by MK Alexander
“No.” She shook her head.
“Did this man carry a cane?”
“Hmm... I don’t remember.”
“When did all this happen?” Fynn asked.
“What do you mean when?”
“The day, the season, the time of year…”
“Oh, let me think… it was right around the fourth of July, pretty sure…”
***
We drove back in silence, traffic was heavier than usual. Fynn seemed in no mood to talk.
“Well?” I finally asked.
“Well what?”
“Is it Lorraine or not?”
“Not. It is Elaine, I am sure.”
chapter 23
partners
That night, Partners was very quiet, especially compared to last week. Empty in fact, save Peppy, Stan, and Cecil. They were at their usual spot way at the end of the bar near the side door. I always wondered why that was prime real estate. I guess it made for an easy exit. They all gave me a nod when I walked in. I sat down and Suzy put a draft on the counter.
“Hey sweetie… you were fantastic last week, really.”
“Thanks. It was a magical moment.”
“No, I mean it…” She leaned over and gave me a big kiss. “You want some supper tonight?”
I was about to reply when I noticed something extraordinary. The three locals actually sauntered over to my end of the bar. They had never done that before.
“Thanks for sticking up for Hector,” Cecil said. I think it was him, the most coherent of the three.
“Sure, no problem. Hey, how did you know?”
“Word gets around.”
They signaled to Suzy and bought me a beer.
“So, what’ll you have tonight? Chowder? Wings?” she asked
“Don’t you have anything that’s green?”
“Green?”
“Maybe something with spinach in it. I like spinach.”
“What are you, Popeye?” Suzy asked.
“Who?”
“Let me see what I can find… maybe a salad or something.” She disappeared to the kitchen and returned some minutes later. “There you go…” Suzy said and put a plate down in front of me filled with some odd looking pastries.
“What’s this?”
“Spinach pie.”
“And this?” I pointed to the plate.
“Fruit.”
“What kind of fruit?”
“Kiwis, I think. Also green…” She gave me a funny smile.
I dove into the pies and they were surprisingly satisfying, well, maybe a little too much dill. The kiwis made an okay dessert but didn’t mix at all well with the taste of beer.
Wearing an immaculate suit and his signature bow tie folded beneath the collar, Inspector Fynn appeared unexpectedly, or not. He seemed to be pretty good at just showing up. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve heard they make a fine chowder…”
“How did you get here?” I turned to him.
“I walked from my hotel.”
“That’s a long walk.”
“Indeed, but quite pleasant.”
“Oh. Just making sure the timeline hasn’t changed.”
“And how are you tonight, Patrick?” Fynn asked brightly and slipped onto the stool next to mine. He smiled at Suzy and ordered a large scotch, the single malt. The inspector watched her walk to the other end of the bar and reach underneath. “If she were slimmer by any measure, she would not be working here.”
I was a little surprised by his comment but definitely agreed. “Would that be a quantum of choice?”
“Indeed it would.”
“So what brings you here tonight?”
“Chowder and a bit of consolation, if you’ll permit the latter.”
“Consolation?” I asked and took a sip of beer to wash the taste of kiwi from my mouth.
“I’ve had my hopes raised only to be dashed.”
“Oh yeah, sorry about that.”
“I’m teasing of course; this is not your doing.”
“I feel responsible somehow.”
“Not at all. Lorraine could not be alive as you described. I was so sure about the dolphins.”
“How can you be?”
“I gave them to her... all those many years ago. But the question remains, why does Elaine insist on masquerading as her sister?” Fynn made a face. “I will need to speak with her again, though I must tread very carefully, I think.”
“She was a little off the deep end.” I looked at Fynn.
“Perhaps, when faced with life or death, we might make a decision that is not in accordance to our regular character. I don’t blame her in any way. Though, there is more to her story, clearly.”
“You really loved her, didn’t you?”
“Lorraine? Yes… and I will use the present tense.”
“Not your first wife, I’d have to guess.”
“No. But I love Lorraine like no other woman. She is quite special.”
“Did you have kids before?”
“Of course… quite a few actually.”
“Are they… well, all grown up by now?”
Fynn gave me an odd look. “I suppose they are all dead from your perspective… all from the past.”
“See, that’s just the thing, everything in your life is just history to me. All your other existences… your past… I just can’t believe any of this stuff.”
“I am not asking you to believe me, Patrick. I just want you to employ your extraordinary memory.”
“Right, that… Okay, let me think… I guess the biggest change is Jo to Lu.”
“Can you explain this?”
“No.”
“Can you explain what you mean?”
“Oh… well, last month Jo-Anne worked at the Chronicle and then all of a sudden she was replaced by Lucinda. No one seems to notice this but me.”
“Interesting… anything else?”
“Little things I can’t quite put my finger on… people seem different, their personalities… And Frank’s baseball cap is never the same anytime I see him… There’s the library books too— I mentioned that already.”
“Nothing too extraordinary,” Fynn said and seemed a bit disappointed.
“I’ve been doing some thinking...”
“Thinking or drinking?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Thinking about what then?”
“I’ve decided you’re not a time traveler after all.”
“I agree. I am a place traveler.”
“No, you’re not even that… I think you’re just a writer.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you are a writer, not a time traveler.”
“I understood you the first time, but what does this mean?” Fynn smiled.
“Well, you have your story written out. The characters, the plot, the beginning, middle and end.”
“Yes...” he urged me on.
“So you’re not time traveling to the past, you’re just going back a few pages, a few chapters, and revising the story. Maybe you’re on the second draft or something. You make a change… that effects your characters and the story, so you have to go forward again and make more changes.”
“An interesting analogy, to be sure.” Fynn paused to consider. “Why then are you the only one who can recall these changes?”
“Maybe I’m the main character. Or, maybe I’m your editor.”
“I see… if I’m following you, then all this is in my imagination. I’m not really here at all. I’m elsewhere writing a book.”
“Exactly.”
“I do not know if I should be insulted by this. Are you the character that will lead me back to sanity?”
“I could be. You know, like the voice inside your head that is true and unwavering.”
“You place yourself in very high regard.”
“I’ve heard it said that we live our lives just like we’re the main character in a book. We are the protagonist and ev
eryone else has just a secondary role.”
“It sounds to me like you do not read many love stories. Romance is not your genre, I suppose.”
“Guess not.”
My cell rang and the number said Joey. It wasn’t like him to call off hours, so something must be up. I excused myself and took the call. “Hey, what’s shaking… Really? Funny, I don’t hear any sirens or anything… no… That was just a joke… yeah… okay. How did you find out about it? Sure, it’s all yours… Could be a story… see you later.” I hung up and turned back to the inspector.
“Well?” Fynn asked expectantly, but unexpectedly.
“Oh, it was Joey, from the Chronicle. A story just came up and he wanted to take it.”
“Normally, it would be on your beat?”
“Well, I guess.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Not really, at least I don’t think so. Someone broke into the animal shelter.”
“That sounds rather interesting to me. At least it’s not something that happens every day.”
“I guess not. Some whacko probably. Or maybe a prank.”
“Were the poor beasts hurt?”
“Not that I know of… Joey said somebody set them all loose.”
“Hmm, all the dogs and the cats, or just the dogs?”
“How did you know that?”
“So... just the dogs?”
“Yes.”
“Conjecture on my part, but I wonder if Roxy is among the missing?”
“I’m guessing he is.”
“Quite a coincidence, I would say.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I could have brought this little dog to any point in time. But I chose to bring him to the present for very good reason.”
“What reason?”
“Roxy is bait in a sense. A way to draw out my adversary.”
“Oh right, back to Mortimer again… Are you positive this guy really exists?”
“He is elusive to be sure, but he does exist and what’s more, I believe he’s trapped in the present for now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The murder at Sunset Park, my wife Lorraine. This crime was begun in the past but concluded in the present. That’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.” Fynn took a large sip from his glass. “And then there is the cane.”
“Yeah, what’s with that?”
“I cannot be sure, but it seems to be missing, or perhaps Doctor Samuels found it.”
“What? You mean past tense?”
“I believe I stumbled upon it in his office without realizing.”
“So what’s with this cane?”
“It probably serves the same purpose as my compass, though I’ll admit it seems far more advanced. I’m speculating that without it, Mortimer cannot make accurate jumps… and so, he remains in the present.”
“Okay well, that I can deal with, the present… it’s all the traveling to the past and the future that messes me up.” I looked right at Fynn. “Tell you what, jump to the future, jump back and tell me what you see. Then I’ll believe everything you’ve told me.”
The inspector had no reply.
“Can you tell me where I buried the pirate treasure?”
“No, I’m not a mind-reader… but I can say you’ve yet to bury it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your colleague Joey told me.”
“Oh.” I hesitated. I could feel a growing frustration. “Seriously, I have been thinking about all this a lot.”
“By all this, you mean what exactly?”
“Well, time travel in general, timelines, paradoxes… the impossibility of it all.”
“I see. And what conclusions have you drawn?”
“None. I have an open mind though.”
“But you have questions as well.”
“Yeah.”
“Please, ask away...”
“Okay… For me and the rest of us, the past is completely immutable. I can’t change it. Right?”
“I cannot necessarily agree with this statement,” Fynn said.
“How can you possibly disagree with this premise?” I was shocked.
“Because your idea that the past is immutable is solely based on perception.”
“So you’re saying the past can be changed?”
“Not at all. Very few people can change the past. Myself and a handful of others… but anyone can change their perception of the past, and it usually amounts to the same thing.”
“What thing?”
“The past, or in this instance, the perception of the past, changes the present. It is an inviolate rule.”
“Wait. The perception of the past?”
“Memory, awareness,” Fynn said simply.
“Can you give me an example?”
“Of course… two men cross the street. One is wearing a black shirt, and one is wearing a white shirt. One of these men is fleeing the scene of a terrible murder. But which? Ah, there is a witness… She is interviewed and points her finger at the man in the white shirt, because she thinks she saw a blood stain. He is arrested and executed for his horrific crime. Her perception of the past leads to rather dire consequences in the future.”
“Okay…”
“So then we rewind a bit… Just before the man is executed, the defense goes to trial. They have found a traffic camera. It clearly shows that the poor man in the white shirt has spilled a glass of wine as he steps off the curb, and more, it shows that the black shirted man is holding what appears to be a knife, indeed the murder weapon.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Yes, the perception of the past has altered the present in two very distinct ways. An innocent man is put to death or he is not.”
I was confused and a little angry at this response. “But that’s not really perception, that’s two different perspectives of the same event.”
“And which is more valid?”
“The camera.”
“No, it is merely more objective. What the camera does not see but the woman does, is the second man’s face, the wine drinker. It is twisted into an expression of murderous rage.”
“So, who is the killer?”
“Who indeed? Sadly the actual facts are irrelevant. Only perception, a true memory or a false one, has an effect on the outcome. It’s just the same as if I went to the past and changed the timeline. It has to do with memory and awareness.”
I wasn’t at all happy with his response. “But who’s the real killer?”
“It’s just a story, Patrick.” Fynn took a sip from his glass.
“Well, I was thinking more about how a change in the timeline might cause a ripple… you know, how the past effects the present… and exactly what that might look like.”
“Look like? That’s an interesting question, though I’m sure I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Can a timeline change before one’s eyes?”
“No,” Fynn said flatly.
“Why not? Say there is a vase...” I pointed up to the shelves behind the bar. There was a small jug sitting by itself. “I’m looking right at it now. It’s here in the present. But… I ask you to go into the past and smash it to pieces. So you do your back-jump, say… to yesterday, you find the vase, take it off the shelf and drop it on the ground. What happens next?”
“As I’ve undoubtedly mentioned, I cannot travel with such precision.”
“Let’s say hypothetically.”
“Alright… Then it depends on your memory, on your unique skills, I should say.” Fynn smiled a bit. “This is like your grandfather.”
“My grandfather?”
“The one you killed not so long ago, the one named Paradox.”
“Oh him…” I laughed.
“I must say, I am not at all happy with my first answer.”
“Why is that?”
“It would work this way, I now think: I am in the present. I back-jump, but a hard
jump. I dispose of my grandfather and prevent my own birth…”
“Okay… and so… you could not back-jump in the first place.”
“But this is incorrect. It is the past that changes the future, not the other way round.”
“I’m not following."
“It’s to do with the flux of the now. The moment I jump to the past I am there. I do not exist in the future, whether I kill Grandfather Paradox or not. And at that moment, what happens next? I could stay there and live out my life, perhaps even catch up with my nonexistent future self. Or I could jump away… to a more distant past… or ahead.”
“You mean back to the future.”
“Ah, but there is no back to the future. It is always changed, it is always a new me.”
“So there is no paradox?”
“Not as far as I can tell.”
“Can we go back to my vase again?”
“Of course. For most everyone nothing has happened. The past has altered the present. It’s as if the vase never existed… at least not in one piece.”
“But it did exist.”
“Yes, but it does not exist in your present frame of awareness. It is either shattered on the floor or someone has cleaned it up. You look to the shelf and see nothing there. You have no recollection of it. With your particular memory however, it may be a bit different. You may dimly recall that the vase was there, maybe feel a temporary unease that it is gone…”
“That’s not my question, really. I’m asking if the timeline would change right before my eyes. You smash the vase in the past. I have my unique memory. Would I see the vase shatter right before my eyes? Like some cheesy special effect?”
“And are you a witness to this event in the past?”
“No, I’m in the present.”
“Well then, all things being equal, you might see the vase on the floor in pieces.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Would it fly off the shelf under its own volition and shatter right in front of my eyes?”
“No. The instant I travel back to smash the vase is more or less the same instant when the past changes the future. It would simply not be there… your future was altered yesterday in this case.”
I looked at the shelf and everything was exactly the same. I wasn’t sure if I had communicated this properly. I certainly didn’t feel satisfied with Fynn’s response. I tried a different approach. “What would it look like if you returned to my present?”