“What do you mean, ‘too late?’” I ask, stretching for a Garibaldi, my favourite biscuits.
“Show me your left hand, James, please.” The Professor replies.
I stretch it out across the table, pulling back my sleeve so he can see it more clearly.
“Aha.. so…there… you see?” The Professor asks, pointing to a bruise on my wrist.
“When you fell on the underground as you made the Jump, you cut yourself. Jane reported that when you turned up at her house, the cut was quite deep. You had a scar. Under my instructions she took a photograph of it one night…”
“You’ve been talking to Jane?” I interrupt him.
“Oh yes, my boy. Several times.”
“How did she know about you?”
“You told her about me, I think. I mean, the other you. She called me one night, when you were drunk, and asked me if it was all true. I confirmed it. Since then we’ve spoken quite a lot.”
“What did I tell her?”
“As far as I understand, everything. You told her everything.”
“Even about Sarah?”
“Absolutely. In fact, Jane asked several questions about Sarah. She had already heard a bit about her from you. And I mean you.” The Professor says, nodding at me. “Apparently you used to talk in your sleep. You mentioned Sarah quite a lot.”
It’s true. I’ve had a lot of very vivid dreams and several times when I have woken up beside Jane, she would be watching me, and would immediately ask who ‘Sarah’ was, and why I was talking about her.
The Professor is silent for a moment, waiting for me to absorb what he has just said.
“Anyway,” he continues. “Back to your hand. I’ve been looking at it discreetly since you arrived, and the scar you had seems to be fading. Rather fast.”
I move my hand closer to my face, examining my wrist.
True, the scar that I had noticed earlier on when the Professor had first mentioned my fall on the underground carriage, has now faded. It’s not so pronounced.
“What’s happening?” I ask, touching the scar with my left fore-finger, feeling along its length. It’s not large, only about two centimetres long, but it’s definitely less pronounced now than it was yesterday.
“I think you are changing slightly. Your version of James is becoming dominant over the James that has existed here for the past eight years. I don’t understand it, yet, but it seems to me that when you make the jump, not all of you does so. When you first arrived in London after the first Jump, you may recall that you had a different haircut, your nails were more manicured. You looked different from your normal self.”
I nod, vividly remembering the moment I first looked at myself in my mum’s bathroom mirror, just before I discovered that my dead father was still alive in this version of the universe.
“That was because it seems that when you jump from one world to another, or travel in time from one location in the space and time continuum to another, then not all of you is physically transported. My current theory is that only some part of your DNA or a collection of the neurons, or even just a pattern of the neurons, makes the Jump. Whatever it is that enables our consciousness makes the Jump. Not the whole physical you. But, James, my boy,…” he pauses, “when that part of you arrives in the shell of your new body, that part begins to influence the rest of the host, if you will, … and the host then begins to change, to become more like the real you. Perhaps, it’s your DNA becoming more dominant… or as your ‘pattern’ is overlaid upon your physical self, the physical self then adapts and readjusts to fit the pattern of who you really are?”
I am staring at my scar now, but listening to every word the Professor is saying.
“So, because the real me doesn’t have a scar, the scar is going away?”
“Exactly.” He nods. “And I think from now on, we should photograph and monitor it, to keep a record of the pace of transition? Perhaps you should also have another long look at your new body, and see if there are any other anomalies you may not have noticed before, then monitor how they transition over the coming days?”
It’s a good suggestion. If what the Professor is saying is correct, I have not lived in this physical body for over eight years now, and who is to say that I may not have developed a new mole or skin blemish that may be present now, but one which could disappear soon?
I’ll have to check.
We finish our snack, and shortly afterwards a car pulls up outside the cottage. A doctor and nurse appear, and soon I am lying on my bed, giving blood, and undergoing a far more thorough examination than the Professor had indicated earlier. By the time they leave, I am given a clean bill of health, and the result of the latest virus test is again negative. Which is good news. Obviously.
Of particular interest, is that the examination includes a hearing test. Apparently the other me has developed partial deafness to certain higher frequencies. The doctor shows me the results of a previous series of tests in the medical records of the other James which he must have taken privately over the past few years. They all show the same consistent dead zone where James, me, can’t hear sounds in that range.
Then he shows me the results of my test.
It seems the deafness is almost gone. I can hear sounds that the other me can’t.
Does it mean anything of significance?
I don’t know, but the Professor laps it up, instructing the doctors to conduct the same test again in a few weeks’ time… if I am still here then.
As he explains after the medical team has gone, his suspicion is that the longer I inhabit the other James’s body, the more my body will become dominant. In which case, it is likely that not only will my scar disappear, but my hearing will fully return. My body will soon be the old, ‘new’, me.
Chapter Twenty
6.50 p.m.
A few Home Truths.
During and after dinner I complain to the Professor about the thoroughness of the medical exam. The words ‘guinea pig’ are brought up by me several times.
“Ah, well…” the Professor began his defence. “There was, I admit, a last minute change of plan. Doctor Weeks is a trusted member of the Zero-PIK project, and he is working with me on my theorem of parallel worlds and time travel. When I mentioned to him that your scar had decreased in size, he became very excited. The extra tests were his idea. I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was going to go so far…”
“Next time, please, if there is a next time…” I relent, “…can I have a little advance warning?”
“Certainly, my boy, certainly.” He agrees. “Now… the meeting with the Home Secretary is in ten minutes, and I think I should perhaps prep you for it. Caroline Pearce is a very powerful woman. She’s the only one in the government who knows the truth about you, and why you are so important, and it’s because of her that you have the Blue Pass. So, we have to treat her with respect and… well… be ‘well-behaved’. She’s very keen to meet you. Which I think is understandable, given that you are a very special person. Unique, in fact, as far as we know.
--------------------
The meeting with the Home Secretary starts out a little awkwardly. After saying hello to the Professor, she introduces herself to me - which is nice, but rather pointless – and then she cracks a joke, which I simply do not find funny. There is a little moment of awkwardness, but she quickly moves on. She asks how I am and how I feel. Then she starts to ask about the changes I have noticed between now and eight years ago.
I don’t know what to say. So I tell her about the Pyramid and the Plague in Egypt. Within a minute, I can see she is bored. Everyone has different interests.
She turns to the Professor.
“Professor Kasparek, I was wondering, would you mind terribly if I ask you to leave us alone for a few moments, so that I may speak candidly with James?”
I think the Professor is rather surprised, but he gracefully agrees, and then gets up and leaves the room.
The Home Secretary now has my
full attention.
“James, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Something rather personal… and it’s not that I don’t trust the Professor, but…well, I’d rather I just kept this between me and you.”
“Certainly,” I nod. Now intrigued.
“Good.” She smiles at me, then leans forward and seemingly touches a button on the camera controls. Until this point I have seen only the top part of her torso, head and shoulders, but now the camera zooms out, refocuses and I can see her whole body.
She is sitting in a wheelchair. Obviously disabled in some way.
“I’m assuming you can now see my chair?” she asks.
I nod, not knowing how I should respond exactly.
“Excellent.” She coughs. “I’ve been disabled since 2014. I was involved in a car accident. A silly, pointless car accident whilst on a trip to Turkey. I was in hospital for three months. I’ll never walk again.”
“I’m sorry.” I say, the words this time coming naturally. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be unable to walk.
“Don’t be. It was my own fault. I was drunk behind the wheel…”
My heart skips a beat. I immediately understand that this last piece of information is probably not common knowledge. Whether she shared it with me intentionally or whether it just slipped out, I don’t know, but I can immediately see her blush. She coughs.
“I think you may appreciate, that this is a sensitive conversation. I’d rather you do not repeat it. In fact, I insist.”
She pauses, deliberately letting the power of silence impress upon me the importance of her last words. More of a threat, than a request.
“Of course. I understand.” I reply.
“Good. Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m sharing this with you?”
I nod slightly, but before I can open my mouth to say anything in reply, she continues.
“You see, the thing is, I understand that you’re a time traveller. And that you have come from the year 2013, jumping forward to now, 2021?”
I nod again. I sense that a lot of people in Caroline Pearce’s world probably do a lot of nodding.
“I also understand that you originally came from a different parallel world? Something that has to do with the Zero-PIK project?”
Another nod. I’ve learned quite quickly that I’m actually not expected to say anything back, unless invited to do so.
“Wonderful. Well, you see, James… I was hoping that should you return to your time, or your world, or … in fact… should you in your travels ever end up back in a time and place where I am still able to walk… that you would find a way to warn me. To prevent me from either going to Turkey on that trip, or from getting in that car, drunk, on the fifth of June 2014.”
For quite a few moments, I am silent. Did I just hear her correctly? Was I just instructed by a member of the Government to do something that all sensible time-travel pundits know is completely wrong?
It’s commonly referred to as the ‘grandfather complex’, where someone goes back in time and murders their grandfather, thus preventing themselves from ever being born in the first place, and theoretically therefore making it impossible to murder his grandfather. What the Home Secretary has asked me to do is not exactly the same, but the consequences can be similar. If anyone travels back in time, they must do everything they can NOT to alter the past, just in case that action causes devastation in the future. In the case of the Home Secretary, any such action could have incredible consequences in the current time and world I find myself in now. My mind is still swirling with the ramifications of what she has asked, when she already presses me for a response.
“James, did you hear me okay? Was there a problem at your end with the connection?”
“N…No,” I stammer. “I heard…but… Home Secretary…”
“Caroline, please…” she interrupts, trying to influence my decision and willingness to help.
“Caroline,…” I acquiesce. “I can’t do that. At least, I should NOT do that. It’s far too dangerous.”
Now it’s her time to be quiet.
“I understand that it’s a lot to ask… but…”
“Caroline, the thing is… since I’ve arrived in this time, I’ve read a lot about your leadership in the current pandemic crisis. I’ve read how it was you who personally influenced many of the actions which have been taken, several of which have been accredited with helping alter the course of the pandemic and potentially save hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of lives. All of that has been achieved since you became Home Secretary.” I pause, “Caroline, may I ask, when did you start your political life?”
“In 2009. I got my first Cabinet posting as Minister of State for Disabled People in January 2015. After the last election I became Home Secretary…”
“Which means that had you not had the accident, you may not have ended up in the Cabinet, part of the core of the Government, from which you may never have risen to the position of Home Secretary? In other words, if you hadn’t had the accident, the influence you have exerted on saving tens of thousands of lives, may not have happened, and if you had still been able to walk, thousands of people alive today could be dead.”
I watch her face as I deliver my reply.
I see the colour drain from her face.
“I’m sorry, but…your suffering has probably been a massive blessing to others. Perhaps, and I don’t know if I should say this…” I continue, “your injury was part of your destiny, part of your making. It was your fate.”
“But…” she starts to speak, then falls silent once more before nodding to herself and continuing more boldly than before. “But, if it was my destiny to help lead us through this pandemic, then surely fate, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it, would still find another course to lead me to my current position and I’d still become the Home Secretary! Perhaps my ultimate destiny was to become Home Secretary and nothing would stop that.”
“Minister, perhaps. Maybe. I don’t know. But if I change the past, it’s possible that everything in the future changes… Did you ever see the film ‘The Butterfly Effect?’ where the idea is that even the slightest change, the smallest changes, can have a massive influence on changing the course of history and lead to alternate futures?”
“Yes. I did. So, using that idea back against yours, perhaps if I didn’t have the accident, the pandemic would never have taken place.”
She’s grasping at straws, and I think she knows it.
“Caroline, I hear what you say, and I will think about it. I will also discuss it with the Professor, but…my gut reaction is that if I ever got the chance to do what you wish, it would be the wrong thing to do! And there is no guarantee that I will ever be able to go backwards in time. I can’t tell if that will ever happen. I hope it will, but…”
I can see tears forming in the corners of the Home Secretary’s eyes. Her cheeks are turning red. Suddenly, I feel terrible.
“James, … Please… please,…all I’m asking is that, if the opportunity ever arises, that you might try to help me.” She wipes away a tear. “No one knows this, but I’m not that strong hard bastard that everyone thinks I am. After the accident… and also once since then… I tried to take my own life. It’s was more a cry for help. I failed miserably, but… life… I find it so hard to be… like I am… when I know how I used to be…”
I swallow hard.
Shit.
What do I do?
“Caroline, I can’t imagine what you have gone through. I’m sorry. Very sorry.”
“Yes, well…” She coughs, shakes her head, and then visibly recomposes herself. “James, do you have a family?”
“I do. But… I haven’t seen them for over eight years…and I don’t know if they will want to see me now…it’s complicated. Very complicated.”
“Life, I can see, has thrown us both some very hard curve-balls, to quote an American expression. I know I can’t force you to help me, because, if you do go back i
n time I will probably never see you again, unless you decide to help. But… James, I promise you this. Whilst you are here in this world, I will do all I can to help you. Unconditionally. The Professor will give you my personal number and contact details, I will send him instructions separately, and if you need anything, ANYTHING, you call me, or email me. If you are ever asked for a code word, it will be ‘Istanbul’. From now on, I’ve got your back. Whether you have mine or not, that will be for you to decide.”
Ouch!
It’s not blackmail.
But, wow… being super nice to people can sometimes be just as bad, or as effective.
“James, it’s been wonderful meeting you. Please, when you make it down to London, give me a call, and I would like to introduce you to the Prime Minister, or at least buy you a nice glass of champagne. Or something…?”
I thank her.
Then the screen goes black.
Chapter Twenty One
End of Day Two
.
After my call with the Home Secretary we settle down on opposite sofas in the Professor’s amazing lounge. The sun is beginning its journey down over the other side of the valley, and the late golden light sets the side of the opposite hill alive with a myriad hues. Purples, browns, greens…
I have to admit that I love the cottage. From the moment I walked in through the door I have felt relaxed and at home, and were it not for the reality of my situation, I would be tempted to stay for the rest of the summer.
But already I am planning to leave.
Two days ago I set off from my world, my heart set on finding my wife Sarah and my two children. Instead I am here, but the desire to find Sarah and be with her again is still there. It’s like an empty hole in my chest that makes me feel hollow, empty, alone.
Am I Dead? Page 13