The Time Travel Chronicles (45 page)

“You got your quota already?” he asks.

I pull out Vincent’s envelope. “Yeah. Got it right here.”

“Man,” Jax smiles through his thick, blonde beard, opening the envelope and smelling the cash. “You’ve been pushing some serious money lately. You’ll cover your pop’s debt in no time at this rate.”

My eyes itch. I take my bottle out. “Do you mind filling me up while I’m here?”

Jax picks up a radio from his desk and puts it up to his mouth. “Hyde, send over four ounces of Drops, will ‘ya?” He swivels around and gives me a wink. “I gotcha, buddy.”

A little jolt of warmth sparks through me, knowing I’ll have some Drops soon. “Thanks.”

“Take it out of your quota like usual?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He takes a small bit from the brick of cash in the envelope and sets it to the side of the cash counter. He searches the envelope further and finds the license and the fingerprint copies. He raises them up towards me. “Is this for an insight?”

“Yeah, personal, going to need a full report.”

“Coming right up.”

Jax types Vincent’s information into a database, some program that hasn’t even been invented yet in my time. He holds the copies of Vincent’s license and fingerprint up to the webcam for a short second, and the computer instantly recognizes Vincent Galler’s information. He presses a few more commands, and the program begins to compile a report on Vincent’s life, detailing him in every conceivable way.

A tall, burly man in an apron walks into the office, grease and wax covering his clothes. His gray beard falls all the way down to his chest and swings in every which way he moves. In a raspy voice, he says, “Got your four ounces right here, Jax.” He lifts a clean, freshly-made amber bottle of Drops in his hand.

“Thanks, Hyde,” Jax says, then looks at me and points at the bottle. “There’s your refill, buddy.”

Hyde turns to me and is instantly hit with shock. His mouth hangs open, his eyes widen, his face goes pale. He steps further in and shuts the door behind him. He places the bottle down on the desk and walks closer to me, raising his hands, wanting to touch my shoulders and touch my face, as if to make sure I’m real.

“You Miller’s boy?” he whispers, his soft voice almost cracking.

I’m about to nod my head when Jax says, “You’ve never met Miller Jr.?”

Hyde doesn’t cut his gaze from me, only puts a hand over his mouth when he knows for sure that it’s me.

“Miller Jr.,” he smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, son.”

We shake hands. “You knew my father?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. He was a friend. And a good man.”

I wouldn’t be here if that were true.
“Thank you. I didn’t really know him that well. At least not that much towards the end.”

Hyde bows his head, as if he’s apologizing on his behalf. “Yeah, he was over here a lot. Sometimes the Drops just makes you lose control.” He looks at the bottle on the table, and then back at my eyes. “Make sure to take care of yourself. It was nice to meet you, Miller.”

When he leaves, I’m left there with a sick feeling in my stomach. My eyes feel dry, my eyelids growing heavy. I just want to go home. Pinch off a few drops of Drops. Sleep. And dream. The dreams I dream when I’m asleep. And the dreams I see when I’m awake. 

“All done.” Jax hands me a USB. “Interesting fella’ you got there.”

“You’re telling me.” I reach out and shake his hand. “Thanks, Jax. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

“All right, buddy.”

I walk out of the office and head over to their return pod. I set the coordinates for time and location on the dashboard and step inside.

The dark confines of the return pod offer me quiet and solace. The box rumbles as it prepares to send me back into the past. And now that I’m alone, my impatience overcomes me, and I pull out my amber bottle.

I twist off the glass dropper, pinch the rubber end to get a decent pull, and hang the other end over my eyes. I pinch and squirt a few drops. My eyes turn to ice and then erupt to fire. And then they go numb. I let out a deep sigh, my body relaxing its muscles, my worries and my stresses vanishing. I blink and the few droplets caught in my eyelashes hit my eyes and create the sensations all over again, only this time in smaller doses.

I put the dropper back in the bottle and put it away. I barely notice my travel through time, barely notice anything’s changed when I arrive back in my present, didn’t even hear the clap of thunder upon my arrival. I look around and I’m back in my room, sitting down on my floor. I run my hands all along the carpet, feel the grooves in the cotton and the wool. The Drops is hitting me now. I look up. And there’s my father.

“
Hey, kiddo
,” he says, looking down in my direction.

“Hi, Dad,” I whisper, lifting a hand up to his golden, dusty shadow. I go to touch his leg, but my hand goes straight through him, breaking the dusty outline. He reaches down and goes right through me, picking up the shadow of my younger self and carrying him off.

The sick feeling in my stomach goes away. The mental picture of my father with Hyde fades. I only see the father I love now. Not the man I’m so desperately trying not to become. Not the man I’m so hopelessly failing to stray from.

I crawl into bed and tuck myself in under the sheets. I’m about to fall asleep when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Message from Jackie:

I’m coming over tomorrow. Not unannounced this time. :)

And then I fall asleep, a smile on my face, my father in my eyes, and Jackie in my thoughts.

5

“Hey,” a soft voice whispers into my ear. “Wake up, sleepy.” Warm lips kiss my cheek, and I open my eyes to the wild and messy brown hair of Jackie at my side.

“Hey,” I groan, still waking up.

“Finally.” She kisses my cheek again. “Terry texted you. Said you have five clients today.”

I flex my arm that’s wrapped around her and squeeze her tight. “Quit snooping through my phone, you little scoundrel.”

She giggles and pinches my stomach to soften my grip around her. “Why don’t you take the day off today? Tell Terry to push the clients back to next week.”

I roll over to my side and lean my head on my hand. “You know I can’t. I have to work every day to pay off that debt.”

She frowns and nods her head. “I know, I know. Say, speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How much longer do you think it’s going to take? To pay off your dad’s debt, I mean.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. If things go well, maybe another ten years. If things don’t…maybe a lot longer.”

She nods her head, holding back her disappointment. She wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight, trying to be strong, trying to tell me that she accepts it for however long it takes.

“Let’s go make breakfast,” she says.

“Let’s go.”

She releases her hug and looks up at me. I’m hypnotized by her watery brown eyes. We stay in bed a while longer, staring at each other in those long, silent ways that only lovers do. And then I whisper to her, “I love you.” And she whispers the same. I close my eyes and lean in for those warm lips. I lean in slowly, reaching for her kiss. I lean until I realize I’ve leaned a little too far.

And then I open my eyes. And no one is there.

She’s gone.

I look around the room and see that everything’s the same. Everything’s exactly where it should be. The only thing missing is Jackie in my arms.

But then I roll over. I look at my nightstand. I see the amber bottle. The glass dropper lying on its side, little droplets of the drug still hanging around inside. She was never here.

She was never here.

The warmth and comfort of the past fades. And the cold and dull reality of the present returns. The hallucination of Jackie leaves me like I left her. Suddenly, and in the midst of our happiness.

Why did you let her go?
I ask myself.
Why did you let her become a dream?
 

A tear streaks down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, and it comes away a bit pink. I get up and walk over to the mirror in my bathroom. Another small pink tear rolls out of my eye like I’m crying tourmalines. I look at my hand and see the little bits of blood in my tears. This should be the point where I tell myself to stop dropping. This should be the point where I look at my eyes and vow to quit. But all I see is her. All I see is the place I want to go, the place I want to be. The past.

I walk back into my room and lie down on my bed. I pick up the glass dropper, insert it into the amber bottle, pinch the rubber and release until the liquid drug is inside. And then I drop those poisonous eye drops into my tortured, bleeding eyes, and I soothe my soul. If only for a bit longer.  

6

I’m sitting at my desk, laptop open, feet up and leaning back into my chair. I flip through the pages of Vincent Galler’s life, studying everything about his future, his fate. I’m just about ready to answer any question he might have about himself.

Interesting fella,
Jax’s voice reminds me as I read through his file. Damn right. I don’t know much of who Vincent Galler is today, but I know very well who he will become.

I pick up a loose paper on my desk, the one page of the file that stands out to me the most. There’s a name at the top.
Tracie Thomas.
I read her name over and over. Make sure I remember it.

There will be a day when Vincent Galler stands on trial for her murder. This page says it all. The evidence of his assault. His motive. The clear emotional intent written on her bloodied face. I look at her picture and wonder where she is right now, what she’s doing, what she aspires to do. I wonder if one day I will see her and recognize her. I wonder if I’ll have the courage to set her on a course far from Galler. I wonder if it’s even possible.

I put the page down, unable to hold it any longer. My eyes twitch. I think of my father. And then something strange comes up in my chest. It feels like sympathy. I picture him doing what I’m doing at this very moment. Seeing victims who aren’t yet victims. Feeling the weight of their deaths on his hands, a weight so heavy it makes paper hard to hold.

Is this what you dealt with, Father? Is this what drove you deeper and deeper into your own abyss?

I look up at the empty room I’m sitting in. I wait. I listen. I hope an impossible hope that somehow there are still some droplets in my eyelashes that will splash into my eyes and let me see my father, let me hallucinate his shadow. Just for one moment.

The door opens, breaking my daze. Terry walks in. “Hey, Miller.”

“Morning, Terry.”

He sits down in the chair in front of the desk. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, went to bed pretty early yesterday and didn’t get a chance to study the insight. I’m ready now though, been studying it all morning.”

Terry smirks and leans back into his chair. “Anything interesting on Mr. High and Mighty?”

“Yeah, actually.” I sift through the pile of documents, looking for a specific one. “This guy is pretty successful in the future. But he gets caught up in a bunch of legal scandals.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind of scandals?”

“Bunch of stupid stuff, reckless driving, public intoxication, all that crap. But there’s one case where he allegedly murdered some girl. Got away with it on a technicality.”

Terry shakes his head. “I knew I had a funny feeling about that guy.”

“Yeah.” I fidget in my seat, put all the documents down on the desk. I see Tracie’s face in one of the pictures. And I start to break.

I lean in closer, resting my elbows on the desk. “Terry…” I start the sentence I want to say, but don’t finish. I hesitate. I’m not sure how to say it, not sure how Terry will respond.

“Yeah?” he asks.

I look back down. See her face again. And then I break completely.  “Terry, don’t you think we should stop this guy?”

Terry furrows his brow and stops leaning into the back of his chair. “What do you mean?”

“This guy is going to kill someone one day. Shouldn’t we stop him?”

Terry looks around the room, as if someone else is listening. And then he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Miller, you know we can’t do that. You know the rules. We don’t meddle in the affairs of our clients−”

“I know, I know.” I raise my hand. “We’re not supposed to affect the timeline for the future.” I shake my head, furrow my brow. Anger rises up inside me. I want to break these chains on my wrists, these chains locked upon us by the future. Am I destined to become my father? 

“I just wish there was something we could do, man,” I say, my knee bouncing up and down, my thumbs fiddling with each other, the itch returning to my eye. “We see so many pricks like him every day. And there’s nothing we can do.”

Terry closes his eyes for a brief moment, wishing I hadn’t said any of that. He stands up, brings the chair around the desk, and sits next to me. “Miller, I wasn’t planning on telling you this, but now you’ve got to know for your own good.” He takes a deep breath, massages his forehead. “Couple weeks back, I was talking to Jax during my warp. He was telling me about this guy they’re chasing, some guy who’s been making some serious changes to the timeline, a meddler. They’ve hired assassins and time-cops to find him, and they’re cracking down hard on any altering activity. If they catch wind of any talk like that, we’re done for.”