TimeSlip

by Caroline McCall

  Leona left the room, slamming the door behind her. Hal shook his head sadly. “Grab a drink, son, this may take a while.”

  He was left alone while Hal went in pursuit of his wife. Strom looked around the room, recognizing some of the furniture from his childhood. A burnished metal frame on one wall displayed a series of changing images. His father shaking hands with the President, his grandfather and his crew alongside an old beta class transporter. There was even one of him, graduating from the Academy. He was surprised his dad had kept that one. They hadn’t exactly seen eye-to-eye about a lot of things. Three generations of Hallstrom men wearing Fleet Command uniforms. His father was a great believer in tradition. Strom felt a small twinge of regret.

  Tradition was pretty much all the old man had left now. He was two years away from retirement, and after that it was just him and Leona. Strom could hear voices coming from behind the door. His dad’s was low and gruff and Leona sounded as if she was crying. Eventually the door opened. Leona barely acknowledged his presence, but made a call to her office requesting some files, and then they waited.

  It was the longest, most uncomfortable meal he had ever sat through. They sat like polite strangers around the table, picking listlessly at their food. From time to time, his dad opened the book and looked at the photograph of Ingrid and Adam with an expression of such hurt and loss that Strom almost regretted dragging him into it.

  The door-com chimed loudly in the silent room and Leona moved swiftly to the door. Strom followed her. He didn’t trust her one little bit. When the courier left, the dining table was swiftly cleared.

  “Pour me a drink, son, and make it a large one. I think I’m going to need it.”

  Leona set up the holo-projector and looked around the table as though she was giving a presentation.

  “Just get on with it, Leona,” his father snapped.

  “Central Com, this is General Leona Hallstrom. Authorization code one-zero-alpha -seven-alpha-zero.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Please access classified temporal file. Subject—Sorrenson-O’Leary, Adam.”

  And there it was, a three dimensional holo-image of his son. The image seemed to have been generated from a number of photographs taken at a birthday party. Adam stared at the camera, his mouth pursed to blow out the candles on a colorful cake. A small pale handed rested on his shoulder. Ingrid. Strom reached out, the image was so real that he felt he could almost touch them.

  “You knew, didn’t you, Leona? You knew all along that I had a son.”

  “We knew about Ingrid, yes,” she admitted. “I recognized the wolf-head ring in the photograph immediately and knew that it belonged to you. But we didn’t know about Adam until later.”

  “When you arrived in the twenty-first century, the temporal model checkers went into overdrive. We thought that we were heading for a temporal paradox. You kept an entire department running day and night for a week, just monitoring your actions and trying to figure out what was going on.”

  Strom reached for his glass and took a deep swig. Everything, every little thing he had done there was monitored by the geeks back at temporal central, even his time with Ingrid. He had an overwhelming desire to vomit.

  “I’m flattered that you were so interested, Leona,” he drawled. “But all I want to know is when my wife and son can come here.”

  Leona ignored his question. “Central Com, display file please.”

  Other images flashed by, Adam as a teenager, Adam in his twenties and finally Adam as an old man. “Sweet merciful stars,” his dad stammered. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Leona’s face assumed a smug expression. She really was a first-class bitch. “Meet Adam O’Leary, inventor of the hyper-drive and father of interplanetary travel. He’s up there with Einstein and da Vinci as one of the most brilliant minds ever.

  “Now do you understand, Strom? Ingrid and the child have to stay there. All of the scientific knowledge that supports our daily lives is based on what he theorized in the twenty-first century. You were meant to go back there, meant to meet Ingrid, but if Adam O’Leary is gone, then the world as we know it would not exist. They can never come here.”

  Save the world or be with the woman you loved. A dozen scenarios raced around Strom’s head. Leona was right, they had to stay there, but this world was meaningless for him without Ingrid and his son. There was only one solution. “Then send me back there.”

  “Are you crazy, Strom? What do you think I’m running—a dating agency? It’s completely out of the question. Do you think I’m going to let you go back there and create another temporal anomaly? Forget it, the mission is over.”

  Strom looked at his dad, who shook his head imperceptibly. The old bastard wasn’t going to rock the boat, not even for his own grandson.

  Hal escorted him to the door. “Good night, son. I’m really sorry about this, but Leona is right.” With that, he winked and pressed Leona’s com badge into Strom’s hand. “You have her access code and eight hours,” he whispered.

  Strom looked down at the com badge in his hand. He didn’t know what to say. His dad’s eyes were bright, as if he was going to cry, but that couldn’t be right—his dad never cried. This was it. There wouldn’t be another Hallstrom man in uniform to add to his father’s collection of images. This was the end of the line.

  “Dad, I’m…”

  Hal patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, son. I’ll take care of Leona and the Department of Temporal Security. No one will follow you. Now go, and make sure that you give them a kiss from me.”

  Spring 2015

  The last of the boxes of artifacts were packed and on their way to Sotheby’s. She needed the money and it was time the apartment stopped looking like a museum. Her father would understand. Sometimes you had to move on and Adam was more interested in the future than the past. He was a clever little boy, scarily so, and she was having trouble keeping up with his voracious appetite for knowledge.

  Ingrid picked up the postcard and read it again. “Happy Divorce, Hon” was scrawled on the back in Finn’s flamboyant handwriting. My gay ex-husband divorced me in Vegas. She had laughed out loud when she found it in the mailbox. It sounded like a bad Jeremy Kyle show.

  Chris had turned out to be the one after all, and from Finn’s regular emails, they seemed to be blissfully happy. He rang her and Adam at least once a week, always trying to persuade her to move out there. But there were too many memories here in Dublin and she knew that she would never leave.

  The singing chicken alarm clock screamed out tunelessly from Adam’s bedroom, annoying bloody thing. She had dropped it twice, but it still refused to die. It was lucky that Adam was crazy about it, otherwise it was destined for a very nasty accident. Ingrid grabbed her coat. She had just enough time to go to the shops and collect him from playschool.

  * * * * *

  Strom took off his com badge and ground it into dust under his feet. He was never going home again and he had no intention of providing the temporal geek squad with any further entertainment. Pete had nearly gone supernova when he’d asked him to bypass the complex security systems that protected the Central Com, using Leona’s badge and security code. In the end he’d done it, in return for being best man at Jake’s wedding. That was one party he would be sorry to miss.

  Ingrid’s apartment building loomed up ahead and he suddenly began to feel nervous. He had burned his bridges in his own time, and all for the slim possibility that a girl he had spent just seven days with was still in love with him. The lobby was still the same, but there was a different man behind the desk. In a few short minutes he would see her again and he still had to persuade Finn to step aside.

  “I’d like to see Mr. O’Leary, please.”

  The concierge stared blankly at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. O’Leary moved to America last year.”

  She was gone. He couldn’t believe it. Ingrid had moved to the far side of the ocean, and without a twenty-first-century
passport, he had no way of getting there. Damn and blast. What the hell was he going to do now?

  “But Mrs. O’Leary and the boy are still here.” The concierge leaned toward him. “Between you and me, I think they just got divorced.”

  The elevator door chimed as it opened behind him and somehow Strom knew it was her. The color drained from Ingrid’s face when she saw him and he rushed across the lobby.

  Ingrid felt as if she’d been punched. Even though she couldn’t see his face at first, it was unmistakably him—the shock of fair hair and the muscular breadth of his back. Strom was leaning against the desk in the lobby, chatting to the concierge. She shook her head, trying to clear it as an intense mixture of shock and excitement flooded through her. Her palm slid against the smooth surface of the elevator, leaving a damp trail. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Strom stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. His large frame seemed to take up most of the space. She had forgotten how big he was. Dark eyes gazed warily at her, and then everything went black.

  Her eyes flickered open. She was lying on the couch in the sitting room and her coat was draped over a chair. Strom came into the room and placed a cold compress against her forehead. The cloth felt cool against her face. This was real, he was definitely here. He smoothed a tendril of hair away from her face.

  “I’m sorry, Ingrid. I had no way of warning you that I was coming.”

  She had forgotten the rich timbre of his voice. The tiny inflection in the way he said her name. All of the old feelings rushed through her as if it was yesterday, the aching, the wanting and the longing for him. But his expression was still wary, as if he was uncertain. Strom hadn’t yet said why he had returned or how long he was staying, and after four years apart, they were almost strangers.

  She struggled to sit up. “You got my message about Adam?”

  Strom nodded. “I found out yesterday. My son, is he here?”

  Her heart fell. Strom had come back for Adam, not for her. “Adam’s at playschool, I have to collect him soon.” Ingrid tried to smile and failed miserably.

  Oh god, how long had she been unconscious? Adam would be waiting for her. She stood up quickly and the room reeled. Strom reached for her and she leaned dizzily against him. For a brief moment she closed her eyes. She was in his arms again. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her face and her heart filled up. She had missed him. She had missed her viking so much. All the nights she had lain awake hoping for his return, all the silly daydreams that he would come back for her, suddenly turned to ashes. How could she let him do this to her? How could she bear it if he loved her and left her again?

  Ingrid inhaled deeply, catching his scent, and stepped away, trying to put some distance between them. She bit her lip trying not to cry. How long would they have this time—a week, perhaps two if they were lucky. Even if Strom no longer loved her, she would do this for Adam. He deserved to meet his father.

  “It was good of you to come. Adam is a clever little boy. There are times when I can hardly keep up with him.”

  She was amazed that her voice sounded so calm, but she couldn’t meet Strom’s eyes. If she did, then she might just break down and sob all over him. “I’ve told him about you,” she continued. “He knows that Finn isn’t his father.”

  Ingrid watched as a pulse hammered at Strom’s throat. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told Adam that you were a sailor. That you sailed amongst the stars, and even though you couldn’t be with us, that you loved him very much.”

  Ingrid’s voice caught in her throat and somehow that gave him hope. The last few minutes had been more terrifying than any battle he had ever experienced. This new Ingrid was cool and reserved and she couldn’t bear him to touch her. He had to find a way to break through the barriers that the years apart had placed between them. A glint of pale metal caught his eye and Strom grabbed her hand.

  “Look at me, Ingrid. You still wear my ring. You’ve borne me a son. You can’t pretend that you don’t feel anything for me.”

  He pressed her fingers against his lips. “I love you, Ingrid. There wasn’t a night that I didn’t miss you or want you and I regret every single day that we spent apart.”

  Tears streamed down her face. Strom bent his head, kissing the tears as they fell. His mouth found hers and her lips yielded softly. His kiss was slow and sweet and tender. Her arms slid up his chest and curved around his neck, drawing him to her as if she couldn’t get close enough. Strom’s fingers threaded through her hair, holding her prisoner as his tongue gently probed her mouth open.

  Ingrid’s soft moan of surrender set him on fire. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bedroom and dropped her on the bed. “How long have we got?” he asked, nipping against the soft skin of her neck.

  Ingrid wriggled away from his eager hands. “Not long enough. We have a son to collect from school, remember?”

  Pressing a last teasing kiss against his mouth, she rolled off the bed and offered him her hand. Strom experienced a brief flash of déjà vu. The dress she was wearing, he hadn’t noticed it at first, but now he knew where he had seen it before. It was the same dress she had worn in the photograph the first time he saw her, and then he knew. There was one last thing he had to do, one last piece of the temporal puzzle that remained to be put into place.

  “Do you have a camera, Ingrid?”

  She nodded, bewildered for a moment, and then went to fetch it.

  They walked hand in hand to the playschool to collect his son. In a tiny florist’s shop, Strom bought her a single long-stemmed red rose and she carried it proudly.

  Along with the other parents, they waited in the garden outside the school. Strom pointed the camera at Ingrid and took the picture. A smiling girl in a garden, carrying a single rose. Her long, dark hair fell around her shoulders in waves. She was utterly different from the females of the world he used to live in. She was slender and delicate and she wore an unusual ring. Two wolf heads intertwined, their eyes set with tiny Cerulian rubies.

  Strom put his arms around her and she rested her head against his shoulder. The school door opened and the children emerged into the sunshine. He bent his head and kissed her cheek.

  “You were wrong about the stars, Ingrid. You outshine them all.”

  Ingrid waved when a small blond boy raced through the open doorway. She squeezed Strom’s hand. “Let me speak to him first.”

  He watched as she crouched in front of his son, listening to the boy’s excited chatter. His stomach clenched in a mixture of excitement and dread. He remembered his own father returning home after a long mission in deep space, standing nervously behind his mother while he waited to be noticed by a man who was almost a stranger to him. He didn’t want that for his son.

  When Ingrid pointed her finger, Adam’s head turned. Dark eyes gazed solemnly at him out of a pale face—a tiny mirror of his own. Strom crouched down and watched as Adam walked slowly toward him. He wanted to reach out, to sweep him up in his arms, but the patience he had learned from a hundred battles cautioned him. He couldn’t rush this. Adam had to make the first move.

  Finally, they were face to face, a silent oasis in a crowd of excited children. Adam reached into his backpack and produced a small toy.

  “My rocket,” he announced proudly, as he handed it over for inspection.

  Strom’s eyes filled with tears. Ingrid had told him that this was Adam’s most prized possession. The yellow plastic model was an old Challenger shuttle, one of the earliest spaceships. The real thing would barely make it to the moon and back.

  “It’s a very fine rocket,” he agreed, trying to quell the shaking in his voice.

  “One day I’m going to make a real one. Won’t I, Mommy?”

  Ingrid ruffled Adam’s blond curls. “Of course you will.”

  Adam’s hand curved around Strom’s fingers. “And my Daddy can help.”

  A fierce rush of pride raced through him as he swept his son
up in his arms. He had burned his bridges in his own time, but he had new ones to build here. He had a son who would grow up to change the world and travel to the stars as he once had, and a wife whose love would make his life complete. The last of his doubts evaporated as he reached for Ingrid, wrapping his family in his arms. He ignored the stares of the other parents, pressing a rough kiss against her mouth while Adam giggled.

  “Come on, let’s go home.”

  About the Author

  Raised on a diet of romance novels and science fiction, it’s not surprising that Caroline McCall turned to writing time travel and paranormal romance. She loves history, and some of her stories are inspired by Celtic myths and legends. Caroline lives with her partner and several spoiled, ungrateful felines on the windswept east coast of Ireland. She does most of the plotting for her novels while walking on the beach.

  Caroline loves to travel, and her background is quite eclectic. She’s done everything from working as a roadie for a rock and roll band to designing knitwear. Caroline is delighted to be a member of the wonderful Ellora’s Cave team, and welcomes contact from her readers.

  Caroline welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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