Allergic To Time

by Crystal Gables

  Martin seemed relieved that Robert had left us alone for a while anyway. He took a deep breathe and scratched his neck like he was considering something. He finally stood up and walked abruptly behind his desk and pulled out a desk drawer. He retrieved a thick folder of files and thrust it towards me. “Here, before I change my mind,” he said.

  At first I assumed the folders must be more professional bullshit, like course outlines for the subject I was supposed to be tutoring, or something. But turning over to the first page I saw that it was anything but.

  It simply read: “Time Travel Case Studies” on the opening page. I glanced up at Martin in shock, but he wouldn’t return my gaze. I returned to the folder and began flicking through it.

  There it all was: all the research and notes from the Nick Cooper articles I had read. There was 10 times as much information as those articles had contained. There were pages and pages of transcribed interviews, photos of strange, terrified looking people and almost 500 pages of detailed information about their stories. There were medical reports, almost all of them containing the same detail: the patient — or time traveller — waking up in a hospital bed, unable to breathe, their lungs unable to process the air.

  As I paged through one of them — a more detailed account of one of the cases I had found most compelling in my own previous readings — the case of a woman who claimed to have travelled from 1880 to 1980, a hundred years out of time, who had become terrified and an outcast of society – I couldn’t help murmuring, “Why do you have all this printed out?” I knew Martin wasn’t much for technology but it kind of seemed like both a waste of paper to have printed all of this, as well as being dangerous to keep a hard copy sitting in his desk.

  “It’s the only copy I have.” He leant up on his desk as he quietly spoke. “There is no electronic copy at all. I couldn’t risk it being copied or uploaded. I keep this in my desk, hidden in plain sight.”

  “Who would want to find it though?”

  He didn’t answer. I thought I already knew. The man in black.

  I shut the folder, shaking my head. “There’s one thing I just don’t understand,” I said looking up at him. “All these people travelled through time, right? And you believe their stories?” Surely he couldn’t deny that now, given what he had just handed me?

  He nodded. “I believe them,” he responded quietly.

  “But...” I began, confused. I tried to gather my train of thought. “At the hospital, yesterday, the man in black and Bianca both said that no one had ever survived a trip through time before. That Robert was the very first one.”

  Martin looked down at his hands, avoiding my statement for a second. He took a deep breath in, and looked at the door, listening to make sure Robert wasn’t about to come back in.

  “He’s not the first one to survive a trip through time.” He paused and looked at me through heavy lids. “He is the first one to survive their experiments.”

  The door quickly swung open and I spun around, my heart beating fast, as I almost dropped the folder on the floor.

  “It’s bloody freezing out there man,” Robert said, coming in and huddling over Martin’s small bar heater in the corner. I looked him up and down, in his ridiculous glam rock outfit, and I felt very sad and terrified for him. He noticed the looks on our faces and asked us what the matter was.

  A glazed look hung over Martin’s face, but he stood up and pulled himself together. “We have to go to Nelson Bay,” he announced. “We have to go there right away.” He moved around the other side of his desk and began to hurriedly pack up his belongings.

  “Nelson Bay?” I asked incredulously. There was only one person I knew in Nelson Bay. And that couldn’t possibly be the reason we were going there. Martin didn’t even know of that person’s existence, let alone the fact that that person lived in Nelson Bay. There was no conceivable reason for Martin knowing that fact. “What the hell do we need to go to Nelson Bay for?” I asked, wondering what the hell could possibly be going on. “Do you want to get some fishing in or something? Because I don’t think this is exactly the time for it.”

  Martin zipped his bag up and made toward the door. “We’re going there to see your father.”

  Holy shit, I thought, and nothing seemed real again.

  Chapter Eleven.

  It was a three and a half hour drive from Sydney to Nelson Bay. If there had have been traffic on the road it would have been much longer, but in the middle of the night we pretty much had the highway to ourselves.

  Robert was in the front passenger seat, next to Martin who was driving us in his old banged up commodore which Robert probably recognised from the 1970s. I was slumped in the backseat, still in disbelief over what was happening.

  “Cool man, road trip!” Robert called out, his window down so he could flick cigarette ash out of it.

  There is nothing cool about it, I thought, sitting back in freezing cold silence. The only reason I was going along with it was because, as Martin had explained, at least we would be safer if we got out of the city. Ever since he had told me about the man in black and these apparent “experiments” I didn’t want to be anywhere near RPA Hospital or the University of Sydney.

  But it had been a freaking long time since I’d been to Nelson Bay, and I’d had no intention of ever going back there.

  I could see that Martin kept checking on me in the rear-view mirror, but I was angry at him now, and determined to sulk for the entire journey. We were about half way into it when we passed a 24 hour McDonald’s on the highway and Robert called for us to pull over. “I’m starving!” he announced, though I wasn’t sure how that could be, considering that he’d consumed almost the entire large pizza we’d ordered earlier that evening. Martin pulled into the parking lot anyway and turned off the engine.

  “You coming in?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me. By that stage I was becoming bored of my own sulking, and was dying for a coffee, so I pulled my seatbelt off and climbed out the door, without saying anything. As we walked in Robert seemed excited to be at a place he recognised, although I figured he was in for a rude shock when he saw the menu prices.

  The other two ordered burgers and I asked for a long black. We sat in a booth opposite the lonely highway, which was empty except for the occasional truck thundering past in the dead of the night. At least the inside of the McDonalds was heated. There wasn’t a lot of warmth in the car considering that Robert needed to keep his window wound down almost constantly. I still couldn’t believe how much he smoked. He was literally chain smoking: lighting each new cigarette with the butt of the previous one then moving onto the next.

  As we huddled in the booth it became clear that I was not 100% done sulking. I didn’t say anything as Robert shovelled his burger into his mouth and Martin picked at his, making small talk about the town we were technically in, Wahroonga. I couldn’t believe he could be so blasé about the entire thing. He’d still barely explained anything to me — just as things had begun making some kind of sense to me the rug was pulled our from under of my feet yet again. I just stared down into my coffee, refusing to join in with the conversation.

  When it became clear he wouldn’t get any response from me, Martin began to make chit chat with Robert, which was a strange sight to witness. “So...” he began. “What is it like in the 70s?”

  I rolled my eyes. Martin should know, considering he was a hundred years old. I didn’t think Robert was going to dignify him with a response, but he seemed willing enough to talk. He wiped his face with a napkin and shrugged. “Kind of shit, actually.”

  Martin raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Weren’t you born in the 70s, Martin?” I asked, unable to resist. “You should remember it vividly.”

  He seemed to realise that I was only looking for an argument and ignored me. He turned back to Robert. “What did you do there?”

  Robert swallowed another bite of his burger. “I sung in a band. Wasn’t really going anywhere though.”r />
  Martin seemed bemused by his answer. I wasn’t particularly shocked myself, considering the get-up that Robert was still insisting on wearing. Even though he now had a plain black jacket of Martin’s on over the jumpsuit, he was only slightly less conspicuous. It was lucky there wasn’t anyone else inside the deserted McDonalds, because he wouldn’t exactly have blended in amongst the rest of the residents of that small town.

  God knows what they were going to make of him in Nelson Bay. It was a small, backwards tourist town, made up of conservative voters mostly 55 years and over. I didn’t think there was a single non-white person in the entire town either.

  I wished we could get into the car and just head back to Sydney, but that didn’t seem like an option either. We were screwed if we went back, screwed if we continued on to Nelson Bay. Martin glanced over at me and saw that I was lost in my own thoughts. “Anna?” he asked. “Do you want me to explain why we’re visiting your...”

  “No,” I snapped, interrupting him. “None of your explanations are any good.” I sat up and turned toward the window where a ten tonne truck carrying fruits and vegetables rumbled past, causing the windows to shake. I refused to turn my glare back towards him.

  Martin sighed and continued with his conversation with Robert instead. “Anything else? Did you have a paying job, or a family? A wife?”

  “I’m engaged,” he replied, whether wistfully or hesitantly, I wasn’t sure.

  Martin prickled at the term and looked down at his half-eaten burger. For a second I also glanced back over to check the look on his face. I’d always felt like ‘fiancé’ and ‘engaged’ were forbidden words in his presence. Not that Robert would know anything about that. But talk of a long ago, possibly dead fiancé, must have struck more than a slight nerve. Robert sensed the unease and moved on.

  “I worked in a supermarket part time,” he sighed and finished the last bite of his burger. “See? Shit, really.” He looked around at our present surroundings. “Not that I would rather be here, mind.” His tone was sad.

  Martin looked at him with empathy, the first sympathetic look he had given Robert since this had all started less than 48 hours before. He nodded. “No one I have ever spoken to wanted it to happen, nor would have wished for it to happen.”

  Robert looked at him in shock. “What do you mean? You know other people who have travelled through time?” I remembered Robert hadn’t been there for the presentation of the folder.

  Martin nodded.

  “Yes, I’ve been...” he paused, searching for the right word. “Investigating this kind of thing for about ten years.”

  “That’s what Anna said yesterday…” he said, switching his gaze to me, with a look of surprise on his face. “He’s admitting to it!”

  I raised my eyebrow. “I know, shockingly enough.” I took a sip of my coffee. It was still hot enough to burn my tongue. I blew on it before I tried again.

  Martin laced his fingers together and rested his head on his hands. “Only because I had no other choice.”

  After a moment he looked up at me. “Considering you already know.” He thought about this. “Why didn’t you say anything to me sooner?”

  My mouth flew open. “Why didn’t I say something to you sooner? Are you kidding me?”

  “Well considering you were investigating me privately behind my back...”

  “Oh, that is rich.”

  Martin shut up. Considering where we were — half way on a trip to Nelson Bay, to see my father, who Martin apparently secretly knew existed, and considering he had a secret folder of information on me, he had absolutely no right to accuse me of anything.

  We sat there in tense silence for a moment.

  “This is nice,” Robert said, ironically, raising an eyebrow.

  Martin pushed his seat back and began to stand up. “We should get going. We still have half the journey to go.”

  ***

  We finally reached Nelson Bay at 1am in the morning. The quiet coastal town was sleeping, drowned in moonlight, but I could still make out the main landmarks that I recognised from my youth. I also recognised very well the direction Martin was driving us: up towards the Eastern side of the town which was home to the area’s most picturesque beaches.

  We pulled into the driveway of a modern-looking apartment block. “I own two apartments in the building,” Martin announced, much to my surprise. He was always taking part in protests against the poor wages that academics in Australia received. “I rent them out during the holiday season, but they’re empty right now. It’s tough to get people up here in the winter.”

  As we got out of the car and unloaded our hastily packed luggage I couldn’t help wondering why Martin Anderson owned property in Nelson Bay, of all places. Was it just a coincidence?

  We climbed up several flights of stairs to the apartment — the larger one of the two apparently — that we would be sleeping in. No one offered to help me with my heavy bag, so I dragged it up behind me, wondering if I’d packed enough and how long we’d be staying there. I was almost certain we wouldn’t be back in Sydney by the following afternoon, which was when I was supposed to be presenting at the physics seminar.

  “What about the seminar tomorrow?” I asked Martin, who was half a flight of stairs above me. He only had a light overnight bag to contend with. He looked uncomfortable at my question.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. He put a key in the door and unlocked it, then glanced over his shoulder at me, apologetically. “Do you think you could possibly ring Connie and ask her to cover for us?”

  My mouth was wide open. I had never seen Martin Anderson acting so cavalier about university matters before. Get Connie to cover for us? What was he thinking? She would screw things up royally.

  I stepped inside after Martin, and he flicked on a light switch. The apartment was decked out in tacky blue and green furniture with sea shell decals on it, and there were paintings on the wall to match. “And what will I tell Connie exactly?”

  “Tell her we’re both too sick to make it to class.” Martin took his shoulder bag off and placed it on a blue couch with white seashell decals on it. “She’ll be flattered that I trust her to take over, for once” he muttered, with an arched eyebrow. He really was dropping his professional facade, if he was willing to make snide little remarks about other students to me.

  “Fine, I’ll ring her in the morning,” I said. Although I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. Maybe we could still make it back to Sydney by the following afternoon.

  “Jesus, this place is huge,” Robert said, making a lap around the joint. I took a glance around the apartment myself. It actually was pretty big, or at least, it was a lot bigger than any apartment I had seen in Sydney. There were three bedrooms, and plenty of space in the living room as well for extra bunks and sofa beds. Martin said it slept up to twelve people — in the summer he apparently made a killing with group parties and large family bookings. There were enough individual rooms for us each to take our own. Martin and Robert graciously let me have the larger one with the en-suite, while Martin took the smaller double room and Robert was left with a tiny bedroom that had two single beds in it, which looked like a children’s room.

  In the main living space was a kitchen and dining room, with a drinks bar separating them. “Oh cool,” Robert said, walking towards it. “Is this thing stocked?”

  Martin nodded. “Yes, there should be scotch and wine — should we have a drink-“

  “Goodnight,” I said, cooly, interrupting them. Without waiting for a response from either one of them, I walked swiftly to my bedroom, shutting the door forcefully behind me to signal to them, that for me at least, the night was over.

  Chapter Twelve.

  The following morning I awoke to the unusual sight of sunlight streaming in through my bedroom windows, the first sun I had seen in over a week. I sat upright, suddenly feeling slightly better about the situation we’d found ourselves in. After all, we were at the beach! Maybe we could even make
a bit of a holiday of it, now that we were there.

  And, you know, just ignore the fact that we were there to track down my estranged father while being on the run from villains who were trying to kill us. I laid back down and pulled a pillow over my face. This would be no holiday.

  I was tempted to just pull the covers back up and return to sleep, but the smell of bacon prickled at my nose and I threw the covers off and jumped out, then wondered down the hall to the kitchen, following the delicious smell.

  Standing in the kitchen was Martin, who was apparently cooking up a three course breakfast for us. There was bacon, eggs, and my favourite breakfast item of all: bagels. Well, I was hardly going to be able to stay too mad at him if he was going to cook me all this amazing food. Robert – who seemed to have a bottomless pit for a stomach — was already tucking into a bacon and egg roll which was slathered with BBQ sauce.

  I smiled at the two of them and sat down at the bench. Outside the window was a stunning view over the pristine white sand and peaceful blue water of the beach. Martin really must have made a fortune out of the place over the spring and summer months.

  Robert gave me a friendly grin, like he was pleased to see me. “Did you sleep all right?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. I was too exhausted to not sleep soundly.”

  Martin cracked an egg in a frying pan and I realised how strange it was to see him in that environment: cooking me breakfast. Connie would be having a heart attack if she knew.

  Martin seemed to read my mind, and he nodded towards the clock. I was surprised to see it was already 10am. I’d assumed it was far earlier. Geez, I’d really slept in.

  “You’d better ring Connie,” he said.

  I groaned. Did Martin really have to get right to business? Not even so much as a ‘good morning’ from him. Straight onto uni concerns.