by G Sauvé
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I? She’s my daughter. You have no claim over her.”
I say nothing.
Jonn crosses his arms.
“What happened to the real Kara?”
Jonn sighs.
“She died.”
“How?”
“The fire. The same one that killed her mother.”
“What?” I say, thinking of the memory I witnessed when Jonn and I were suffering from the effects of the prehistoric mosquito venom. “That’s impossible. I watched you save her.”
Jonn’s head droops, and he uncrosses his arms.
“You’re right. I saved her, but she died from smoke inhalation a few days later.” He falls silent for a moment. “If only I had known. I could have stopped Avalon, taken her down before she could cause all this death and destruction.”
He’s right. Had he pursued Avalon the night his wife died instead of staying behind to watch over his daughter, none of this would have happened. The past would never have been altered, and we wouldn’t be in this mess. I would still be in my own time, enjoying my new life with my mother. But deep down I know Jonn isn’t to blame. He did what he thought was right. I can’t blame him for choosing to be a good father. How could he have known his daughter would die?
At least now I understand why Jonn is so obsessed with Avalon. She killed his wife and his daughter. But that doesn’t explain how Kara’s robotic doppelgänger fits into the equation. Or how long she’s been around.
“How old is she?” I ask.
Jonn doesn’t have to ask to know who I’m referring to.
“She will be five in a month.”
She’s so young. Then again, she isn’t real. Does her age really matter?
“Who created her?”
“Kidd.”
I’m not surprised. There are only two people I know who could create such a lifelike robot, and I seriously doubt Avalon would go through the trouble of creating a teenage version of Kara just so she could help Jonn take her down.
“Why did he create her?”
Jonn stiffens.
“None of your business.”
“I just found out the girl I love is a robot,” I snap. “If anyone deserves to know, it’s me.”
Jonn scoffs.
“You deserve nothing. I tried keeping you apart. I went as far as insulting you on a daily basis, hoping you would get the message and leave my daughter and me alone. Did you listen? Did you care? No. So don’t come crying to me now that you found out your little girlfriend isn’t who you thought she was. It’s your own drowned fault.”
I’m stunned. It never occurred to me that Jonn’s meanness could have nothing to do with me. But it makes sense. He wasn’t trying to make me feel bad, he was protecting his daughter. Or so he claims.
“I loved her,” I croak. The anger that once inhabited me is gone. “And she loved me.”
Jonn scoffs.
“She never loved you. She’s a robot. She can’t love.”
My anger flares once more.
“In that case, she doesn’t love you either. You’re not even her real father. Kidd is.”
Jonn takes a step forward.
“Watch what you say about my daughter,” he warns.
I don’t let his attempt at intimidation get to me.
“She’s not your daughter. Your daughter is dead.”
I regret it as soon as I say it, but it’s too late.
Jonn throws a punch. My training kicks in, and I sidestep the attack. Using the very same technique the grey-haired soldier taught me during our virtual training sessions, I retaliate with a powerful right hook. His head snaps to the side, and a low grunt topples from his lips.
Fear rises in the wake of the anger that fuelled my punch. Hitting Jonn was a mistake. Striking a man of his stature—and temper—is never a good idea, but I especially regret my actions given what I said about his late daughter. But the harm has already been done.
Jonn looks me up and down, muscles clenched and eyes ablaze. A few drops of blood appear on his tumefied lip and trickle down his chin.
I stare back like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. I want to run, but I know that will only make things worse, so I stand my ground and wait for the impending beating.
We remain this way for a long time before Jonn’s lips curl into a half-smile.
“Not bad, kid,” he says, wiping the blood from his face. “That was your one free shot. I hope you enjoyed it.”
I can’t believe it. I punched Jonn, and I’m still alive to tell the tale.
“I’m going to rescue Kara,” he says. “You can come if you want.”
He walks off and vanishes behind the hedge.
I don’t follow. Jonn isn’t my friend. He never was. As for Kara, she isn’t human. She lied to me and tricked me into believing she had feelings for me. Deep down I know it’s not her fault, but I can’t help resenting her for what she has done. As for Kidd, he’s the one who created Kara. It’s his fault she manipulated me in such a cold-hearted manner. I used to think he was my friend, but I was wrong. I have no friends.
I think of the only remaining person that has played a major role in my recent life. Avalon may be evil, but at least she doesn’t pretend to be something she’s not. While I maintain the belief that she must be stopped, I no longer feel as though that task belongs to me. I tried doing the right thing, and what did it get me? A broken heart. Jonn and Kara can pursue Avalon all they want, but I’m done, I’m out.
There’s only one thing I care about, and that’s getting back to my own time and forgetting any of this ever happened. I know the odds of successfully opening a portal to my time are unfathomably slim, but I’m too exhausted to care. Closing my eyes, I focus on the subway station where I first encountered the people I once thought of as friends and twist the triangles adorning my mother’s ring.
A portal crackles to life before me. I don’t know where it will take me, and I honestly don’t care. I step forward and enter the temporal door.
Memory 60
I open my eyes and look around, but there’s no sign of the park I have grown accustomed to seeing. There are no dead trees or dried flowers. No dusty path or the long-since extinguished ‘tal streetlamps that border it. Instead, I lay eyes on a landscape that’s both dreadful and heartwarming.
I have returned to the beginning, to the very spot where this insane adventure began. The subway station is exactly as I recall. The boarding platform is a mess of shattered stone and concrete. Bullet holes riddle both the walls and the floor. A few of the massive stone benches that line the platform have been chewed up by air bullets, but most remain relatively intact.
The squealing of metal against metal draws my attention away from the boarding platform. I watch as the train comes to a halt. The sight is familiar, yet it takes me a while to understand why.
Everything is unfolding exactly as it did when I was trapped inside the Virtuality Trainer. I instinctively look at the nearest television screen and focus on the bottom right corner. There, shining brightly are four numbers and two letters.
01:07 AM
The feeling of déjà vu increases as I realize it’s now the exact same time it was when Avalon tricked me into believing I had returned to my own time. The only difference is this isn’t a computer simulation. At least I don’t think it is.
I focus on the front car, half expecting a panicked transit operator to come tumbling out of it, but no such thing occurs. The train remains still for a few seconds, then the doors slide open. I hold my breath, waiting for an old woman with thick glasses and an oversized handbag to emerge from the train, but she remains absent.
That can only mean one thing.
This isn’t part of a simulation. Nor is it some sort of trick.
It’s real.
I don’t know how it happened, or even why, but I don’t plan on wasting what may well be my one and only opportunity at being reu
nited with my mother. Heart hammering against my ribcage, I enter the train. The doors close behind me with a soft hiss. Moments later, we’re on our way.
I take a seat and watch the lights that line the dark tunnel speed past. Their soft yellow glow reminds me of ‘tal energy, which in turn leads me to think of my former friends. At first, I feel bad for abandoning them, but then I remember their betrayal and my guilt evaporates. I sacrificed so much for them, risked my life countless times. And what did I get in return?
Nothing. They lied and manipulated me. They’re no better than Avalon. But none of that matters now. I’m back in my own time, and nothing else bears any significance.
The train speeds along, stopping every few minutes to let people on and off. Due to the late hour, I’m among a very select group of travellers. Only party people and those who work night shifts travel at this hour. But that’s okay. I enjoy the peace and quiet. It’s a nice change of pace from the insanity of my recent past.
I catch sight of my reflection in a nearby window and find myself sighing in relief at the sight of my rosy complexion. All signs of frostbite are gone, leaving me looking healthy and happy.
As the minutes melt away, my mind begins to wander. Like in the simulation, I contemplate my mother’s appearance. I briefly wonder if Avalon will be waiting for me, but I push the thought aside and focus on more important matters. I try to picture my mother’s face. I imagine her smiling, welcoming me with open arms. I visualize myself leaping into them and focus on the feel of her warm, comforting frame pressing against mine. By the time I open my eyes, I have reached my stop.
I get off and make my way up the many flights of stairs that stand between me and ground level. On the way there, I pass by a clock and notice it’s the exact same time it was when I walked this path while in-simulation. Ignoring the resulting sense of unease that washes over me, I keep going until I reach the outside world.
The streets are dark and deserted. The air is warm, but a shiver runs up my spine as I’m once again reminded of the similarities between real life and the simulated version of Montréal. Doing my best to ignore it, I head off.
The trip doesn’t take long. Within fifteen minutes, I have reached my destination. The bad news is the address my mother gave me—56, rue Simard—doesn’t exist. The good news is it’s not an empty lot as it was in the simulation.
It’s a park. A row of maple trees marks the perimeter of the small pocket of vegetation. A fountain stands at the centre of a sea of freshly-cut grass. Near it stand two benches. One is empty. The other isn’t.
My heart races at the sight of the individual. I can’t tell whether it’s a man or a woman given the late hour and the shadowy nature of the surroundings, but I refuse to let it stop me.
“Mom?” I call out.
The stranger’s body shifts. I still can’t make out their face, yet I can tell they’re looking at me.
A soft chuckle fills the air.
“Not exactly,” says a man’s voice.
My heart sinks, but I don’t let it get me down.
“Dad?” I croak.
Another chuckle.
“Wrong again,” says the stranger. Leaning forward, he reveals his face.
It’s Old Will.
Memory 61
I stare at my older self, unsure how to react. Should I be sad or angry? Trusting or suspicious? But in the end, only one question matters.
“Who are you?”
Old Will chuckles. He seems to enjoy doing that.
“That’s no way to treat yourself,” he says.
“How do I know it’s really you—me?”
“You could trust me.”
I scoff.
“Yeah, right.”
Will 2.0 smiles.
“I understand your reticence, but I’m the real deal.”
“I’ve been tricked before.”
My older self sighs and nods.
“I know, but this is important. Ask me a question, something only you would know the answer to.”
“Been there, done that. It didn’t work so well the last time.”
“Fair point, but this time will be different.”
“How so?”
“I won’t just answer your questions. I will also ask them, thus proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that I truly am an older version of you. How does that sound?”
I take a moment to consider the proposal. While still suspicious, I can’t think of a single reason why this approach would fail.
“All right,” I say. “How does this work?”
“Think of a question and let me know when you’re ready. I will then ask the question you’re thinking of and answer it in great detail.”
I nod, indicating I’m willing to play. I then take a few moments to come up with a question. It’s not hard, though it takes a while before I find a question that’s both hard to guess and answer.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Very well,” says my older self. “The question you’re thinking of is: What is my deepest, darkest secret?”
He’s right, and the second he says it, I regret my choice.
“I—” I begin, but Old Will cuts me off.
“You changed your mind. I know. The question you’re now thinking of is: What is my greatest fear?”
I want to protest, but he’s right. I didn’t realize it until he said it, but he’s absolutely correct.
“Which question would you like me to answer?” he asks.
“Don’t you already know the answer?” I wonder.
He nods.
“I was just being polite,” he says. “But enough chitchat. The one thing you’re afraid of above all else is to be alone and unloved.”
It’s true. It’s not something I like to admit, or even think about, but it’s true.
“You’ve always wanted a family,” continues Old Will. “You’ve spent the past few months doing everything in your power to return here and reunite with your mother…”
Right again.
“…but it’s not actually her you want.”
“It’s not?”
My older self shakes his head.
“Has it occurred to you that you already have a family?”
I don’t understand what he means. At least not immediately.
“Are you referring to Kara?”
He nods. “And Jonn.”
Not long ago, I would have agreed with him, but a lot has changed in the past few hours. Jonn and Kara lied to me. They betrayed and manipulated me. They’re no better than Avalon.
“They’re not my family,” I snap. “I hate them.”
Will 2.0 sighs.
“Time heals all wounds.”
“Not this one.”
Old Will shrugs.
“We’ll see. But let’s not argue. It’s not why you’re here, is it?”
I shake my head.
“Where’s my mother?”
“Not here.”
I consider asking where she is, but I suspect he won’t tell me.
“Will I ever meet her?” I ask.
He nods.
“And my father?”
“Only if you listen closely to what I have to tell you.”
I guess we’ve come full circle. And now that I have undeniable proof my older self is who he claims to be, I’m ready to listen.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “What have you come to tell me?”
“Not here.” He looks around as though worried we’re being watched. “Follow me.” He stands and walks away. I hesitate for a moment before following.
My older self leads me to a nearby motel. It’s old and crummy, but it appears to be deserted, which is a good thing.
“We’ll be safe here,” says Will 2.0 as he leads me into one of the dozen or so rooms that make up the motel. The sleeping chamber is small—barely big enough to fit a single bed, an old chair with the foam padding ripped out, and a nightstand atop which stands a single lamp. Aside from that, the room is completely
empty. Doing my best to ignore the stains that litter both the floor and the walls, I make my way into the bedroom and watch as my older self locks the door.
“It’s not much,” he says as he gestures for me to sit on the bed, “but it should do the trick.”
I hop onto the mattress but leap right back off when a busted spring pokes me in the butt. Now more attentive, I take a seat and watch as Old Will does the same on the nearby chair. We sit in silence for a while before my curiosity gets the better of me.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I’m here to help.”
I scoff.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“I understand your skepticism, but this time I won’t hold anything back. At least nothing that pertains to this situation.”
I consider voicing another sarcastic comment, but I refrain.
“You must fix the past,” says Will 2.0. “If you don’t you will forever remain trapped within the time loop.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “I’m here, aren’t I? Doesn’t that prove I’ve broken the cycle?”
Old Will shakes his head.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I don’t believe you. My friends betrayed me, Avalon is still on the loose, and the past is screwed. My life is here now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option. Your friends are trapped in the past, and they need your help. So do the humans. You’re the only one capable of resetting history to its proper course.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I’m done trying to be a hero. I’m out. For good!”
I expect my older self to insist, but he merely nods and stands.
“You’ll come around soon enough,” he says. “I’ll be back when you’re ready.”
“I’ll never be ready,” I say, but it’s already too late. My older self is gone, vanished into thin air.
I sit for a while, letting my mind wander. Part of me feels guilty for abandoning the enslaved humans to their fate, but it’s not like I can do anything for them. I’m just an ordinary kid who got sucked into a battle he has no stake in. Avalon is the true culprit. Without her, none of this would have happened. Still, I can’t help feeling responsible.