Lost Friday

by Michael Bronte

  “Outside the entrance gates to Island Beach State Park in an hour-and-a-half. Which one of your men can I take with me?”

  * * * * *

  The nametag read DiNardo. “The chief said I should drive.”

  “Fine,” I said, getting into the back seat. I dropped David’s notebook on the seat next to me, but instead of making notes on my own story—that story was in my head and crystal clear—I wondered how Remington was doing. I wrote down some thoughts and managed to raise her on her cell phone.

  “I was just thinking about you,” she said.

  “I get that from a lot of women.”

  “Sure you do. Listen, I’m on my way to meet Corvissi.”

  I thought: at this hour? She must have hooked him but good.

  “What if he asks me about the project the scientists were working on, which I supposedly know?”

  “You’ll need play that on your own.”

  “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?”

  “Tell him five more people from the year 2194 were killed today, four of them with the same DNA, again.”

  There was a long pause, after which Remington said, “Damn.”

  “After you tell him that, have him read your piece on Lost Friday. Make sure he sees the save date on your computer.”

  “Why?”

  “Once he realizes that you wrote it before the occurrence, he’ll do anything you want, including getting you access to the president.”

  “Does he have the pull to do that?”

  “Jesus, Remington, I don’t know. I’ve given you all the pieces; it’s up to you to put the puzzle together.”

  “Then what about David Robelle?” she asked. “You were supposed to tell me how he fits in to all this.”

  “David Robelle turns out to be the physicist who proves that time travel is possible.” I remembered how Corvissi reacted the first time around when he confiscated David’s computer and notebook. “Tell Corvissi you have the actual mathematical proofs in David’s own handwriting. If he has any idea of those scientists being involved, he’ll know exactly what you’re talking about, and he’ll do anything to keep those proofs secret, especially if he understands the repercussions of being able to travel through time to affect historical events. Once you lay all this on him, the fact that you don’t know anything about the project won’t mean shit. Hell, he will probably tell you at that point in order to protect himself in case the whole thing goes south. The last thing he wants is to be fingered as the guy who could have prevented all this from happening, something he could have done if he’d known that David and the scientists were working together.”

  “Except that I don’t have the proofs,” Remington said calmly.

  “I do, Remington, which means you do.” I could sense her anxiety. It was a lot to absorb, especially for a rookie. I checked the time and noted it was past midnight. We were into Lost Friday time. “How are you holding up?” I asked, trying to, like, empathize and shit.

  “Running on fumes, but I’ll make it.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On the Washington beltway. I should be hooking up with Corvissi in about half an hour.”

  “Who picked the spot?”

  “He did.”

  “Do you have his cell number?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then call him and change the location, then find a way to check him out beforehand to be sure he isn’t being followed. Of course, that won’t mean anything if he’s wired, so be careful.”

  “Why don’t I just frisk him?”

  “If you’ve got the stones, but he might want to frisk you back. His butt is on the line here, and he’s going to be just as wary as you are.”

  “I can handle it.”

  I looked up and noticed that DiNardo was looking at me in the rearview. I finished up with Remington, and said, “What?”

  * * * * *

  If anyone knocked on my door at 12:40 in the morning and told me I was about to be kidnapped, I figured I’d want an explanation. Well, Anne Behari did too, as did husband Robert. Trusting people, the Beharis; they let me in right away. Of course, having DiNardo there in uniform probably had a lot to do with that, but I don’t know if I would have been as cordial. Dressed in a classy silk robe and blue satin pajamas, Anne actually asked if I wanted some tea.

  “Really, Mister Pappas. Why would anyone want to kidnap me?”

  “Not just you…. May I call you Anne?”

  “Of course.”

  “… Anne. The whole town is about to be taken.”

  They both gave me a look, which is what I expected, so I cut right to the chase. “Nine people have been killed in the boro in the last two days, and eight of them have the same DNA.”

  “That’s not possible,” said Robert.

  I looked at DiNardo, who looked pretty spooked as well. Rather than talk about genetically engineered human clones, therefore, I recited a few facts that would mean something to them.

  “Robert, you broke away from a large dental practice in Atlantic City and put out your own shingle about six months ago. You’ve been thinking about running some ads in the Asbury Park Press, and Anne is helping you by putting together a logo and some advertising concepts. Anne, you just started toying with the idea, and you’ve gone so far as to put together a sample ad, which you’ve sketched out in pencil and put in a manila envelope inside that writing desk over there. You haven’t shown it to Robert yet, but you think you need a logo that will accommodate the words honest, affordable, convenient, and professional.” I stopped and looked Anne, who could have been made of ice. “You also have a photographic memory,” I added, “and the logo you’re going to come up with will be an adaptation of the symbol for a terrorist group called the Red Diamond.”

  “How do you know all this?” she asked.

  If I told her the truth, she would think I was nuts. As it turns out, however, I didn’t need to answer her at all because she disappeared, as in ffffhhhttt! A second later, I did too.

  Chapter 28… Who’s Who?

  “I am Vontz.”

  I looked at him, and hated him instantly. “Of course you are, you big Synthetic hump.” Why couldn’t I have gotten a Barbie with big maracas? “Where is my friend?”

  “I do not have that information.”

  “Then go tell your master that whatever you want with me, you can forget it until I see her. Can you remember that, I-am-Vontz?”

  “I will relay your message.”

  “Good. Now fuck off.” I mean, this getting snatched thing was getting old. Vontz left and I had a chance to examine my surroundings. I knew I’d been teleported again, and I checked myself out to make sure I was in one piece. I wasn’t in any private room with a manufactured atmosphere this time; I was in a cell so small I could almost touch the opposing walls at the same time. The smell was one only a maggot could stand. Thankfully, I didn’t see any maggots, but roaches that looked as big as Snickers bars scooted about and disappeared into the walls. Finding myself instantly sick, I stumbled toward the toilet and made the immediate decision that I’d rather explode than get near it. I heaved, but luckily nothing came up; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Light-headed, I straightened up just as the cell door clanged open. Vontz reappeared with some other dude who clearly wasn’t just another Synthetic Aryan messenger boy. Heavy shoulders, scruffy gray beard, his features were deeply carved into a craggy face, especially the sinister-looking eyes. This guy looked like he’d been around the block.

  “You will come with us,” said Vontz.

  “What, time for punch and cookies already?” I mean, my wise-ass gene was kicking in big time. I noticed they were wearing the same jumpsuit type uniform made of a gray, metallic-looking material that even covered their shoes. I guessed it to be something indestructible that twenty-second century military guys wore around the house. They were also wearing side arms that looked like the same dull b
lack DNA-controlled weapons used by the four Synthetics that Aryeh had gunned down on the boardwalk. I also noticed the insignia on their left sleeve.

  * * * * *

  Some things looked as if they’d changed tremendously in 190 years, while others seemed to have hardly changed at all. Besides cockroaches, one thing that hadn’t changed was human nature. I’d made a living reading people, and it was clear that Vontz’s friend was no moron. His eyes were quick, his name was Roarke, and Aryeh looked like a Boy Scout next to this guy. I figured I was in for a bad time.

  Through lips so thin they were almost nonexistent, Roarke said, “Your sense of humor does not amuse me.”

  “It gets me through,” I said, not trying to be funny now. Reading him was like reading a brick.

  “You will come with us,” he said, repeating Vontz’s words, and I had the feeling that one repetition of instructions was about his limit.

  Vontz led the way and Roarke fell in behind me, making a Johnny Pappas sandwich of me. The air outside the cell was cold and dank, as if I were deep underground. In fact, I could have been, for there were no windows anywhere, but dozens of metal doors spaced at regular intervals along stained, concrete walls. The only light came from intermittently spaced panels in an otherwise naked ceiling, and it looked like it was shining through gray Jell-O. My feet were freezing. Vontz’s footsteps plodded in front of me, while Roarke’s snapped out an echo behind me, making it sound as if I were being pursued. I could feel other eyes following my path, but at no time did I hear a sound except for the wheeze of raspy breathing, or perhaps it was choking, I couldn’t tell. All I know is that the smell of something awful hung in the air, much like the smell of something you discovered in your refrigerator after a month-long vacation. I found it hard to swallow, and when I did I wished I hadn’t. Ugh.

  After some minutes of trudging along this seemingly endless corridor, Vontz took a left and disappeared. This left me with Roarke, who ushered me into a nearby room that, from the outside, was totally indistinguishable from any other room, or cell, in this facility, which was looking more and more like a prison to me.

  Roarke sat me at a small table and positioned himself somewhere behind me, setting off a motorized panel in the wall that opened to reveal what looked to be a one-way observation window, like one you’d see in police interrogation rooms. On the other side of that glass, however, interrogation was hardly what was taking place. It was a processing plant—for dead humans.

  After watching a team of Synthetics take newly-arrived corpses and load them onto a conveyer, I turned away, only to have Roarke step up from the back of the room and drop a bag of pea-sized pellets on the table in front of me. “Your destiny,” he said coldly, “and that of your friends, if you don’t cooperate.” He indicated two other observation windows where Anne Behari and Roy were staring back at me. The Red Diamond had taken us all, again.

  “Where did you put those formulas?” Roarke growled.

  “Fuck off,” I said, turning away. My eyes fell on the bag of pellets, and I noted the label: Purina Fish Chow.

  * * * * *

  I had no sense of time, no idea of when I’d last eaten—not that I wanted to—and no idea of when I’d last slept. Although I vowed not to touch anything inside my cell—I’d stand in one spot for the rest of my life if I had to—I eventually found myself lying on the miserable piece of equipment that was the bed, having no idea how I’d even gotten into that position. Water. I needed water. I looked around, my eyelids heavy as bags of sand and just a gritty on the inside. I spotted what looked to be a bottle of water and a bowl on a drop-down shelf on the cell door. How long had I been out? Was I even in the same century? The last thing I remembered was standing horrified in front of an observation window while hundreds of naked human bodies, men, women, and children of every race and color, were being whisked along a conveyer into a processing chamber to be turned into human ooze. The shock value of that scene was indescribable.

  The light inside the cell was constant so that I had no idea if it was day or night. A couple of weeks of this and I knew it would be over for me, if not physically then mentally for sure. I mean, my brain was already shutting down. But how long had it been? Hours? Days? My God, could it have been longer and I just didn’t know it? Months even? Could my memory be gone? I needed water. I needed to rehydrate what was left of my brain. My wits were all I had in life. They were what enabled me to be such a damned good reporter. I remembered that! Water.

  I struggled off the cot and stumbled to the door, hoping my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. There was indeed a bottle of water there, along with a bowl of pellets. People chow: how inhumane. I took the bottle and dashed the bowl into the wall, spilling pellets everywhere. I took a long drink, took a breath, and drank again, throwing the last splash on my face.

  As I stood there dripping, taking in the smell of my own body, a voice said, “The pellets were meant to nourish humans, not cockroaches.”

  I turned, surprised, but not surprised as the same time—the unexpected was becoming the norm lately—that I wasn’t alone. It was Vishal. “Aryeh’s dead,” I said.

  Vishal came over and reached out to me. “I know. Take my hand. It will only be thirty seconds before I am discovered, and we need to get you out of here.”

  I took his hand, and we were gone.

  * * * * *

  “How did you find out Aryeh was dead?”

  “No one is scheduled to stay in the past indefinitely, Mister Pappas, due to the fact that we have yet to find a way to communicate through worm holes. We found out when we brought him back for his regular mission update briefing.”

  “So he’s no longer in the Ocean County morgue,” I noted.

  “He’s here,” Vishal responded, pointing to a door. “He’s being stored cryogenically in the event that we might be able to bring him back if we succeed with our mission.”

  I looked around. “Are we still in Sea Beach?” I asked, seeing that I was in yet another strange environment, this one much like a huge laboratory.

  “You have been in Sea Beach the whole time.”

  “Then what day is it?”

  “September 24th.”

  “It’s Lost Friday.”

  “It is, although we might try to abort the mission since we know David Robelle is already in the hands of the Red Diamond.”

  I shook my head. “What do you mean, try?”

  “Stopping Lost Friday is another historical alteration at this point, and, as you know, history can be stubborn. It tries to fulfill itself despite all efforts to change it.”

  I suddenly felt like a hamster on a running wheel. “How did you know where I was?”

  “When Aryeh showed up dead, we scanned for your DNA.”

  “Then, why didn’t you simply lock-on if you wanted to get me out of there? I mean, you took one hell of a chance coming to get me… didn’t you?” Vishal was looking at me strangely. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Abruptly, he said, “I would like to do a memory scan on you.” He wasn’t taking his eyes off me, and with all the subtlety of a snarling pit bull, he pulled his DNA-controlled sidearm off his hip and laid it on the table in front of him. He knew I couldn’t fire it, and it was obvious that he wanted it where he could reach it in, like, a billionth of a second.

  I said, “What’s up… Vishal?”

  Without answering, he motioned toward the door and two goons came in, both of whom could easily have been Synthetics. I didn’t know where I was, but I started to get the feeling that there were no good guys in this movie. One of them stepped up, holding a contraption that, to me, looked like a beer-bong hat, except that there was no place for the beer cans.

  “Let me try a thirty-eight long to go with that,” I said, but the goon seemed to go cross-eyed. I hate it when some perfectly good sarcasm gets wasted. Without so much as a fuck you asshole, he put this headset-looking thing on my head. Two
pads came to rest at each temple, a third directly on the top of my head, and a final pad was positioned on the back of my neck at the base of my skull. A moment later, my head was hot, and I could feel pressure behind my eyes. Just when I thought my skull was, like, inflating, the sensation went away, and Vishal was looking at a readout on one of those hidden wall panels that I was coming to hate. I mean, you couldn’t tell when big brother was on you, or not, but I had the feeling someone would know if I wiped my ass with the wrong hand.

  Apparently satisfied, Vishal holstered his weapon, and I surmised that it wasn’t my day to die. “So, do I get a Get-Out-Of-Jail card?” I asked, but, once again, the remark went unappreciated. It wasn’t that funny anyway.

  “Your DNA has been duplicated,” Vishal informed me. “I had no choice but to verify your identity.”

  Maybe it was me, but he suddenly took on a darker visage, and seemed much more like Roarke than not. That aside, his last statement abruptly slapped me upside the head. “What do you mean, my DNA has been duplicated?”

  “When we scanned for your DNA, we came upon two readings.”

  “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?” I was suddenly kind of pissed.

  “One of you is a Synthetic.”

  “I’m the real thing, Vishal. Where’s the Synthetic?

  “We don’t know.”

  I thought: fuck that. That wasn’t gonna work.

  Chapter 29… The Merry-Go-Round

  “Where are you going?” Vishal called after me.

  “I don’t know… out!” I headed for the door.

  “You can’t. They’re looking for you now.”

  “Well you sure-as-shit aren’t doing much to protect me. Those Red Diamond bastards took me from right under your nose yesterday. And did you really think Aryeh was enough to do the job? For all you know, they could have sent back a hundred Synthetics, a thousand even, and all you had was him to stop them.”