined the door more closely. It didn’t seem to contain any sort of lock: in fact there didn’t even appear to be a handle. There was, however, a small, black, plastic panel set into the door at about head height, about 3 inches square. A single red light on the panel was blinking at him. He peered into it and was taken by surprise as it spoke.

  “Unknown retina pattern – please identify yourself.”

  “What the fuck?” exclaimed Dan. “What is this? Let me into my fucking house.”

  “That information is incorrect,” said the soulless computer voice. “Please state the purpose of your visit here.”

  “Fuck off,” said Dan. He walked round to the side of the house and opened the small gate that led alongside towards the kitchen door.

  He was relieved to see that the kitchen door was exactly as he remembered it, right down to the reassuringly familiar-looking lock and handle. He located the correct key in the bunch that he was still clutching tightly in his hands, and inserted it into the lock. It was the right key. With a sigh of relief as he felt it turn, he opened the kitchen door.

  His moment of relief did not last long. The door was about the only part of the kitchen that hadn’t changed. The room itself had been completely transformed.

  When he’d last set eyes on it, the previous day, it hadn’t exactly been in show home condition. The walls were stained yellow from years and years of frying chips with a deep fat fryer in which he rarely changed the oil. Half of the kitchen drawers had been hanging off, revealing the grimy contents inside, and there had been three days’ worth of washing up sitting in the sink.

  Now it looked like a show home kitchen, gleaming, spotless and modern. It reminded him of an old TV show that he’d once seen where people had their houses done up by experts. Was that what this was? Had they been in overnight?

  Dan had seen enough weirdness for one morning and decided not to even attempt to figure it out any further. Either he was going mad, was more inebriated than he had ever been in his life, or this was some sort of bad dream.

  Whichever one it was, there was only one place he had his mind set on going and that was to his bed.

  Unfortunately, he was about to discover that someone else had got there first. Feeling distinctly unsteady on his feet, he opened the kitchen door into the hallway that led to the front door.

  A flight of stairs ran up the side of the wall to his left. He turned and grabbed the circular wooden rail on his right-hand wall as he hauled himself upstairs.

  As he got to the top he heard the unmistakeable sound of breaking glass coming from his bedroom. So, whoever had been messing around with his house was clearly still here. Either that or it was a burglar. He would soon find out, but, whoever it was, they were going to regret messing with him like this.

  He went straight across the landing and flung open the bedroom door.

  His eyes took in the scene before him in a split second. The room was completely different. The bed was now against the back wall instead of under the window, and it wasn’t even the same bed. All of the other furniture and décor had changed, too.

  Even his ancient, faded Millwall FC FA Cup Final 2004 poster that his dad had given him when he was a small boy, shortly before he deserted his mother, had gone.

  Those were the cosmetic details. But his attention was very much drawn to the young couple occupying the bed. They couldn’t have been older than their late-twenties, and were both clearly naked. They had pulled the quilt up over them in the way actors did in movies to protect their modesty, but he could see their faces clearly enough.

  The man was slim, with an angular face and shortly cropped, dark hair. It was he who spoke first.

  “Whoever you are,” he said, “I’ve already called the police.”

  The man was trying to be brave, but his voice cracked as he spoke the final word, betraying his fear.

  The girl was red-haired with green eyes that were streaming tears down her soft, white complexion.

  “Please don’t hurt us,” she said. “Just take whatever you want. Here, my bag’s by the bed.”

  He glanced to the side of the bed, noticing the broken glass on the floor. He must have startled them when he came in and she’d knocked the glass over in panic.

  Ordinarily, Dan would have responded to a situation like this with aggression, but such was his confusion with the whole situation, he could only respond with bemusement.

  “What are you talking about? This is
my house. What are you doing here?”

  Still fearful that Dan was going to harm them, the young man managed to compose himself enough to reply.

  “But this is our home, we’ve lived here for two years,” he tried to explain. “We rented it through an agent in town.” Then a thought occurred to him, and he asked Dan, “Are you the landlord?”

  “No, I’m not the bloody landlord,” replied Dan, feeling his temporarily subdued anger beginning to return. “This is my house. I went out yesterday, and then I came back this morning to find the front door replaced, the entire place redecorated, and you two in my bedroom. Now either you’re squatters or this is someone’s idea of a huge practical joke, but whatever it is, I want you to get your clothes on and get out of my house – now!”

  Towards the end of this rant, he became aware of the sound of approaching police sirens.

  “Well, we’ll have to see what the police have to say about that,” said the man, the relief at hearing rescue at hand evident on his face.

  Chapter Four

  August 2049

  At the barbecue, it was much later in the evening now. With all the food devoured and the sun sinking towards the horizon in the west, Charlie and the others were sitting around an oval wooden table on the patio. The drink was flowing extremely well, when Jess jumped up and made an announcement.

  “I know this is Sophie’s party and everything, but the three of us thought we might pop into town and meet a few friends.”

  “Sounds great!” said Josh. “I wish I was coming with you.” Noting the horrified looks on the faces of Pete and Sophie, he added: “Relax, I was just kidding. But don’t think just because I’m over forty doesn’t mean I can’t still party. I could if I wanted to!”

  “Whatever you say, Josh,” said Pete, humouring him.

  “I’ll call up an autocab,” said Jess.

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright in town?” said Kaylee to Sophie.

  “I’m a big girl now, Mum,” she replied. “Besides, I’ve got Pete and Jess to look after me. And it’s not like there’s any school in the morning. I’ve never had to go to school on my birthday.”

  “Such is the beauty of being born in August,” commented Peter. “It’s always been my favourite month, ever since I took up teaching as a profession. Apart from the wasps, obviously.”

  It only took a few minutes for the autocab to arrive. With the kids out of the way, the older generation continued drinking and laughing. It was the first time the six of them had been together since the previous Christmas, and it was a moment that Josh had been waiting for.

  There had been a reason he’d been so keen to encourage Jess’s suggestion of a trip into town. There were things he was itching to talk about that were best kept among the six of them. Although Jess knew all about the time bubbles, the others didn’t. Charlie and Kaylee had decided not to tell them about them – there was no real need and the less people who knew, the better.

  Peter was enthusing about a restaurant they’d eaten at in Sydney and the various different types of meat on offer. His enthusiasm for the subject had been considerably exaggerated by the amount of drink he’d consumed.

  When an anecdote about some emu meat he had eaten led to him rambling on about Rod Hull, Josh decided it was time to step in and change the subject. Peter often forgot that he was born decades before the rest of them, none of whom had ever heard of Rod Hull and Emu.

  “Listen everyone,” he began. “Now that the kids are gone, there is something I really want to talk about.”

  Peter, distracted from his reminiscences about the golden era of light entertainment, suddenly perked up. He recognised the earnest tone in Josh’s voice and correctly surmised that it could mean only one thing. “Have you made a breakthrough on the time travel experiments?” he asked.

  “I certainly have,” replied Josh. “Wait here a minute,” he said. “I’m just going to get something out of the car. Alice can fill you in on some of the details.” He jumped up and headed out of the side gate.

  “Ooh, mysterious,” said Kaylee. “I’m all ears. But first, does anyone want some more bubbly?”

  “Yes please,” replied Hannah and Alice in unison.

  “I’ve got a rather nice bottle of red in the house that I’ve been saving,” said Charlie. “It’s a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, 2028 vintage. The last decent one before the Black Winter screwed up the French wine trade. Fancy a drop, Peter?”

  “I certainly will,” he replied. Charlie’s penchant for red wine was well-known. If he said it was a decent bottle, Peter knew it would be exquisite.

  By the time they had all got their drinks and sat back down around the table, Josh had returned carrying a heavy-duty portable safe.

  “What have you got in there?” asked Hannah. “You’ve not taken to robbing banks, have you? If so, it’s just as well I’m retired from the force.”

  “Who robs banks these days?” replied Josh. “Though, now you come to mention it, what I’ve got in here would come in very handy if I wanted to take a little trip back to the early 21st century for a little recreational criminal activity.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Hannah. “Still, if you robbed a bank round here back then, it would have given D.I. Kent something useful to do.”

  “Whatever happened to him, by the way?” asked Charlie, remembering the red-faced, boozy copper who’d interrogated him many years ago.

  “He went off to Cyprus just before the Black Winter and never came back,” replied Hannah. “He’s still alive, as far as I know. The last I heard, he and his wife were running a bar out there.”

  Peter was getting impatient with the small talk diverting activity from the matter in hand.

  “Come on, Josh, open up the safe,” he said, impatiently. “Don’t keep us all in suspense.”

  “Not just yet,” teased Josh. “I need to tell you more about it first. How much did Alice tell you while I was gone?”

  “I didn’t get time to tell them anything,” remarked Alice. “We were all too busy getting more drinks.”

  “Priorities, and all that,” added Kaylee, sloshing her champagne flute about and giggling.

  “Typical,” replied Josh. “Well, now that I’ve got your undivided attention, I’ll begin. As you know, Alice and I have been burning the midnight oil for longer than we care to remember on this project. Tonight I am pleased to announce we are finally at the point where we can not only create our own time bubbles, but also control them.”

  This didn’t come as a huge surprise to the assembled gathering. They all knew that Josh had already met his future self in his own past, so his discovery was inevitable one day. Even so, it was still exciting to hear it had finally become a reality.

  “How did you do it?” asked Peter. “I know when we talked about this before you said you couldn’t find a way to generate enough power to create the bubbles.”

  “In the end it was remarkably simple,” replied Josh. “I found a way to actually harness the kinetic energy created by the rotation of the Earth. As you can imagine, that power is enormous, and you don’t even have to plug it in.”

  “That’s unbelievable,” said Peter. “Not that I’m doubting you, of course, but I know some of the best scientists in the world have spent decades looking into that and concluded that it’s impossible.”

  “They used to say that about flying,” replied Josh. “Nothing’s impossible.”

  “Can you explain exactly how you did it?” asked Peter.

  “Believe me, if I did that, we’d be here all night and I don’t want to bore the others with all the details. Trust me, it works. Anyway, what’s more important is not how it’s powered, but what it can do. And I can demonstrate that for you right now.”

  Josh typed in a combination on the safe, and removed a slender wand-like device, with various coloured lights on the front. The handle was made of solid, black metal and had a tiny LCD screen set into it with a keypad next to it.

  �
��This,” he proudly exclaimed, “is the tachyometer mark IV.”

  Charlie groaned. “Really?” he asked. “Do you have to insist on keep calling it that?”

  “It’s just my little joke,” replied Josh, “and a homage to all those cheesy time travel movies we used to watch when we were kids. In fact, tachometer would have been a more technically correct term, but I liked the idea of putting ‘tacky’ into it.”

  “It isn’t even anything to do with tachyonics anymore, is it?” asked Peter. “Didn’t you abandon that line of research years ago?”

  “You’re right, I did,” replied Josh, “but the first device I built to detect tachyon particles I named a tachyometer and the name sort of stuck. Tell you what, if you can come up with a better name for it, I’ll change it.”

  Both of his detractors looked blank.

  “The tachyometer it is then,” stated Josh triumphantly.

  Alice decided to intervene. “When you’ve quite finished with the trivia, boys, perhaps we could get to the point. I’m sure the others would like to see it in action.”

  “Yes, come on, show us how it works,” said Peter. “We’ll be here all night at this rate.”

  “Well, it was actually you that gave me the idea, Peter,” commented Josh, “though you might not remember. It was back at school, over thirty years ago.”

  “It may be over thirty years for you, but it’s a lot less for me,” replied Peter. “From my perspective, it’s less than a decade since I was teaching you.”

  “Well, back when we first discovered the time bubble, Charlie and I asked you about whether you thought time travel was possible. You then gave us a very clever demonstration using a plain piece of A4 paper. You folded it over and said that, although it was 30cm from one end of the sheet to the other, it was in fact no distance at all because the two ends were touching. Well, this is effectively how this device works. It bends space/time just like you bent that piece of paper so you cross that distance in the blink of an eye.”