Who’s here? Is it one of the six? The possibility had always been there, but he would still want to be sure. If it wasn’t The Marshall himself, Gernot knew with certainty that he was behind it.
Gernot finished the task of pulling off the watch and tossed it to the floor. This one would be useless now. Still, he rose and brought the heel of his boot down on the timepiece again and again until it was irrevocably demolished. With that task completed, he took a moment to look down on the body of an older and dead version of himself before he pressed the nodes on his own watch one last time.
If he was unable to change the timeline, it would have to be preserved. Otherwise this body would not turn up again in the cycle. Maybe — with this knowledge of his possible looming death — the situation could still be changed. He clicked another prong, setting the point where he stood as ‘LOC1’ on the timepiece. The body would have to be disposed of later.
Right now he had somewhere to be.
36
Where the Red Burn Shows
Dr. Amhurst somehow found himself outside Martin’s coffee shop, staring blindly into space, the newspaper clenched between fingers that hadn’t stopped trembling. His mind’s eye was fixed on the paper’s date, still in shock and disbelief but at the same time in awe of what had happened.
It occurred to him then that his habit of prepaying bills months in advance — in order to continue his work unhindered by monthly annoyances such as writing checks — had reaped an unexpected benefit. It would have been most inconvenient to discover his electricity was cut off during his absence. Or that the bank had auctioned off his mortgage to someone else.
He’d always thought — hoped — he would be successful in traveling backward in time, or that he would die in a failed attempt. But he hadn’t counted on this type of error — jumping forward.
Now that it was over, only then did the likelihood of disastrous consequences occur to him. Any number of anomalies could have done serious — most likely fatal — damage to his body as his matter was thrust into the void. He shuddered as he considered the possibilities and crossed the street to his lab’s building as fast as his aged bones could take him.
A tall, unfamiliar man wearing a full-length trench coat stood on the front stoop of the entrance, leaning against the railing. He wore a top hat that shielded his face from partial view. As Amhurst drew closer, he noticed a large burn across the man’s face. It appeared to have been inflicted recently. Amhurst’s scientist brain stirred with curiosity, but he knew it would be rude to ask. Apart from the scar and the tightness of the stranger’s features, he seemed kind enough to warrant striking up a conversation.
“Can I help you?” Amhurst asked as he halted on the second to last step and came eye to eye with the man.
“William Amhurst.” It wasn’t a question. Somehow, the unknown man knew who he was and this greeting was just a formality.
Amhurst squinted at the stranger. “Apparently you know who I am already. The question is, who are you?”
The man flicked his wrist to bat the query aside. “Let’s just say I am someone from far away who follows your work.” He withdrew a book from his coat; it was tattered, ravaged by time. A smell of death accompanied the book as the man’s arm outstretched, bringing it forth like a proffered gift.
Amhurst took the book, and his eyes widened in recognition, then narrowed, as he stared at it.
The man spoke, breaking the short silence. “Do you know what you are holding?”
“Indeed I do,” Amhurst said, pursing his lips. He stared up at the man with wary eyes. “This is my journal, why did you take it from my lab?”
The man smiled thinly. “I’m going to come clean, Dr. Amhurst; I found this book.”
“As I have concluded; in my lab, no doubt. What have you done to it?” Amhurst felt a compulsion to launch himself at the man, demanding answers with ferocity. Fear and old age, however, calmed his rushing blood.
“This is the condition in which I found it,” the man said, his voice flat. Before Amhurst had a chance to respond he added, “Thirty-three years from now.”
“I still don’t understand,” Amhurst said, staring at the stranger. “Where did you find this?” he asked for the second time.
Moments ago, he’d suggested it would be best if the conversation was taken inside — not only for a reprieve from the cold, but Amhurst would rather not have any errant ears listening to their dialogue.
“Not to sound morbid, but we — myself and some fellow associates — discovered it in your grave.”
The thought of his body being raided carried with it too many disturbing thoughts. Amhurst placed the decaying journal on the coffee table and gaped at it, a horrified look crossing his face.
The man removed his hat, bringing the nasty burn into full view. The right side of his face was scarred from mouth to hairline. Amhurst tried not to stare.
“We had information that at your death you requested to be buried with it,” the burned man said. “As you may have guessed, I’m not from around here. And when I say here, I mean this period in time.” He locked eyes with Amhurst, waiting for him to catch the meaning. When Amhurst did, the man continued, “I need your help, Doctor, and clearly you need mine.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your desire to travel back and save your wife and child, of course. We can facilitate that.”
Amhurst said nothing, uncomfortable with the realization that his guest seemed to know everything about his life, and he didn’t even know the stranger’s name.
“We have tried, unsuccessfully, to decipher your journal so that my people and I can travel into the future as you have. Help us with what we need, and in return we will help you save your family.”
Amhurst still didn’t speak. He’d never wanted anyone to know about what he was now capable of. It could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands; perhaps even his own. Yet here he was, barely an hour from his spring forward, already thinking about the adjustments and calculations to make when he got back to work. If this man did possess the key to travel back, Amhurst wanted it — desperately so — but wariness persisted in his mind. Finally, his courage broke the lull. “And what is it you intend to gain from the future?”
“There is a great war coming, Dr. Amhurst; one that will be forever remembered in the history books.” The man flashed a smile that didn’t look natural. “I want to be on the winning side. I need your help to ensure victory.”
Amhurst didn’t approve of war. He was a man of peace and science; he always had been. His eyes traced upwards to the picture above the mantle, and with an aching heart he peered at the lovely image of Celice. His gaze touched on every detail of her face as he had done so often before, and he felt his gut instinct falter. Even after all these years, he missed her terribly.
Then again, this total stranger had mentioned a great war. What would that mean for his unborn child or future grandchildren? I could keep them safe. With the power to travel back in time, they could go anywhere and live out their lives in peace, just the way he wanted it.
With reluctance, Amhurst looked away from the portrait and met the stranger’s gaze. This man had been waiting for him at his door, like opportunity itself greeting him in the flesh. Amhurst felt himself nod in agreement without further thought, then held out his hand to accept this life-changing encounter. “I never got your name.”