Regression (8 page)

Why am I here? Am I supposed to do
things differently, or exactly the same? Obviously things could
change without ripping the fabric of time, as evidenced by the
train tracks. And the attack.

The train station was close to the
university in Brighton. Adya walked roads familiar to her, slowly
approaching the lot where she and Daniel built their home. Someone
had used it to dump their lawn trimmings. A large pile of branches,
leaves, and refuse sat in the centre of the lot where they
eventually position the covered porch. She skirted the debris,
slipping down an incline to a tiny creek running behind the line of
sight. A rock formed a perfect perch−she and Daniel had argued
vehemently with the construction contractor to preserve the stone
for their gardens. She lost herself to the water, birds, and sounds
of the town.

Eventually she rose, her next stop
the gas station where her husband said he had worked as a teenager.
His shift usually started at 1:30, she arrived just in time to see
him dismount from his bicycle. Daniel transferred his backpack to
his other shoulder, flashed a smile at the boss, then entered the
tiny booth to spend his hours pumping gas and completing
homework.

She watched him for an hour,
parked on the bench across the road. He greeted every driver with a
broad smile and never forgot to wash a windshield. When no cars
were lined up to receive gas, he busied himself sweeping the porch
of the little shop, washing windows, or straightening shelves.
During a lull in business, she rose from her seat and approached,
picking a chocolate bar from the display rack. His smile made her
heart twist.

“
Hey.”

“
Hey.” Her face blazed
crimson as she tried to think of something to say. “Nice day,
huh?”

“
Yup. You want that?”
He glanced at the sweet in her hand.

“
Umm, yeah. How
much?”

“
Forty-five cents.”
She counted out two quarters, waiting for her change. He paused as
his hand extended with her change. “You live around here?” Her eyes
raised to meet his, heart skipping a beat as a spark passed between
them.

“
No, just passing
through. You?”

“
Yeah. It’s cool,
though. This is lame, but…I think I’ve met you before.” His turn to
blush.

“
Not in this
lifetime.” Adya slipped away before he could ask her what she
meant, a customer’s car blocking his puzzled gaze. His head was
shaking when she glanced back. She whispered, “I love you,” walking
around the corner on the way back to the train station.

Sitting on her bed surrounded by a
collection of newspapers, Adya looked over the stock market report
spread out in front of her. A number of items were circled in black
marker. Talking to herself as she often did, she argued her
course.

“
It would be so easy.
A purchase here, an investment there. The things we could do with
the money.” She tapped the paper for emphasis. “Dad could pay off
the house. They could buy a new car. Travel the world. Buy a horse.
Buy a bulldog. Look at these.” She traced the lists of stocks.
“Where’s Microsoft? I thought it was public by 1985. Same with IBM.
There’s Coke, though. Should buy shares just ‘cause of how much
I’ll drink in the future. A bad habit…chain Coking.”

Sighing, she slashed the marker
across the page, stroking the stocks out while shaking her head. “I
can’t do it. If I take all of the gains, someone else suffers. I
just can’t do that to someone.” She looked toward the door. “I’m
sorry, Dad. I know I could make your life so much easier if I used
what I know but you raised me too well. It would feel like stealing
if I traded on my knowledge of the future. We make it through the
tough times okay, in the end.” Adya crumpled the newspapers and
absently took them to the recycling bin on the porch before
returning to her room.

“
I have an incredible
opportunity. I should make the most of it.” She grinned. “I also
should stop talking to myself.” In her journal she began to
prioritize a plan for the future. One academic goal and one
artistic goal were her first objectives. First priority was
learning more about physics, trying to gain insight into how she
could exist in her own past. And, she would expand her musical
repertoire after pretending to learn guitar, which she already knew
after lessons with her children.

At Adya’s request, Samantha
quickly found a guitar instructor with time available. Greg
Travers, music teacher at Stamford Secondary School, took students
on evenings and weekends to supplement his income. He played in a
local band, Psychodrama, with his sister as lead singer. A garage
studio provided their practice venue. They were in the midst of
recording an album to secure a record deal. The first lesson
involved her attempting to disguise her ability to play while Greg
tried to assess her level of competency.

“
You seem to be a
natural, the way you hold the guitar and maintain good posture. One
of the first mistakes people make is to fold themselves around the
guitar, hunching their back to reach around to the strings and
clenching the guitar like it might escape. That sets them up for a
sore neck and back, which would cut the guitar playing short. But,
I see you maintaining a straight back and holding the guitar
lightly in your hands.”

He led her through a number of
chords and exercises, which she quickly polished to his
satisfaction. The lesson ended with a simple song using three
chords and her promise to practice for their next lesson two days
later.

Adya began her other project,
bettering her understanding of physics. University level physics
textbooks were available at the public library; there was not a
university in Stamford.

“
Honey, are you sure
you’re up to these? Pretty intense reading…” the librarian
questioned.

A broad smile crossed her face.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. Gonna build a time machine, you
know.”

The librarian treated her to a
stern glare and a ‘harumph’. She took her selections home and
settled herself in her room. Reading began with special relativity,
meandered through quantum theory and rounded out with wormholes.
The concepts were familiar, like an echo in her mind. Was this
really only her first time through? Was there a chance she had
lived not only these two lives, but perhaps even more? She wrote
across an entire page of her journal, in large letters “How many
times have I been here before?”

Greg was running late for their
fifth lesson, and Adya idly played her favourite song while
waiting. As she finished singing the verse, he pushed away from the
door frame where he had been listening.

“
Wow, that’s an
amazing song.”

The song was from the future and
would not be released for another two decades. She prevaricated,
badly. “My cousins get together every Christmas and play and this
was one of the songs they played. They always jam.”

“
Could you sing it
again? I really liked it.” His back to her, he fidgeted with the
sound equipment against the wall.

“
Sure, I can try. I
don’t know the words all that well.” She began strumming the soft
introductory chords, which gained strength for the chorus and
softened again for each verse. The style of music, blending ballad
type verses with rock-anthem-style choruses, would not emerge for
almost another decade with the introduction of Grunge Rock. Greg
listened, enthralled, as she played.

“
Any other
songs?”

She thought it would be harmless
to quickly play a few of her beloved tunes. Their lesson passed
with three more popular songs. The instructor picked up his guitar
and echoed her chords before going over new combinations with her.
When Samantha arrived, he rose to greet her.

“
Adya is certainly
progressing well, shows a lot of talent. I find it hard to believe
she hasn’t had lessons before.” His tone was slightly aggrieved.
Adya had the grace to blush.

“
She’s only just
picked up the instrument this month, Greg. I guess she’s the real
deal.” Samantha beamed with pride and pleasure.

“
I don’t think she
needs me anymore, to be honest. Adya had mentioned an interest in
keyboarding, here’s the number of a teacher who could give her a
start on that instrument.” He handed a business card to Samantha
then turned to his student. “It’s been a pleasure but I do think
you are ready to move on.”

She was hurt to find Greg so quick
to push her away but knew he could not take her any further, having
played guitar for as long as Greg if she counted her previous
timeline. The only reason she had signed up was as a cover for her
family. “Thanks so much for everything, Greg. Best of luck with
Psychodrama, I look forward to reading about you.”

“
Oh, I think you’ll be
hearing a lot of great music from us shortly.”

Adya spent some time over the next
few days teaching her younger sister to play because Annie showed a
real interest in the guitar. Should she warn her younger sister at
an early age to stay away from the man she eventually married? He
ended up going to jail for embezzlement after siphoning funds from
the telecommunications business where he had been the chief
financial officer. She decided she could begin that campaign at a
later date, Annie was still only seven. She was losing a game of
Clue when the phone rang.

“
It’s for you.”
Samantha handed her the handset.

“
Hello?”

“
Hello Adya, this is
Zita Britannia. You asked me about the artist at the
carnival?”

“
Yes, yes. You found
some information?”

“
It’s not good. He’s
involved in an underground group called Anvolussion. They’re a
terrorist group with ties to protests around the world. I couldn’t
find out why he was at the fair, but I worry for your safety. He
singled you out. Someone with foreknowledge would be a dangerous
ally for such an extremist group. Forewarned is forearmed but you
should really take care. His name is Lavrentios
Alexopoulos.”

“
Thank you for the
information; I appreciate you taking the time.”

“
It is all about time,
isn’t it?”

“
I suppose so. See you
in time?”

“
Yes, I expect so. Did
your…bad time come?” The voice was soft, concerned.

“
Yes.”

“
Are you
okay?”

“
I suppose. Best I can
be in light of everything.” Her mother was looking askance at her.
“I should be going. Thank you for calling.”

“
Best of luck to you,
Adya. We need it for you.”

“
Thank you.” She hung
up the phone, troubled. Why would someone with terrorist ties want
anything to do with her? Could he really see the future? An
entirely new facet was added to the puzzle of her existence in the
past.

“
Dad, what would you
change if you could go back in time knowing what you know now…would
you do anything different?” Adya approached Matthew in his
workshop, breathing deeply of the pungent scent of cedar. He was
painting clear coat on the cedar chest just finished as her
cousin’s wedding gift, craftsmanship evident in the tightly
dovetailed corners and fluted trim. She picked a brush, and applied
shellac to the lid.

“
Still feeling like
you’ve lived one life already?”

“
Sometimes. It really
makes you think, though. What would you change?”

He lay his brush down on the edge
of the can before speaking. “There is something I wouldn’t change.
Thank God. When your mother was pregnant with you, we had a really
tough choice to make. I remember anguishing over it; she cried
every night for a week. You know the abnormality in your cells?”
Adya nodded. The foreign body in her cells, a plasmid, had been
explained to her when she was eleven. “We were told you wouldn’t be
normal, that no human could live with such an organism in their
cells.” He sat, and motioned for her to do the same.

“
We never did tell you
the whole of it. They wanted your mother to have an abortion…and
they wanted to study you. There were others.”

She gasped, “With a
plasmid?”

He lowered his head, remembered
pain creasing his forehead. “It still hurts to think about it,
especially when I look at you and see how wonderful you are. All
the others died before they were born. There were fourteen. We were
told to abort you.” Shuddering, he rubbed his forehead. She touched
his shoulder. “We couldn’t do it. We couldn’t take the life we
created. No matter what might have happened, we decided we would
deal with it. But you were fine. More than fine; you’ve been
everything a father could ask for.”

She rose, stepped around the
chest, and hugged him, he squeezing her back tightly.

“
Do you remember the
testing?”

“
A little. They
stopped when I was still small, didn’t they?”

“
They didn’t find
anything abnormal except the plasmid. They couldn’t study it anyway
because it just fell apart when they tried.” Moving back, he lifted
the brush. “I guess I would change the testing. You didn’t need to
be subjected to that. When you were in the hospital just now the
doctors ran the same tests again, finding the exact same results.
Nothing.”