Chapter 1: Let's Get it Started

I met a beautiful woman today. Twice. I’m still trying to figure that out.

I was standing in line at the local café, Coffee of Doom. Most of the other customers were emo kids, Goth types, and your average coffee house inhabitant wearing plaid and jeans. I was the only one wearing a suit. Well, that wasn’t by choice. I’d much rather slack my way through the day like the kids hanging out here, but I had a rich family and graduated from law school.

Be that as it may, I came here every day before work. I got my cup, and headed for the door. It opened and in walked this girl. She had sandy hair cropped short, and bright grey eyes that dazzled me. She was pleasantly curved, instead of looking half starved like most of the denizens of the coffee house. I barely had time to register her jeans and low cut sweater before she spoke.

“Have we met yet?” She asked me immediately, not even looking around the shop. It was like she was there for me, and not coffee.

“No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…” I tried to be suave, but it might have come out “No, uh, wha?” I’m not totally sure.

She gripped the front of my suit jacket. I dropped my coat and my briefcase from my left hand. I barely held onto the coffee in my right. She looked into my face. Her eyes went wide.

“Stay away from me, if you want to live. Whatever you do, stay away!”

I tried to take a step back, wondering if I should call for help, but her grip was strong and the suit was Armani. And, instead of being afraid, I was kind of lost in her eyes.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” I said, “It’s okay!”

Her eyes wavered and she moved to turn away. Then, she looked me in the eyes again and pulled on the jacket, bringing me in close. Her lips pressed to mine, soft and warm, and time held still. I heard her whisper: “I love you, Frank.” Then, she was gone. I opened my eyes and she was out the door.

It only took me half a second to realize that the prettiest woman I’d ever seen was about to disappear. I ran out after her, and saw her go around the corner. I jostled my way through the crowded street, trying to get past pedestrians on their way to work. Lucky me, the bus had just dumped a crowd between me and Helen of Troy or whoever it was that I was chasing.

I got around the corner, and looked down the street. I couldn’t see her amidst the human mass before me.

“Crap,” I said, eloquently. My name isn’t even Frank, and she was probably crazy, but it had sounded like she meant it when she said she loved me. I kicked the nearest garbage can very maturely. Then I walked back to the shop.

Where the same woman was sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. I did a double take and then walked closer.

“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” I said, trying to control the hammering in my chest. I wondered if it was actually audible to other people. I mean, my heart was pounding.

She looked up at me and I noticed her hair was a little longer. She had also found time to change clothes in the past two minutes, as she had a white blouse and more formal black pants. Her coat was hanging over the chair.

“Pardon?” She asked, putting down the newspaper. I blinked.

“When I was here, before. What was that about?”

“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” She smiled ironically and held up her own cup. “I bought one too.”

I blinked again, and looked around the shop. No one else was paying any attention.

“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”

She wrinkled her brow and then nodded towards an adjacent table. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.” I grabbed my stuff.

I looked at her over my shoulder. She had gone back to her paper with a shake of her head, as if to say “He needs his meds today.” Funnily enough, I had started the conversation thinking that about her. And now, I felt like the one who was crazy.

“Sorry about that,” I said. She barely looked up. I stepped over towards her table again. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”

“Your pick-up lines suck,” she said with a grin.

I felt flustered. “Excuse me?”

“It’s okay. I’m flattered. Not very interested, but flattered. You’ve been trying to get my attention since you got in here. You’re wasting your time, but I won’t hold it against you.”

I bristled a little. I guess I’m the type of person who loves a challenge. “Why is it a waste of time?”

“I’m not interested in dating, I am too busy with my studies. However, I do appreciate the compliment.”

I tried to be charming. She might have been acting like she didn’t remember that kiss (which made me wonder if I had hallucinated it) but it was worth seeing if it would happen again.

“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know.” I smiled. “You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”

She almost laughed. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”

“Diggory Franklin.” I shook hands with her.

“Calla Wiley. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”

“You’re a student?”

“Graduate student, in physics, yes.” She stood and gathered her things. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”

I thought quickly. “Let me give you my card. You know, in case you change your mind on the ‘no dating’ policy. Or, if you ever need a lawyer.”

“I doubt it,” she said, trying to stifle a smile. But she still took the card before she left.

I whistled all the way to work.

Bonus Chapter: Calla's Journal

Journal Entry: September 11, 2008

The world is a very strange place.

My friend Bianca says that I am a very orderly, precise person. Too much so, perhaps. I like mathematics, and science. There is an order to the universe, and underlying patterns. For all its seeming chaos, it has to follow certain rules.

Bianca is an artist. She thinks I should embrace the chaos and stop worrying about the rules so much. Of course, she hates that I clean the apartment regularly, and I hate that she messes it up. She does not know that this is why we are friends.

She thinks she is a good influence on me. That, if she tries hard enough, she will get me to be more flexible and relaxed. I iron my clothes while she gives these lectures, and I don’t think she appreciates the irony. Nor the ironing.

I don’t know if she realizes that I think she’s funny. I do appreciate her trying. I do. But I don’t need help to understand that parties are fun, that music is liberating, that sex can be mind-blowing. I know these things already. I had a youth too. She is still in the middle of hers. I have grown up faster.

My life has been unpredictable enough. It’s time for routine, it’s time for pattern, it is time to play it safe. I have Bianca in my life for a dash of spice, to bring in random elements to the equation. That’s all I need. Otherwise, I have plans. I keep a journal only to organize my thoughts, and to track my progress.

I do the same thing every morning. I go to a coffee house, just around the corner from the library at school. I can never remember what it’s called, something silly. I get my coffee and sit until my first class, or until I have to go to the lab. I go to watch the people still in the midst of their youth. They make me smile with nostalgia.

I was like them, even just a year ago. I wonder if they know how fast it can change. For the fifteen minutes or so that I enjoy my coffee, I sit and read the paper and watch people. It’s better than television.

Today the show decided to break my illusory fourth wall.

I went in just past eight in the morning, as per usual, and stood in line to order my coffee. The owner had come out from behind the counter and picked up a coat and briefcase. She put them to one side, under a table.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, just one of our regulars left without his stuff. He’ll probably realize it in a minute, but I don’t want someone to trip over it.”

I nodded, and stepped forward to order from one of her employees. I took my coffee and my paper to a nearby table and sat down to begin my morning ritual. I started reading.

“Excuse me, can I ask what that was about?” A man asked abruptly.

I looked up at him. I saw a young man, perhaps my age or a little older. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty, anyway. His hair was neatly cut, and his face was clean-shaven. He was wearing a very expensive suit, and yet looked like he’d been running. He was quite out of place in this laidback environment.

He was also rather cute.

“Pardon?” I asked, putting down the newspaper. He blinked, and his eyes seemed full of confusion.

“When I was here, before. What was that about?”

“I imagine you purchased the coffee that you’re holding.” I smiled, wondering if he would understand the joke. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I held up my cup to demonstrate. “I bought one too.”

He looked around the shop, completely at sea. He ran his fingers over his face and looked at me again. Cute and not too bright, perhaps.

“Let me start over. I’m a little frazzled this morning. Have you seen my coat or my briefcase? I dropped them before.”

I had already forgotten the incident. I processed his question, and remembered. “The owner put them over there, said something about a regular having dropped them. She seemed certain you’d be back shortly.”

He nodded and smiled. “Thanks. I kind of need those. I wouldn’t get much done at work without my files.”

The man moved to gather his belongings. I turned back to my paper, shaking my head. I don’t know why he felt the need to disturb me over something so simple; I didn’t work there. Silly. Then, the equation solved itself. His illogical behaviour only made sense if he was trying to get my attention.

“Sorry about that,” he said, approaching again. I nodded, and continued reading. His persistent efforts proved my hypothesis, especially when he stepped closer. “This might sound silly, but you don’t have a sister, do you?”

I was convinced. He was trying to flirt with me. “Your pick-up lines suck,” I said with a grin.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s okay. I’m flattered. Not very interested, but flattered. You’ve been trying to get my attention since you got in here. You’re wasting your time, but I won’t hold it against you.”

He was cute, and seemed harmless. I just didn’t have time to waste. However, he straightened up. He seemed to gather himself.

“Why is it a waste of time?”

“I’m not interested in dating, I am too busy with my studies. However, I do appreciate the compliment.”

I was trying to be polite, but firm. He smiled.

“You’re not really saying ‘go away,’ you know. You could let me try again. I’m sure I can come up with a better pick-up line.”

I almost laughed. He was persistent. “I don’t go for lines. And I don’t date. But I wouldn’t mind knowing your name.”

“Diggory Franklin.” He put out his hand, so we shook. His hand was warm and firm.

“Calla Wiley,” I told him. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”

“You’re a student?”

“Graduate student, in physics, yes.” I stood up and collected my belongings. I really needed to be going. My usual fifteen minutes were more than up. “Have a nice day, Mr. Franklin.”

He didn’t give up easily. “Let me give you my card. You know, in case you change your mind on the ‘no dating’ policy. Or, if you ever need a lawyer.”

“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to smile. He was charming, in a goofy sort of way. He held out his card as I moved to go past him. I looked at his open, friendly face. I took the card without a word and walked out the door.

I was done with my impulsive youth. I needed no random elements. I had my plans. I walked to school and sat down in my first class of the day, ready for my future.

But Mr. Diggory Franklin’s face kept intruding. As did the memory of his handshake.

Chapter 2: Cupid's Chokehold

There was a meeting that morning for the law department, and, instead of listening, I was staring out the window. My chin rested on my hand, my elbow on the table. The tips of my fingers idly stroked my mouth softly, as I thought about Calla Wiley and that kiss earlier in the day.

No matter that she didn’t remember it, I certainly did. I wondered what that was about? Was she crazy? Or was I? After all, her hair had grown a few inches in mere minutes, and she’d changed her clothes. Did she have a twin sister? Was it some weird Presque Vu? A hallucination?

“…A nice daydream? Hello, Diggory!” The presenter, Christopher Geertz, was waving at me.

“What’s that? Sorry, Chris, my mind must have drifted.” I folded my hands on the table and gave my best “yes, I’m listening” face.

What was it about her? The scent? Her intensity? Her eyes? I mean, she was a total stranger…

“Excuse me, Chris, but I, uh, have a call to make. Very important client, would you excuse me?” I held up a hand and left the room before anyone could protest, leaving my leather chair spinning in my wake.

I hurried to my office, not talking to anyone I passed in the ornate halls. I passed beautiful paintings without seeing them, failed to greet friends and coworkers.

“Meeting end early, Mr. Franklin?” called out Lorraine, my steely secretary, as I passed her desk.

“Hold my calls, Lorraine,” I said, ducking into my office and closing the door.

I sat down at my desk, running my fingers through my hair. What was wrong with me? Losing my focus, skipping out on the meeting, all for some stranger?

I picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number, and waited while it rang.

“Dude, ‘sup?” A familiar voice answered.

“Matt, I’ve got girl troubles, want to grab lunch?”

“Sure thing, bro, I know just the place.” He hung up, no doubt returning to slacking off.

I sat down, feeling better. No one knew how to interfere with deep thinking like my best friend, Matt the Pimp.

I had known Matt since grade school. Our parents played bridge together, and went to the same country club. He was the quarterback of our high school team, and I was the vice-president of the student government, and one of his receivers.

He was one of those guys who instinctively knew how to attract women. He was cocky, and knew he was King Shit of our high school, Turd Mountain. That was what I called him and our school, in my head. I wasn’t jealous of Matt, we were both pretty much equally popular. But he loved the attention, and I knew high school was full of melodrama, and didn’t really matter. At least, I told myself I was above that stuff.

Even so, all through university, I relied on Matt in social situations. He always knew the best parties, the hottest girls. He came to work for my dad in the PR division, and so we worked in the same building. I might have thought him shallow, but that didn’t stop me from benefiting from our friendship. He had set me and our other friends up on so many dates, I had started thinking of him solely by his nickname.

“What’s up, Digger?” He asked, as we met in the lobby and headed out to lunch.

“Just a weird morning, I need to clear my head, get out of the building.” I shrugged. Matt the Pimp raised an eyebrow.

We hustled down the street to a restaurant, ordering cocktails with our meals. He tilted his head to check out a waitress in her skirt while she served an adjacent table. He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“So, girl trouble?” He said, sitting up as she gave us menus. Matt flashed a grin her way, and she smiled back.

“Yeah. I met this girl…”

“Dude, if she’s not working out, come hang with us tonight. We’re heading over to Madison’s for drinks. Me and the boys are meeting the girls there.”

I shook my head. “The boys” meant our usual buddies, but “the girls” meant random women that Matt the Pimp tried to set us up with. He met them in bars, at dinners, the country club, through friends and family. I think his Blackberry had more women on it than I had numbers in my business Rolodex in the office.

“I don’t mean that kind of trouble. I’m not dating her.”

“But you want to be,” Matt chuckled. He glanced through his menu briefly, so I took the opportunity to scan for something to eat.

The waitress returned momentarily, and I ordered light chicken pasta with a salad. Matt the Pimp ordered a prime rib dinner for his lunch, and thanked the waitress. He watched her go with a grin.

“Could we focus here?” I asked.

“I am,” he said with a smile, and then turned back to me. “So who’s this girl?”

“Calla Wiley.”

Matt the Pimp’s eyes glazed over for a moment. I imagined he was scanning his mind like a computer checking its memory. Why he remembered girls’ names and not something useful, like how to do his taxes, I will never understand. He clicked back into focus.

“Nope, don’t know her. She new in town?”

“Maybe. She’s a grad student.”

“Ohhh, Digger’s picking up the brainy chicks now. I see.” Matt nodded appreciatively. I got the sense he would be doing the same if I said she was a model, a lawyer or a baker. He would just change “brainy” to some other adjective. “Well, bring her out. A night with all of us, she’s bound to have a good time and end up going home with you.”

“I doubt she’s that kind of girl.”

Matt the Pimp looked at me for a long time. “Dude, I’m totally confused. You’re not seeing her, you’re not trying to get in her pants… What is this chick to you?”

“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”

“Maybe you better tell me what happened."

Chapter 3: Can't Help Falling in Love

Matt the Pimp was still laughing. He slapped his hands on the table, coughing. I waited for him to finish, staring at my plate. Eventually he caught his breath and sipped some water from his glass.

“Wooo, that was funny. Dude, man, you are nuts.” He wiped his eyes.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Yes, it is. You can’t be in love with a total stranger. You don’t know anything about her. Plus, it makes no sense. She kisses you, then forgets who you are… Whatever her issues are, you don’t need her making you crazy. You should come out with us tonight, do some drinking, some dancing. Forget this Wiley chick. She’s not going to call you anyway, from the sounds of it.”

I shrugged, playing with the remains of my pasta. “She might.”

“Dude, you sound as delusional as she is. No one is worth that much crazy. Come on, I’ll pay for lunch. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll meet you at Madison’s after work.”

I sat at my desk, staring at the computer screen. I had no idea what I was looking at. Lorraine was standing in front of my desk, going over the calls I had missed.

“…appointment tomorrow with your father, your mother called, Chris Geertz left a message about Wednesday’s meeting…” Her voice was a droning buzz that I barely registered.

“Lorraine, how long have you been married?” I asked, turning towards her.

It threw her off her pace. She glanced at me over her bifocals. “Excuse me, sir?”

“To Mr. Bowden. How long have you been married?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years, why do you ask?”

“I just wondered… How did you know? I mean, that he was the guy for you?”

Lorraine took a step back, holding up her notepad and glaring at me.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Franklin? You don’t usually ask personal questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re usually so intimidating, I don’t like to bother you,” I admitted. She laughed.

“Well, that’s true. I try to maintain a professional demeanour.”

“The other secretaries are terrified of you, so I guess it’s working.” I grinned.

“Now, to answer your question… Well, Mr. Bowden and I knew each other a long time, since high school. We were comfortable together, he was the sweetest man I ever met. I think I always just knew.”

I nodded.

“No one else ever made me feel like I was their whole world.” She glared at me over her glasses again and said sternly: “But that’s between us.”

“Of course!” I held up my hands, trying not to laugh.

“What’s with the questions?”

I shrugged. “Well, I met someone today, and she was pretty amazing…”

“That’s more than enough, sir. Is there anything else?”

I blushed. “No, thank you, Lorraine. That should be all for the day, if you feel like leaving early.”

This was unexpected. She blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin.”

I barely heard her go. I went back to staring at my computer, getting nothing done. I wore out the time until it was about seven, and then got up to leave. I put on my suit coat and went to the elevator, the last to leave as usual.

The elevator took forever to get to the lobby. I crossed the ornate marble floor, my feet clicking rapidly across the slick surface with a staccato beat. I was moving a little too fast, so when someone bumped into me near the doors, we both fell over.

“Hey!” I snapped. I guessed that they had come through the doors too fast, and bumped into me without even seeing that I was there.

“I’m so sorry!” Calla Wiley said, looking around dizzily. I helped her to stand, too surprised to speak.

She looked into my face once we were back on our feet. My arms were around her for balance, and she was pushed up against my chest, holding my arms. My world was filled with the scent of her, the warmth of her body. Suddenly, I was a little dizzy myself.

“Frank!” She said. “I found you! Have we met yet? Am I too late?”

“We met this morning… My name’s Diggory, remember? I gave you my card.”

“Oh, shit!” Calla swore loudly, gripping my suit jacket tighter. “I haven’t called you, have I?”

“No,” I raised my eyebrow. “I mean, you should know that better than I do… We haven’t spoken since this morning. Don’t you remember?”

“There’s always disorientation after transition. I don’t even know what day it is. I found you with this.”

She pulled a card out of her jeans. I recognized it as mine, but it had seen better days. It was wrinkled and one corner was torn, and it had a coffee stain. It had my business address and number, so I guess she used it to find the building instead of calling.

“You could have just called, you didn’t need to come down here.” I smiled, trying to be charming, “I’m very glad to see you, though.”

“Shut up and listen to me, Frank! You need to stay as far from me as possible. Forget I exist. Don’t answer if I call, and don’t call back if I leave messages. Promise me!”

She started pulling away. I tried a grab for her wrists, not willing to let her go just yet.

“No!” Calla screamed, her voice echoing across the lobby. I was glad that we were the only people here. “Let me go! It’s too dangerous for you, Frank!”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I said. She struggled in my hands like a writhing snake. I could barely hold her, and wondered why I was even being so forceful. I let go immediately.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough…” I started.

“I can’t… Just stay away! Please. If you see me, run in the opposite direction.” Calla turned and ran for the doors, back the way she had come. I chased after her once again, going through the spinning door and following her as she sprinted for the subway.

Chapter 4: There She Goes Again

I went through the glass revolving door as fast as I could, calling after Calla. There were a few people on the sidewalk, but nothing like the crowd I had been faced with that morning. I got through them easily, and saw Calla going down the subway stairs. I followed.

One of them swore at me as I pushed past, but I ignored this and kept running.

“Hey, wait up!” I shouted. “Calla, wait!”

I reached the stairs and went down them as fast as I could, my footsteps echoing in the concrete corridor. I tried to go faster, leaping the last four steps. I saw Calla jump the turnstile without paying. I rushed forwards to do the same, but one of the attendants had come out of their booth, yelling after her. I slowed and paid my money as he glared at me.

I went through the turnstile with a sheepish shrug, and then chased off after Calla. I got to the platform just in time to see the subway pull away. Other than myself, the platform was empty.

“Ah, crap!” I yelled, watching it go.

I rode the subway for two stops. I got out and walked down the street until I made my way to our favourite bar, Madison’s, and was greeted by the hostess, Melanie. We were regulars, and she was always glad to see us. She took my coat and briefcase, and directed me to the back corner, by the pool tables.

“They’re waiting for you,” she smiled.

“Thanks, Mel.”

I wandered back there through the crowd, smiling at other regulars we knew. I made my way to the tables, and was greeted warmly by the boys.

“Hey, Digger!” They chimed in unison, laughing and raising glasses.

“Hey, guys.”

Matt the Pimp was sitting at a big table in a curved booth, his arms around two girls. Each of these had another girl beside her. There were variations in hair colour and eye colour, but they were of the same general type: twenty-something, skinny, cheerleader-pretty. Matt’s Type. He introduced them, but I just labelled them Barbie One, Two, Three and Four. Because Matt the Pimp would have new versions next week, and last week’s versions were already gone. Remembering their names really didn’t seem to matter.

“Dude, grab a seat and have a drink with us.”

“Yeah, sure,” I smiled. Nina, one of the waitresses, was already delivering a beer. I thanked her and swigged it back.

I drank it quickly, and had more whenever Nina dropped off another round. Matt kept the drinks coming, while keeping up the conversation with the girls. Occasionally, they’d get up to dance with one of the boys, or one of the boys would sit down to flirt with a Barbie. It was all a swirling mess, and I just drank through it.

“You all right, Digger?” Matt asked at one point, when all of the girls were up dancing. “You’re not saying much.”

“Yeah, man, I’m… I’m great. Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re drunk. You never get this smashed.” He stared at me for a moment. “That girl? It’s not worth it.”

“I saw her again,” I said with a grin. “After work. She came to see (hiccup) see me.”

“She did? I thought for sure that someone that sounded so uptight would never bother to call.”

“Yeah, well, she tol’ me to ignore her calls and not call back. She doesn’t wanna see me again.” I tried to take another drink, but the neck of the bottle was moving too much. I squinted at it. “This one’s broken.”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s no good.” Matt the Pimp took my bottle and put it on the table. “How about we get Mel to call you a cab?”

“Nah!” I said. “I’m out with my friends, havin’ a good time. Woooo.” I wrinkled my nose. “Matt?”

“Yeah, Digger?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

Neither did Matt, with my vomit on his three hundred dollar shoes.

I rolled over and stared at the alarm clock, which was showing a bright red 4:30. I groaned, my mouth feeling like someone had filled it with manure. I struggled to my feet and found my way to the bathroom in the dark. I had a feeling bright light would hurt right about now.

There was enough ambient light through the window. I rinsed my mouth with water from the sink and then brushed my teeth. And used mouthwash. And drank some more water. My stomach flopped around like a fish on dry land for a bit, but the water helped. Cleared my head a bit, anyway. I ran wet fingers through my hair and then scrubbed my face.

I walked out to the living room, a little unsteady on my feet. I weaved my way past the designer chairs and couch, heading towards the kitchen. My stomach had been empty since lunchtime, and something starchy might help it settle. I noticed my phone was flashing on the countertop: I had a message.

“Digger, it’s Matt. Dude, all will be forgiven, once you buy me some new shoes. Just kidding. I hope you feel better tomorrow. The girls all say hi. Call in sick and I’ll drop by after work.”

I couldn’t help but grin. Matt was a womanizing pig, but he was a good friend. I turned from the phone and went through my cupboards, finding some saltine crackers. I sat on my counter, munching on crackers, and thinking.

I was still in my suit pants and socks. I reached into my pocket and found the card Calla had given me. It was mine, all right. I had given it to her this morning, pristine and white. Now it looked like it had run a marathon or something.

“Who is she?” I asked the darkness.

Chapter 5: 8Bit Love Song

Enraged, I ran up to the car at the intersection and bodily removed the driver from it, giving him a few kicks on the ground while I was at it. I got in, gunned the engine, and ran the red.

I sped down busy city streets, rushing around vehicles, looping through holes in the traffic, and even going up on the sidewalk. I think I hit a pedestrian, but I didn’t stop.

Tires screeching, I zoomed around a corner and saw my target. I opened up with my Uzi through the passenger window, ripping bullets through the air.

“Grand Theft Auto Four?” Matt said, leaning over the back of the couch. I paused and looked back at him.

“Yeah. It’s a great stress-reliever.”

“Nice. I haven’t made time to get this one yet.” He came around the couch and sat down. He was still in his work suit, while I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I hadn’t even bothered to shave. “How are you liking the PS3?”

“It’s great. This game is so smooth, compared to earlier versions. Which were pretty kick-ass, back in the day.”

“Dude, you should totally get a Wii.”

“Why?”

“No, a Nintendo Wii.”

“What? I’m not retarded. I know what a Wii is. I mean, why should I get one?”

Matt the Pimp laughed. “Chicks dig it. Have you ever had a date want to play video games? Well, they totally groove on the Wii. It’s more active, so they think it’s fun.”

“The graphics look so shabby…”

“Graphics don’t get you laid. Ask computer nerds.”

“Good point,” I laughed.

“Come on, get dressed.” He shoved my shoulder. “It’s Friday and we are going out.”

“Think that’s a good idea? Last night didn’t end so well.”

“Whose fault is that? I didn’t tell you to drown your sorrows in a bottle. Or twenty. We’re not going to the bar, anyway. There’s a student art show at my cousin’s gallery, we can check out the talent.”

I looked up at him, wrinkling my nose and forehead. “I didn’t know you were into the art scene.”

“I’m not. But fashionable women are, and sexy young art students, and rich chicks. Come on, they’re having a wine and cheese party.”

“Because we know how much I love cheese…”

I got out of the shower and started towelling off. As I rubbed my wet hair, I thought I heard the phone.

“Can you get that?” I yelled out to Matt. I left the bathroom for the bedroom. I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. I pulled on boxers and then peeked out the bedroom door.

I could just barely see Matt and the couch; he was talking on the handset as he tried to play the video game, craning his neck to hold the phone against his shoulder.

“Yeah, no, I’m his buddy. Matt… Nice to talk to you, too…He’ll be out in a minute, if you want…Okay, I’ll pass on the message. Thanks.”

Matt hung up the phone and put it on the side table. He turned back to the PS3.

“Who was that?” I asked

“Calla Wiley.”

“WHAT?” I ran into the room, leaping onto the couch and pushed past him to reach for the phone.

“Dude, get off me!” Matt protested, pushing me and trying to move away. “You’re still kinda damp. What are you doing?”

I hit *69 and waited for the phone to dial her back. I got a busy signal. Matt disentangled himself and moved over a seat cushion.

“Crap!”

“What?” Matt asked. “She was calling from a pay phone, just wanted to see if you were in.”

“Did she leave a number?”

“No.”

I sat down on the couch, running my fingers through my hair with a groan. Matt stared at me. I beat my fists into my knees.

“She’s really crawled inside your head, huh?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess you could say that.”

Matt turned back to the video game. “Better you than me, man. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask for her number.”

“It’s not your fault. Whatever, I’m fine.” I tried to be cool. Of course, I’m not very good at that.

“Yeah, real fine.” Matt laughed. “So, you getting dressed so we can leave? Or are you coming on to me, wearing just your underwear?”

I laughed and pushed his shoulder, tipping him over a bit. “Shut up. I really don’t feel like going.”

“Oh, okay. We can stay in, drink some beers, play video games. It’ll be like college.” He concentrated on the game. “Maybe order pizza. Only condition is, you have to wear clothes.”

“Sounds great to me.” I stood up, walking towards my room to grab something to wear. “I really don’t want to see some lame art show.”

Matt waited until I was through the door. He shouted out to me:

“Not even if Calla Wiley has friends in it, and called to invite you specifically?”

Chapter 6: Story of a Girl

We took a cab to the gallery. Matt led the way as we got out.

“There’s just one thing bugging me. Didn’t this Calla chick tell you she didn’t want to see you yesterday? And not to call her back?”

I kept walking. “Yeah, so?”

“Well, aren’t you doing the exact opposite of what she said?”

I opened the door to the gallery.

“Yes, but she called me. If she didn’t want me around, she wouldn’t have called.”

Matt squinted, thinking. “Um, but she told you not to answer her calls. She sounds crazy. Are we chasing after a crazy chick? Because that’s bad mojo.”

“Mojo? Who are you, Austin Powers?” I laughed, going inside.

Matt grimaced and grabbed my arm. “I get that I’m not making sense. And I’m usually the last person to talk you out of chasing a girl. But this time: isn’t there a flaw to the logic? She’s crazy.”

“You’ve never even met her,” I laughed.

“No, but you have. Apparently three different times, and not one of them made any sense. I have a bad feeling about this.”

I tried to laugh it off, pulling my arm away from him. “Let’s just have some fun. Maybe she won’t even be here.”

Matt shrugged and followed me into the gallery. We ran into his cousin Sheila the Snob pretty quickly, as she showed off a set of photographs to some of her clients. They air-kissed, quite fashionably, and I simply smiled a hello.

“Diggory, darling, you simply must call me. My girlfriends are dying to see you again after that party at the summer house.” Sheila was all smiles, as usual. Too bad for her that I hated her dyed blonde hair and chic black dresses. All style and no substance.

“Well, Sheila, what can I say? A lawyer’s work is never done.”

Matt promised we’d check in later, and tugged me over to the cheese buffet, where it sat in artful chunks amidst fruit. I couldn’t even name all the kinds. But then, I don’t need names to enjoy wine, either, and neither of us hesitated in pouring a glass.

“So, do you see her?” Matt asked. We mingled in the crowd, faking interest in black and white photographs and weird paintings.

“Not yet.” I scanned the faces. The Fashionable Rich mingled with students from the university, some of whom were the Spoiled Rich, children of the wealthy. Then there was the fake Philanthropic Rich, looking to be someone’s benefactor. Make a donation to the university, sponsor a young career, earn some points at the country club.

Waitresses weaved through the crowd with plates of appetizers and drinks. I grabbed a few shrimp, while Matt grabbed a cocktail and some ass.

“Hey, Daphne.” He winked at an old flame as she handed out drinks, causing her to smile back.

“Daphne?” I asked.

“Three months ago, we were hot and heavy for a few weeks. Remember?”

“I’m impressed you do. Since then there’s been Amber, Yvonne, Stacey…”

“Shhhh. Daphne might hear you. I know one of us won’t be going home empty-handed.”

I groaned and wandered away. I tried to ignore the crowd, and the music in the background. I wiped Matt the Pimp and his girls from my mind. Sheila and her fake friends didn’t exist. I just let it all fall away and looked around.

I didn’t see Calla. But I did see a photograph I liked. It was of a young woman on a swing in silhouette, under a tree. The picture was black and white, so the hues of grey throughout the piece made me feel suddenly isolated and wistful. It matched my internal mood perfectly. I stood there and stared, for once letting art reach me.

“Lovely piece, isn’t it?” A voice intruded on my reverie.

“Uh, yeah.” I tried to ignore this interloper, and reconnect with the picture. I studiously stared forward, hoping they’d get the message that I wasn’t really listening to them.

“I really like the artist’s use of light. Really captures the mood.”

“Sure.” I moved a step to my right, away from the speaker. I put my left hand on my right elbow, blocking myself off, and put my right hand on my chin, as if deep in thought. Go away, I projected telepathically, hoping for once it would work.

“Its mood is almost palpable, almost sensual, don’t you think?” The voice was actually closer, as if they had leaned towards me suggestively. I realized the voice was extremely feminine and rich.

“It’s a great picture. Do you mind? I’m trying to appreciate art here.”

I turned snappishly to try to get this girl to back off, and stared into the soft grey eyes of my mystery woman. I felt the air in my lungs escape me with the subtlety of a punch in the gut, as I stopped myself from yelling at her. How could I yell at Helen of Troy?

“Speechless, Mr. Franklin? It suits you. Keeps you from embarrassing pick-up lines.”

I blushed. Calla was wearing a charcoal sweater, one of those soft ones with a big neck that covers and simultaneously opens to show a bare shoulder as a woman moves. She had black stockings and a darker skirt, with a grey pattern interweaving. She was wearing earrings, which she hadn’t before, and looked a lot less stern.

Well, either way, to me she looked beautiful.

“Miss Wiley, fancy meeting you here.”

“I invited you,” she smiled, sipping her drink.

“Right.” I hit my forehead. “Should I just insert my foot in my mouth now? It seems like it belongs there.”

Surprisingly, I was rewarded with laughter. It was a cheerful, joyous sound. I’d never appreciated laughter before.

Crap, I had it bad. I wondered how long it would be before I was growing my hair long, sitting under trees and writing sonnets. I wondered how long after that it would be before Matt was slapping me upside the head and taking me to Vegas to look at strippers and showgirls. I had to get my head together.

“So, why did you invite me?” I asked, smiling at her. “It was quite unexpected.”

Calla sipped her wine, looking up at me. “Well, the way you blew our first meeting was kind of cute. I figured maybe you deserved a second chance.”

“Or a third and fourth?” I asked.

She laughed again. “Why, do you think it will take that many tries to make a good impression?”

Chapter 7: Don't Get Mad, Get Even

I smiled and shrugged.

“I get the feeling I’m not anything like the guys you typically date. I figure it will take maybe a half a dozen ‘first meetings’ before I make any kind of good impression.”

“I don’t ‘typically’ date anyone, so you needn’t be concerned with that. You’re not like the other physics majors I know, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

I listened to Calla talk. I heard what she was saying. But, God forgive me, I heard Matt translating in my head. Years of association, and he had filled my head with his ideas about what women were really saying. Calla’s protestations about a lack of dating would mean one thing to Matt the Pimp.

“I’m single and available, and bored with the guys I know.”

“So you wouldn’t be opposed to getting to know a lawyer?” I smiled, “We’re culturally acceptable on a level with rats.”

“Like I said, I don’t date. But some of my best friends in the lab are rats, so I don’t have a problem with getting to know you.” Calla smiled again.

Matt’s translation: “I may be saying I’m not dating, but I’m not really saying ‘no’ either. Try harder, dummy!”

“How are you friends with rats?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have residences at universities deteriorated since I was a student?”

“Not at all, I just spend time in a biology lab as a research assistant.”

“I thought you were in physics?”

“For my doctorate, sure. But I had a double major as an undergraduate, and one of my old professors got me the job with a colleague of his. Besides, we use rats in some of the physics labs too. Research is research, and I’m good at it.”

I smiled. “You should be a lawyer. I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t know if my rat friends would have much to do with me if I became a lawyer. They have high standards.”

A joke. In Matt’s world that would translate as Now we’re getting somewhere, keep trying.

Her grin and tone forced me to laugh. I couldn’t help adoring this girl.

“So you like the photo?” She asked.

“I think it’s lovely.”

“My friend Bianca took it. She’s quite talented.”

“Do you know the girl in the picture? I can’t see her face, but she seems so melancholy.”

“Melancholy? My, your expensive law school professors must be proud.”

“It just seems like the right word.” I shrugged.

“I’m teasing. That’s me.”

“In the picture? Are you kidding?”

“Not at all. I was visiting Bianca early this summer at her parents’ cottage, and she took that while I was sitting on the swing, thinking.”

“What were you thinking about?”

She shrugged herself. “I don’t know. That was months ago.”

Calla stepped to the next picture, and I had no choice but to accompany her.

“Are you much into art?”

“Well, I’m trying to support my friend. She’s very talented, in my opinion.” Calla looked around at the rest of the student work. “I can’t say that anything else really catches my eye. But then, I’m no expert.”

Matt the Pimp caught my eye from behind Calla, where he was chatting with a few students. He gestured like he was about to come over. I gave a brief shake of my head, “no,” and tried to telepathically scream for him not to approach.

Matt excused himself from the young ladies and came right over. Goddamn telepathy. Why do you only work in movies and comic books?

Calla turned to the new presence at her elbow. While she looked away, I waved my hands at Matt, my eyes wide. “Nooo” I mouthed.

He said it anyway. “So, are you going to introduce me to this crazy chick?”

I ran my hand over my face. Calla put one hand on her hip and the other held out her glass, forcing Matt back a step.

“Excuse me?”

Matt caught my eye. “I mean, the chick that’s making my friend so crazy.”

I waved my hands more fervently. That wasn’t helping either, I didn’t want him advertising how much I liked Calla.

“Chick? Does anyone talk like that?” Calla looked at me. I immediately dropped my hands to my sides.

“You’ll have to forgive my friend, Matthew. He was raised by wolves and has no manners.” Matt raised an eyebrow at me and mouthed the word “hot” behind Calla’s back. I glared at him.

“Is he the one who teaches you the bad pick-up lines?” Calla glanced at Matt.

“Shut up,” I mouthed to him. That worked as well as telepathy.

“I teach him the good ones. Digger just screws them up. He’s known for tripping over his own tongue.” Matt smiled, “I’ve gotten us off to a bad start. Please forgive me. I’m Matthew Pinard, my friends call me ‘Matt.’ I hope, if you’re going to be friends with Digger, that we can get along.”

Damn the bastard and his silver tongue. Calla softened a little.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” she said. She smiled at me. “So you’re a gentleman despite bad company?”

“I think I’m only a gentleman by comparison. Find a real one, and I probably look like a dumb schmuck,” I joked, recovering my wits.

“The way pretty girls highlight themselves by having fat friends.” Matt nodded sagely. My eyes widened, promising revenge. He blinked. “I think I’m going to go now.”

Matt the Pimp with the Big Mouth wandered back through the crowd. Calla laughed as he went and then turned back to me.

“He’s your friend?”

“Since we were small. I kind of can’t get rid of him.”

“He’s charming.”

“Really?”

“In the way that the racism in Huckleberry Finn is charming.”

Chapter 8: Girl on a Swing

“I’m not sure I follow.” I looked at Calla Wiley with some confusion.

Calla smiled. “Well, I guess I mean that Mark Twain is a great writer, and can’t quite help reflecting the biases of his age. I’m certainly not going to hold it against him. Your friend seems to think being male constitutes being macho, which is quite out of date.”

“Ohhhh,” I replied knowingly and brilliantly.

“In other words, he’s entertaining but I wouldn’t want to live with him.”

“Got it.” I smiled. “I did live with him, in college, and it’s not pretty.”

“Sometime we’ll have to exchange room-mate horror stories. I could tell you things about Bianca that would turn your hair white!” Calla giggled.

“Does that mean you’ll see me again?” I pounced.

She kind of tilted her eyes to one side and I could see a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Well… Maybe we’ll run into each other and have coffee.”

“Or you’ll call me again?”

“Maybe,” She smiled, shrugging.

“Or, we could try something really radical. Unprecedented, even. You could give your number to me, and then I could call you.”

Calla looked up at me, and her grey eyes drew me in. I could see that she was going to acquiesce. It was there, bright and sparkling in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Hey, there you are!” A bouncy blonde appeared at her elbow, her hair plaited with braids and beads. “My parents finally showed up, they want to say hi.”

“Bianca,” Calla said, turning to her friend in a daze, “Have you met Diggory Franklin?”

“The lawyer? He actually came?” Bianca turned to me and shook hands vigorously. “Nice to meet you, dude. Do you mind if I steal Calla?”

I barely blinked, and they were off through the crowd.

“Oh, come on!” I said.

I weaved through the small groups of art-aficionados, trying to spot either Calla or Bianca. Everyone was clustered around, chatting and sipping wine. I couldn’t sort out which way they had gone. The buzz of conversations made it impossible to just start yelling and hope they’d find me. I tried shouting once, and all I got for my efforts was the stare-down from some wealthy dowager.

“Dude, do you have epilepsy or something?” Matt the Pimp appeared at my elbow, smiling as I waved my arms at people to move out of the way.

“Dude, you have an Ivy League education. Why do you always say ‘dude,’ huh?”

“Someone’s having a bad day. Did you miss your nap? Do you want a cookie?”

“Not now! I’m trying to find Calla.”

“She disappeared again? The girl must have trained with Houdini.”

“Do you actually know who that is, or are you repeating something you’ve heard someone else say?”

“Couldn’t pull it off?”

“No. But then, I know you. In history class you once put ‘Babe-raham Lincoln’ as the answer to a question about the first president.”

“So I spelled it wrong! That teacher couldn’t take a joke.”

“Matt. George Washington.”

“The dude on the dollar? No way. Lincoln is on the penny because he was first. One cent, first. Right?”

I started walking away, shaking my head.

Matt rushed to keep up, talking over the crowd. He was persistent, I’ll give him that.

“Anyway, Digger, I came over to tell you: Daphne is off in twenty minutes, and I’m taking her home. You can come and meet her roomie, Petra, or you can stay here chasing the Elusive Femme. It’s up to you.”

I turned back to him. “Matt, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in Barbie Two. I’m looking for Calla, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Dude, Petra! Who’s Barbie?” Matt called out to me as I wandered away through the crowd.

I went from room to room. It didn’t help that every room of the gallery had white walls and bright lights, and was filled with posh people looking at pictures. I lost track of which room I had found Calla in, and which way I had seen her go. None of the pictures made good landmarks, so I couldn’t tell if I had been somewhere before if I got turned around wandering through a crowd of people.

Okay, part of that problem might have been four glasses of wine earlier in the evening, but only part of it.

I began to think that Matt the Pimp had been right. Which was a sign of how low my morale was at that point, Matt was rarely a person known for his wisdom. But, maybe I was trying too hard to find a connection with a girl I barely knew, and who had been a major pain in the ass over the last two days. Her behaviour was erratic, and circumstances seemed to conspire to keep us apart.

“Either she’s crazy or I am,” I mumbled to myself.

And then I saw it. Something familiar and comforting in a world of chaos, and it brought hope with it. I found the photo of Calla. The lonely girl on a swing that I felt I had so much in common with.

I pushed through the mass of people, which was finally starting to thin out as the evening waned. I didn’t want someone else to get there first. I stood before the photograph, staring at hope. There was a tiny piece of paper taped to the frame.

I pulled it off carefully and unfolded the little scrap. I found a telephone number and a smiley face written inside.

Chapter 9: When a Man's in Love

Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful. All was right with the world. I had successfully flirted with one Calla Wiley and obtained her telephone number without any new craziness cropping up. I stood before the wide windows of my skyscraper apartment, watching the sun come up with a smile.

I wondered if I should call her for breakfast? No, we’d both had late nights. She deserved to sleep in. Maybe I could call at lunchtime? Well, maybe it was too soon. Calling the very next day could come across as desperate. Where was Matt when I needed him? He might not know George Washington from Abraham Lincoln, but he could smell desperation from a mile away.

I decided to call him instead. Besides, I had silently promised revenge last night, and waking him at this early hour was a nice first step.

It rang three times before he picked up.

“Wha?”

“Good morning, Matthew! How are you this wonderful day? I woke up early to see the sunrise, and thought you’d like to share in it!”

“Who the fu… Mr. Rogers? Take your sunrise and shove it up your ass!”

“Matt, it’s Digger. Good morning.”

“What the hell, man, it’s like six-thirty. What are you doing?”

“Payback, my friend. Couldn’t keep your mouth shut last night, could you?” I was gleeful.

“What? That chick? So what? That wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. I respectfully disagree. I wave my victory in your face: she gave me her number!”

“Whoop-te-doo. I’m in bed with Petra and Daphne right now.”

There’s nothing like news like that from your best friend to dampen your victorious spirit. “Thanks for raining on my parade.”

“Dude, I think it’s cute you thought her number was such a big deal. Seriously, that’s sweet. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”

Matt hung up and I sat down on the edge of my (empty) bed.

“Son of a bitch.”

I am a creature of habit. I really enjoy routines. Every weekday morning I get coffee at the same place, go to work at the same time, work my butt off until I’m the last to leave. I go to the same bar almost every Friday with the same people. I buy my newspaper at the same corner every day. The only variations in routine are forced on me by random circumstances, like the occasional business trip or an invitation from my parents. Or random people, like Matt, who take pleasure in disrupting organized lives.

So, I did the same thing that Saturday morning that I do every Saturday. I watched cartoons and ate cereal. The only real difference between an adult Saturday and the one I enjoyed as a child was that now, I had a big screen plasma television all to myself. Oh, and I stopped eating Fruit Loops in favour of a healthy oat and bran thing.

I lounged on my couch in just boxers and a t-shirt, enjoying a lazy morning. I would go jogging in the afternoon and do some working out, before catching up on paperwork or planning my week. But Saturday and Sunday mornings were really my only inactive times. I kept myself busy the rest of the week, with work or my routine social engagements.

The telephone rang at about eleven o’clock, reminding me of one of those social obligations.

“Hello, Mother.” I said, checking the caller ID before picking up.

“Good morning, Diggory dear. Are you coming for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, Mother. I haven’t forgotten.”

“You work so hard, dear, I don’t see you nearly enough. I don’t fully understand it. Your father owns the company, your future is assured. You could take some time off now and again.”

“Yes, Mother. I know. I like working, it keeps me busy.”

I didn’t know how to explain to her that I resented my cozy, assured future. And I didn’t want my peers to resent me for just assuming it. I had some desire to actually deserve it. It was a conversation my mother and I had repeated many times, with neither one of us getting anywhere.

“Well, I don’t want you working too hard. You need to have some fun, too. I do want grandchildren some day, you know.” I thought to myself, Subtle, Mom.

“Yes, Mother. I will see you tomorrow at the club. Don’t worry about me, Mother. Have a great day.”

I decided to go jogging early, just to get away from the phone. I changed into running shorts and sneakers, and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. September was almost over, and the air was getting cooler. I headed out, locking up behind me, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

I jogged lightly down the street for two blocks, until I reached the park around the corner. I would run a few laps, work up a good sweat, and then head back to my apartment to work out. I had my own equipment in one of the spare bedrooms.

The air was crisper than the past few weeks, despite the warm sun. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be running in snow. I loved the outdoors, and refused to run on treadmills. It was the one piece of equipment I refused to purchase. I ran without a cell phone, without a wristwatch. For an hour or so, I was free.

I got back in a good sweat, and ready for my workout. I passed through the kitchen first, grabbing a bottle of designer water from the refrigerator. There was a message on my phone, blinking away. I hit the button as I drank.

“Hi, Mr. Franklin. Um, Diggory. I don’t know what to call you, we’re not quite on a first-name basis, are we? Well, maybe we are.”

My eyes went wide as I stared at the telephone.

“It’s me, Calla. Calla Wiley. I guess you’re not in? I’m sorry I disappeared last night, Bianca’s parents were really proud of her and took us out for drinks… Like you care about that. I’m sorry I’m rambling on your phone. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I didn’t take off on purpose, but I really wanted to see them, it’s been months. I’d like to hear from you. I mean, I hope you found my number on the picture… I left it for you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d find it. I hope you did. I hope you call.”

I reached for the phone.

Chapter 10: Chess

“…have reached Bianca and Calla. Unless you’re an axe murderer, in which case, we won’t call you back, leave a message at the BEEP.”

I checked the time on the clock on the stove. It was just past twelve. I looked at my phone display. Calla had called at half past eleven. She could have gone out to lunch, or she was in the shower, I might have just missed her.

“Hi, yeah, uh, this is Diggory Franklin, just returning your call.” I had no idea what to say. “Sorry I missed you… Call me back.”

Smooth, Digger, really smooth. If the romantic words I chose don’t convince her to call me, I’m sure it will be because of the irresistible sound of my stuttering voice. Why did this girl make me feel like I was twelve?

I hung up the phone and headed off for my workout. After all, that was all I really had planned for the day. A light lunch and then there were files to go over. My life as a lawyer. Yay, me.

I took my frustration out on the weights, pushing my maximum and grinding my teeth. I slammed my arms up on the bench press, making the metal plates of my weight machine clang and rattle. Back and forth, up and down, I pushed myself hard. I made my muscles ache and asked for more. I had to get this out of my head, be a man about it. She was just some weird girl.

Eventually lactic acid made me quit. I took a long, hot shower and just let the water beat down on me like a rainstorm, drowning out thought. I took my paperwork into the living room and went over files meticulously. I worked at it, single-minded.

Okay, I lied. I glanced at the phone an average of twice every five minutes, willing her to call. I felt like an ass.

“Screw it.” I threw down my pen and stormed away from the papers, heading off to my bedroom. I started looking for clothes. I got rid of my dirty t-shirt and shorts, opting for slacks and a nice sweater. I marched back into the living room and found my wallet. I locked up and rode the elevator down.

“No way am I just sitting around, waiting for some chick to call,” I muttered under my breath, thinking that this was the same advice Matt would give. Not that I wanted to talk to him right now, either. It was more just a need to get moving, and not be a wuss.

I hailed a cab and had it take me downtown. I window-shopped, mostly just walking around and occasionally looking into a store so it seemed like I had a reason to be there. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, more just wanting to find something that might take my mind off this problem.

A problem that shouldn’t even have been a problem! I hardly knew Calla, and she hadn’t been part of my life two days ago. I hadn’t known she existed. Now, she was all I could think about, and for no good reason! I scoffed out loud.

“Bullshit!”

“What’s that?” An elderly gentleman said. He was sitting at a café table, enjoying a cup of something hot. It smelled like tea. There was a chess set on the table.

“Oh, pardon me, sir! I wasn’t speaking to you.”

“Talking to yourself? Never a good sign. Something the matter?”

“Nothing. That’s what’s the matter. I’m mad about nothing.” I laughed at myself.

The older gentleman raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow. Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea? Maybe that would help.”

I shook my hand in the air. “No, no, that’s okay. You don’t want to hear about it, anyway.”

“Well, suit yourself.” He shrugged, and turned towards the chess game.

“Are you playing yourself?” I asked.

“No. My friend and I enjoy a good game, now and then.”

I stared at the empty chair across from him, wondering if he was senile. Then I had a more obvious solution. “Is your friend inside?”

“No.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “You know that’s an empty chair, right?”

The old man laughed. “Of course. My friend lives in Boston, we play chess by mail. I like to sit with a nice tea and think about my next move.”

“Isn’t that slow? Haven’t you heard of the Internet?”

“Of course. But I really don’t want to bother with it. Sometimes tradition is nice. Faster doesn’t always mean better. And besides, this gives me more time to think. He’s a very good chess player.”

“My grandfather taught me to play ages ago. I remember it as a challenging game. I haven’t had time to for it in ages though.”

“Would you like to play?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you and your friend,” I grinned. “And I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No bother. After all, his move is on paper, and I can get back to him anytime I like. Sit down.”

On the spur of the moment, I decided to sit. I pulled up to the table, and we set up the board.

“What’s your name, son?”

“I’m Diggory. Diggory Franklin.” We shook hands.

“I’m Hank Wilson. Good to meet you. Diggory, eh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”

“Yeah, that was my mother’s idea. She read it in a book once.”

We started the game, moving pawns about.

“Do you happen to know which book?”

“Not really,” I said, moving a knight into play. “I don’t read much.”

He grunted. “No time for chess, you don’t read, you prefer the Internet to letters. Sounds like you live a busy life.”

“Well, I guess. I’m a lawyer, I put in a lot of hours.”

“A lawyer? Your parents must be very proud.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sure they are.”

Hank appraised me from across the board. “So, is that the trouble you were complaining about?”

“My parents? No. Furthest thing from my mind.”

“Ah, then it’s a woman.” Hank tapped his temple. “I knew it.”

“What makes you say that?”

Chapter 11: Thinking about Things (I think too much)

“Well, what else could it be? You’re young, storming about. I know what it’s like when a young lady turns a man’s blood to boiling. I was your age once.” Hank smiled.

“It’s not that. I mean, it is. But it’s not.”

“Young love,” Hank chortled, making a move on the chessboard.

“I’m not in love!” I almost yelled. “Sorry. Well, I’m not. I just met her two days ago. I hardly know her. That’s what I’m upset about.”

“I don’t follow.” Hank sipped his tea.

“Well, I don’t know her. There’s no reason for me to be thinking about her all day long. Absolutely none. I want her out of my head!”

Hank laughed again, shaking his head. “Ah, young man, to be in your shoes. When you’re old like me, you’ll appreciate this day a little more. You’ve got passion, and the chance at adventure. You should follow it, see where it leads you.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I have plans of my own, work to do. She has her own life, and it seems pretty busy. I don’t think…”

“You do think. You think too much. Why not just enjoy it? Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may!”

“Pardon?”

“I forgot, you don’t read.” Hank rested his chin on his hand, thinking. His white eyebrows furrowed with his wrinkled brow, as he sat deep in contemplation. “I’m trying to say, seize the day! You have the rest of your life to grow old, make money, work hard… You’re young. Follow your heart, while you can. When you’re an old fart like me, you’ll have grand memories, instead of regrets.”

I stared at the chessboard. “Do you have many regrets?”

“Not a one.” Hank smiled. Then, he winked. “But then, I chased the love of my life until I caught her.”

I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling a stranger all this.”

“Me either,” Hank grinned. “Your friends must be unreliable.”

“Have you met Matt?” I laughed. “He’d tell me to go get drunk.”

“That’s the last thing you should do. Highly melodramatic, and unworthy of a hero.”

“Hero?”

“Every man is the hero of his own life story. When you sit back as an old man, with a cup of tea, you need to be proud of your stories. No regrets, remember?”

I smiled. “Thanks, Hank. Maybe I should come to you instead of Matt when I have problems.”

“Well, I’m here most Saturdays. That chair should usually be open.” Hank smiled. “Now, shut up and finish the game. I want to see how this one turns out.”

Hank kicked my butt. However, I had a lot of fun. I grabbed dinner from a hotdog vendor on a corner and walked home. I intentionally ignored my telephone and went into the living room, sitting on the couch and watching the news.

The television was mostly just for background. I thought about what Hank said, but I wasn’t really willing to trust the word of some old coot. I mean, I got what he was saying about following your heart. Every movie ever made seems to have that theme. I just didn’t know if it applied to the situation with Calla.

It would be really nice to just be adventurous, like Hank said. Fall in love, take some risks, make life something amazing… Everyone wants that, right? Too bad that real life wasn’t like the movies. My own parents proved that. Rich, successful, and miserable. I didn’t want to end up like that.

I spread my arms over the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling with a groan. I also didn’t want to get involved with something crazy. Calla was so complicated. Aloof and stern one day, sweet and flirtatious the next. Kissing me and threatening me, sort of. Warning me away from herself, certainly. And then calling me. This was so messed up.

But, that kiss…

I had called her already today. The ball was in her court, as the old saying goes. Either she called me back (or had already, and it was waiting on the machine) or she didn’t. If she did, I’d just make my next play accordingly. Yeah, that was it. I’d just go with the flow. If she was interested, I’d try again. If she didn’t put forth the effort, I’d move on. I’d only bring up the craziness if she did. Otherwise, it was no big deal. Casual and calm, that was the plan.

I felt better already, having come up with even that much of a course of action. I hated uncertainty. Like I said, I enjoyed my routines.

I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I reached for the phone to order pizza. I was going to veg out on the couch and watch sports or a movie. Clear my mind of all thought.

On an impulse, I decided to check my messages.

“Diggory, it’s your father. My secretary has informed me that you missed work on Friday. That’s unfortunate, because I put a very important file on your desk that morning. I just got back from an overnight trip to Denver, and learned of your absence. I expect you to bring that file to Sunday’s luncheon, whether you’re still sick or not. Bring flowers for your mother.”

He hung up. I slammed the phone down on the receiver.

So much for my lazy Saturday. I hurried down to the street and hailed a cab.

The lobby of the building was locked, of course, but I had my own keys and security pass. I rode the elevator up to my office floor, and got off. I marched to my corner office and unlocked the door, hurrying inside. I saw a thick manila file on my desk. I picked up the phone.

“Security desk.”

“Hey, Joe. It’s Diggory Franklin, I just wanted to let you know I’m in the law department, picking up some files. In case you saw some creep wandering through your camera screens.”

“No problem, Mr. Franklin. Thanks for letting us know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Joe.”

I hung up. The display showed there were four missed calls. Which meant calls after hours, as Lorraine would have taken anything while she was here.

Who would have called? I punched the code for messages.

Chapter 12: Welcome to the Life

“Hello? Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. Pick up, pick up, pick up… You’re not there. Where are you? Come on, pick up. Okay, I’ll call back.”

It was Calla’s voice. She called my office on Friday, apparently. But why? She had reached me at home earlier, and invited me to the gallery.

The next message started. “Where are you? Are you avoiding me? I hope you’re avoiding me. I hope you’re avoiding me instead of just busy or something. I told you to avoid me. That’s good. But you might just be grabbing food or something. I hate this. I’ll call back.”

She sounded really upset. Why hadn’t she mentioned calling my office when I saw her that night?

“Frank? Are you there? Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up at all. Stay away from me. I probably sound crazy to you, but that’s the best reason to stay away, isn’t it? Whatever you do, don’t pick up if I call.” Click.

I wondered if she took medication. Maybe she was bipolar, and forgot her meds sometimes? She seemed so paranoid one minute, and so normal the next. There had been no hint of this anxiety at the gallery. We had flirted and joked…

I felt uneasy. I really didn’t want to get involved with this girl, if this was how she’d be acting. She needed help. Why did she keep calling me Frank all the time?

The fourth message started:

“Mr. Franklin, it’s Lorraine Bowden. I just got a message from your father’s secretary that he left an important folder on your desk. I tried you at home, but there was no answer. I’m trying the office just in case you’ve headed over there. I wanted to apologize for not having checked for it, I’m usually much more thorough. I left early on Friday, since you didn’t need me.”

I checked the display. Lorraine had called about ten minutes before I walked through the door. I decided to call her back. But, while I dialled, I had a thought.

As crazy as she sounded, it made sense that Calla had called my office. That was the number on the card I gave her, after all. My home number wasn’t on it. How had she called my apartment?

I dialled Lorraine.

“Hello, Bowden residence.”

“Lorraine, it’s Diggory. Just returning your call. I got that file you mentioned.”

“Oh, Mr. Franklin. Good, thank you for touching base. Your father’s office was very insistent that you get it.”

“Don’t worry about leaving early Friday. I certainly don’t expect you to sit around while I’m off sick. It’s my fault I didn’t get the file, not yours. Have a nice weekend.”

“You too, sir.” Lorraine’s voice sounded unsure.

“Is there a problem, Lorraine?”

“No, sir. Just that, well, you don’t seem yourself.”

I laughed. “How so?”

“No offence, Mr. Franklin, but you’re a slave-driver. It’s one of the reasons I like working with you, you’re as tough as I am. But lately, you’ve been, well, nice.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, sir! Just unexpected.”

“I’ll try to toughen up by Monday. It’s been an odd week.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Lorraine? Did anyone call for me on Friday?”

“There were several messages. I updated your calendar with next week’s appointments. Oh, and you received a personal call.”

“Personal?”

“Well, I assumed as much. It wasn’t regarding business. A young lady called with an invitation to a gallery showing, but I informed her that you weren’t in the office.”

I drummed my fingers on the desk.

“You didn’t give her my home number, did you?”

“Certainly not, sir. I never share your personal information.”

“Thank you, Lorraine, I do appreciate that. It’s just that the young lady in question called at my home later on Friday, and I wondered how she got hold of the number.”

“Oh, well, you can thank Mr. Pinard for that, sir.”

“Matt?”

“Yes, sir. He dropped by the office to see if you were in.”

I laughed to myself. Matt had suggested I stay home. It was just like him to show up, feigning ignorance, to create plausible deniability for himself. And, to give me an alibi. No one would accuse me of faking sick, if my best friend showed up wondering where I was.

“What does that have to do with the young lady?”

“He took her number from me, in case you wanted it. I assume he may have called her on your behalf, since you were sick. He’s the most likely suspect for providing her with your number, sir.”

“Excellent logic, Lorraine. Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”

That wily bastard! He had set me up, knowing full well that Calla would be at the gallery. I wondered why. Matt had tried talking me out of seeing her.

But then, he was a bit of a prankster. He probably wanted to see the drama play itself out. Matt couldn’t resist butting in on my business, ever since we were young. I bet he enjoyed every second of it.

I’d have to thank him at lunch the next day. And, start plotting my revenge.

I picked up the folder from my desk and turned for the door. As I did, the telephone started to ring. On a Saturday.

“Hello? Lorraine?”

“Frank? Oh, thank God! Frank, don’t speak, just listen. Ignore all my calls. Stay the hell away from me, okay? No matter what, just don’t answer if I call. I’m so glad I reached you. You need to listen to me about this. I know I probably sound crazy, but it’s for your own good. Stay away!”

“Calla? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think you need to talk to someone about it, but the next time we speak, I’m sure things will be fine.”

“No, you dumb jerk! If you pick up the phone the next time I call, there’s a good chance you’ll end up causing your own death! Exactly one year after I call you, you die! Your only hope is to never speak to me again!”

Chapter 13: Jerk

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Frank, just listen. Stay away. Please. I love you too much…” Calla’s voice went soft, fading out. She hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to figure her out.

What the hell was the matter with her? Dead in a year? Was she on drugs?

I took my file and left the office, heading down the elevator and out through the lobby. I didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. I had work to do.

I rode in the back of a cab, reading over the files my father had left. They outlined a big real estate deal in Colorado, he was expanding the company again. I suppose he wanted me to go over the legalities. Contracts, property law, terms…

The cabbie let me out and I went up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I had to get some energy out of my system. Calla had me all worked up. I ran, squeezing the folder in my hand.

My footsteps clattered in the stairwell, echoing. I pushed myself hard, working up a sweat. My thighs burned as I reached my high floor, gasping for air. I lumbered towards my apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I lurched to the fridge and grabbed some water.

“Crazy girl,” I muttered between gulps. “Crazy.”

I went into my personal gym and worked out until I was exhausted, and could fall into bed. I fell asleep immediately, happily falling into a dreamless oblivion.

“Rise and shine!” A voice said, opening my curtains and letting in blaring sunlight.

“What the?” I groaned, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the voice.

“I’m so glad you gave me a key,” Matt the Pimp said, tossing the pillow back and hitting me square in the head. “Get up. We’re going to the club today, remember?”

“For lunch,” I mumbled, rolling over. “Our parents. Screw off till later.”

“Dude, it’s past ten. I called this morning, since I know you’re usually up early, and decided to come over when there was no answer.”

“So glad for your concern,” I might have said. Instead, I threw the pillow at him again, hitting him in the leg. “Bite me.”

“Wow, such language! And you’re not hung-over or anything. What is with you?”

“I’m just tired. Go away.”

“Digger, I’m your ride to the country club. Let’s go. Before our parents kill us for being late.”

“Since when are we twelve years old? I thought we were grown-ups now.”

“Says the man throwing pillows like a child.”

“Shut up.”

I pulled myself together and showered quickly. I came out of my room, dressed in a “Good Son” sweater, tie and dress pants, I found that Matt had thoughtfully made breakfast.

“Pop Tarts,” he handed me the warm pastry and ushered me out the door. We rode down in the elevator, and I chewed.

“I like Toaster Strudels myself,” Matt said.

“Me too,” I agreed, “I usually put the Pop Tarts in the fridge.”

“What?”

“Trust me. It makes the fruit filling and the icing taste better. Hot, they’re just dry and gross.”

“I never would have thought of that.”

“You don’t think of a lot of things. We need to pick up flowers for our mothers.”

“Why?”

“Why, he asks. Because she’s your mom. And, my father told me I have to. I don’t want to make you look bad.”

Matt looked me up and down. “Digger, nobody makes me look bad. I always look good in comparison.”

I shoved him with a laugh.

We got into Matt the Pimp’s shiny Porsche and he whirled us around the corner and down the street. We stopped at a flower shop quickly.

Matt went straight for the roses. We usually did that, because they were really the only flowers we knew the names for. I stopped, however, looking at a display of elegant white flowers.

“What are you doing?” He said, holding up yellow roses. “Let’s go.”

“They’re called Calla Lilies.”

“Shut up!” Matt pushed me, sending me towards the roses. “Grab a bouquet and move it. She’s just some girl.”

I bought some white roses and we headed out the door. I looked back though, from the window. I wondered if Miss Wiley liked the flowers she was named after? I thought about buying her some, the look on her face, taking her to dinner…

“Dude, seriously, if you turn into a chick, I’m going to punch you,” Matt growled as he steered.

“I can’t help how I feel.”

“Yes, you can. She’s a psycho crazy chick who you met on, what, Thursday? She’s nobody. You know how you get over shit like that?”

“How?”

“After lunch, we go out, get drunk, and find some hot chicks.” Matt smiled, “That works every time.”

“I think that was your answer to failing tests in college, smashing up your dad’s car, and the time you lost that money at the track.”

“I said it works every time. It does. I always feel better after I get laid.”

I shook my head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”

“One thing I pride myself on is consistency. I’ve been getting laid consistently since I was fourteen. You wish you had my numbers.”

I stared out the window.

“Yeah, I used to.”

Chapter 14: They Sold Me Out

Matt drove his Porsche like he did everything else. Recklessly and fast, with a smile on his face. I envied him. He didn’t care about consequences, or rules, he just found life enjoyable. I wondered what it was like to feel so unconstrained.

“You’re a sociopath,” I told him with a grin.

“What, like Silence of the Lambs?”

“No, I think that’s a psychopath. Sociopaths don’t necessarily kill people. They just don’t really have an interest in their feelings, or society’s rules.”

“Why would I follow anyone else’s rules? I’m rich.”

He took us through the country club gates, and along the private road. A valet parked our car. Given the marvellous architecture, and the wealth of the place’s patrons, I could see why Matt felt above the normal world. We had been born to privilege.

We entered the elegant dining room of the country club, and, like dutiful sons, kissed our mothers on their cheeks and gave them their roses.

“What nice boys,” some other dowager enthused. Our mothers smiled for their little crowd, oohing and aahhing over the flowers.

“Thank you, Matthew.”

“Why, Diggory, thank you darling!”

My father gave me a nod, and I sat down. I had done as I was told.

Wine glasses were filled, waiters handed out menus. Sunlight streamed in through the big windows. Outside, you could see the green grass and trees of the manicured golf course. All I could smell was the perfume of old ladies. Our mothers wore fancy dresses and pearls. Our fathers showed up in well-tailored suits.

There was mild chitchat while the meal was served. Gourmet salads, tasty soups, dishes of chicken, lamb and veal. I imagined that the bill would be as much as some families spent on groceries in a month, maybe more.

The “grown-ups” discussed news and politics. My father mentioned his business trip. Matt’s dad told us about his latest feats of cardio-thoracic genius, as the head of the hospital’s surgery department. We sat there, eternal children who were merely props in their successful lives. Our role was to make them look good, and to only speak when spoken too.

“So, Matthew, are you seeing anyone special?” Mrs. Pinard asked. “I’m still waiting to hear you’ve found the love of your life.”

“I haven’t found her yet, Mom. Though I have been seeing a couple of nice girls.” Matt the Pimp winked at me. I realized he meant Petra and Daphne from the other night, and was trying to get a rise out of me.

“And you, Diggory?” My mother asked.

“Uh, no, not really…”

“Oh, come on, Digger. Tell them about that young lady at the gallery.” Matt grinned. I glared at him.

“Oh? Who’s this?” Mrs. Pinard asked, her interest piqued. She loved gossip. “Anyone we know?”

“I don’t think so… She’s just a young lady from the university…” I stammered, shooting laser beams out of my eyes towards Matt.

“Oh, don’t be so modest! She’s a graduate student in physics, studying with the top minds in her field,” Matt the Traitor started to charm the crowd. “I imagine you’ll be hearing about her in a few years, for Nobels and the like. She’s brilliant. Tell them, Digger.”

“I really don’t… She’s… Well, I don’t know her that well yet.” I shrugged, hating being on the spot like this. I promised myself some bloody revenge. “We met earlier this week, and she invited me to her friend’s gallery showing.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Matt said enthusiastically. “I almost forgot. Sheila’s gallery, Mom, you know the one. They did a student art show, and Sheila tells me that this young lady was a model for some of the artists.”

“Just her room-mate, Bianca.” I finally had something I could state for certain. “She’s very talented.”

“What’s this young lady’s name?” My mother had to ask.

“Calla. Calla Wiley.”

I could see my mother processing this. I almost laughed, it reminded me of Matt searching his mental Rolodex. She put a hand on my father’s arm, leaning in closely.

“Do we know the Wileys?” She turned to my father in a stage whisper. Which meant that she strongly questioned Calla’s upbringing, background and wealth, and wanted everyone to know it, but was pretending to be discreet.

“No, dear.” My father looked at me with his appraising stare. He stroked his steel-grey, well-trimmed beard. “Perhaps they’re West Coast people.”

“I really don’t know,” I said, “We just met this past week. It’s not the big deal that Matt is making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Matt said. “You should have seen his excitement when she called.”

I kicked Matt under the table. He grinned at me through gritted teeth. What are you doing? I tried to mentally scream at him.

“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Franklin, your Diggory is far more likely to settle down than I am. I’m sure there will be little Diggorys running around in no time, making you a happy grandmother. Sorry, Mom, I just haven’t found a young lady that impresses me as much as Diggory’s new romance.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Matthew, you’re such a good friend.” Mrs. Pinard cooed over her son.

Somehow, Matt had impressed my parents as well. My mother in particular looked very pleased. The slimy snake had scored himself points with the parents, impressed my mother with Calla before having met her, and got everyone to leave us both alone about the marriage thing. Not to mention making me unbelievably uncomfortable and about three inches tall in the process. Sneaky.

I wondered what it was like to have Matt as an enemy instead of a friend.

Chapter 15: Cat's Cradle

We drove back to the city in silence. I rarely even glanced in his direction. However, Matt had a smug little smile every time I did. He obviously didn’t feel the least bit sorry.

No matter. I’d find a way to make him pay. I remembered a summer at camp, when we were maybe eleven years old. Matt had soaked me in my bed with a bucket of lake water. Later, I had pulled down his pants on stage during a talent show. Payback was part of the deal in our friendship.

“You are so dead!” I promised, punching him in the arm. He swerved the car into the next lane, and then back again, laughing the whole time as we cut someone off and they honked their horn.

“Digger, you’re hilarious,” he chuckled. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. I’m not even dating Calla.”

“No, but if you do, your mother will like her. If you don’t, it buys you some time before they ask about your love life again. Either way, they’re off our backs.”

“Screw you. You enjoyed every minute of it.”

“I did.” He laughed again. “You should have seen the look on your face!”

“Jerk,” I laughed, feeling about twelve again, when we would play pranks on family members and maids. Matt made everything fun.

“We are so immature,” I chuckled.

“Hey, it’s better than turning into our fathers. I don’t think they smiled once the whole time through lunch.”

“Yeah, well, it’s always been like that. I’m still getting you back.”

“What are you talking about? I’m just claiming payment for my shoes!”

“That’s what this was about? You acted like a dick with Calla and my parents because I puked on your shoes?”

“Well, yeah. They cost three hundred dollars.” He grinned at me. “I love those shoes.”

“Oh, you are so dead…”

Matt and I acted like college frat boys the rest of the day. We stopped for a greasy dinner at a pizza place, sitting on stools at a narrow bar that went around the room. We left our sweaters in the car, discarding them and our ties in the back seat. We undid the buttons of our collars and ruffled up our hair.

In short, we tried to pretend we weren’t our parents’ children.

“Dude, what do you want to do next Friday?” I asked.

“Madison’s, man. The ladies.”

“We do that every Friday. Let’s do something new. Drive down the coast and hang out at a new bar. Eat oysters. Find a new nightclub in town. I don’t know.”

“Digger, since when don’t you want to do the same thing? We’ve been going to Madison’s for, I dunno, eight years.”

“Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t want to end up like my father.”

“Your dad has never been to Madison’s. He’s so rich he might own it, but he’s never been there.”

“No, he doesn’t own it. I wouldn’t go there if he did.”

Matt looked at me funny. “Whatever. What are you talking about?”

“Our dads. They do the same thing every day. Surgery or a business deal, come home, ignore their families… I don’t want that routine. I want more than that.”

“I think you let the grease go to your head.” Matt chewed thoughtfully. “You like routine. You get pissed at me when I break you out of it.”

“So why are you busting my chops when I volunteer to shake things up? Come on, let’s do something different on Friday.”

He shrugged, smiling. “Okay. But you have to go wherever I want, and do whatever I say.”

“That’s a serious blank cheque.”

“You’re right, it is. You want to walk on the wild side? Fine. But you’re an amateur. Let the pro show you how it’s done.”

“You’re on.”

We shook on it, with our greasy, pizza-stained fingers.

I decided to walk home, enjoying the sunshine. I wondered how many nice days were left before the grey of autumn took over. I waved at Matt as he pulled away in his shiny sports car.

I slung my sweater over my shoulder, felt the breeze on my face, and pointed my feet for home. I wasn’t going to let my father, Calla, or my mother get me down. I was going to move past all that stuff and just loosen up, have a good time.

I smiled at strangers on the sidewalk, which was unusual for them. A few smiled back, most just stared at their feet and continued walking. I felt like a dork in a 50s television show, like Leave it to Beaver or some shit, but I didn’t care. Life was too short. I was going to enjoy it.

It wasn’t until I got home that this cheerful mood was ruined. I saw my father’s file, still spread out on the living room table.

“That jackass!” I said. I realized he hadn’t even brought up the Colorado deal during lunch. Hadn’t even mentioned the file. He had sent me to work on my Saturday off just to inconvenience me. Probably to get back at me for missing Friday. “Arrgh!”

I picked up the papers in a frenzy, stuffing them into the manila folder. They jutted out at haphazard angles, some of the edges folded and wrinkled. I threw it onto my kitchen counter and turned my back on it.

“Grumpy, self-centred old bastard!”

I turned on my television and the PS3 and commenced stealing cars, running over pedestrians, and shooting at people.

Especially old men with beards.

Chapter 16: Sweet Smell of Success

I went to work early on Monday morning. I skipped grabbing my usual coffee, and headed straight to the office. I locked myself in and buried myself in the Colorado file, getting up to date on everything, exploring every nuance of the briefs, memos and contracts. I was going to dominate this file, and stick it to my father in the process.

I spent a good chunk of time on the phone that morning, and had Lorraine bring me a lunch, rather than leave my desk. I ate corned beef on rye while on a conference call, with a touch of spicy mustard. Onion rings on the side.

By mid-afternoon I had worked out some snarls in the zoning of our new building, through a contact at the municipal office. That meant the deal for purchasing the land we wanted could go through. I sent off a memo to Chris Geertz and my father, informing them of the relevant details. It was something the law team had expected to take weeks.

I leaned back in my chair, hands behind my head, feet on the desk. I could feel a little bit of a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

Chris himself showed up about an hour later.

“Nice work, Diggory! Way to be on the ball.” He leaned against the doorframe, casually chic in a blue pinstripe.

“Thanks, Chris, just wanted to help out the team,” I said, exchanging clichés.

“You really hit one out of the park, there, man. You must have spent all weekend on the file!”

I shrugged humbly.

“Well, just so you know, I’ve put in a recommendation upstairs. I think you should be made a team-leader on this one. We’ll assign you a few associates, some secretaries, and really put this baby to bed.”

“I really appreciate that, Chris. I’m not looking for any special treatment. I just wanted to put my best foot forward.”

“Diggory, don’t be modest. I need somebody around here I can rely on, and there’s no one else with that kind of initiative. If I don’t have you at the head of this project, it’s something I’d probably end up doing myself. And frankly, we have a lot of other stuff to deal with. I’d like to know there’s someone I can trust and send to Denver, while I take care of things here.”

“Denver?”

“Well, sure. From time to time, someone’s going to have to fly out there for meetings, contract signings, new hires. This is a major undertaking. You’ll be getting a raise, an expense account, a company car… Unless, you don’t think you can handle it?”

I sat up straight. “I’m honoured. And grateful for the opportunity.”

Chris smiled. “Excellent. I’m already whispering in some ears upstairs. We’ll see what happens.”

“Excellent,” I agreed.

“Once it gets finalized, I’ll let the department know. We’ll all go out for dinner and drinks after work. Nothing’s set in stone yet, but, congratulations!”

Chris went on his merry way, and I leaned back in my chair again, grinning at the ceiling. Eat that, old man.

I arrived home long after sunset, with a bag of groceries. I put it down on the counter and went to my cupboards. I grabbed a frying pan, tinfoil, garlic, a bowl, and some butter. I mixed garlic and butter in a bowl, and then went to the grocery bag.

I took out a loaf of fresh bread and sliced it, lathering on the garlic butter before wrapping the loaf in tinfoil. I stuck it in the oven, and then went back to the bag. I grabbed some fresh chicken, and commenced cutting it up. It went into the frying pan along with the rest of the butter, simmering on the stovetop. I added a few random spices.

I learned to cook in college. If Matt was around, we usually ate takeout. But on nights where he was home, or out with some girl, I took pleasure in preparing my own food. I would often make a big dinner on a Sunday, and then get creative with the leftovers the rest of the week. A roast would become a stew, a chicken breast would go into pasta, pork chops got cut up and put into sandwiches…

I sat down at the counter and poured a glass of wine, toasting myself and my future success. I enjoyed my homemade garlic bread and my chicken dinner, accompanied by a light salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. I loved food.

I relaxed after dinner, lounging on my couch, sipping wine. I walked over to the big windows and looked out to the city, sparkling in the darkness. I wondered what the view was like in Denver.

It wasn’t until I was getting ready for bed that I realized I had gone all day without worrying about Calla Wiley or my love life. Perhaps I was finally getting her out of my system? And, why not? She was nobody. Just a crazy girl.

Chapter 17: Da BO$$ Would Like to See You

The alarm clock announced it was Tuesday with its usual enthusiasm. I rolled out of bed and stumbled like a zombie for the bathroom, letting the shower bring me back to life. Fifteen minutes later, shaven and showered, I dressed for work and then ran to the kitchen. I grabbed a Pop Tart from the fridge and went out the door.

I was at the office ahead of anyone else, and made the coffee in the break room. I sipped a cup as I sat down at my computer, working diligently on the contracts for the architect in Denver. Lorraine popped her head in and refilled my cup about mid-morning. She and I worked well together: she let me get in the zone and work my magic on paperwork, while she managed incoming calls and my calendar. We rarely got in each other’s way.

I hung my suit coat up and rolled up my sleeves as I pored over paperwork. Chris popped in his head just before lunch.

“Ready for a break?”

I looked up. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

“Lunchtime. You coming?”

“Well, I wanted to get ahead on this…”

“Business lunch. My treat.” He winked, and I realized he probably had good news. I stood and straightened out my shirt, grabbing my suit coat.

We walked a couple of blocks to Soprafinos, a classy little Italian place. It had the best veal marsala in town. Chris ordered wine and a linguine dish. I got the marsala.

Chris raised his glass. “To the future.”

“The future?”

“You’re in. Your father wants to speak to you this afternoon, so you didn’t hear it from me. But, congrats! You’re the man.”

“I’m the man,” I said. I smiled.

“So, after your father makes the formal announcement, I figure we’ll take the whole department out, even the secretaries.”

“Why not,” I laughed.

“We’ll toast your success, and start choosing your team. I’m going to need you to fly down there next week and open a temporary office, find a good rental space downtown. Check out the site, meet with the architect, the city planning office…”

“Absolutely. I’m all over it.”

“You’re going to be in charge out there. Show you’ve got the balls, get this done, and big things are in store for you.”

“Big things.”

“I keep forgetting!” Chris laughed, almost spilling the wine he was drinking. “You’re Mr. Franklin’s son. You don’t need to worry.”

“Well…”

“No, I mean that in a good way. I’m impressed at the hours you’re putting in. No one would have expected it, and now the whole floor thinks you’re a workhorse. No one looks at you as the boss’ son. Everyone thinks you deserve this.”

I sat back, grinning even wider. I dug into my meal and basked in the moment.

Which was a memory I tried to hold onto as I rode the elevator up to the top floor and my father’s office. I clenched and unclenched my hands as I watched the numbers go up and up and up.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. The doors opened up on a corridor filled with designer couches, fancy lighting, and paintings on the walls. The colours were tasteful and sedate. I opened the big wooden doors directly in front of me, entering the waiting area. I waved to Gerald, my father’s assistant, who was sitting at his desk.

“One moment, Mr. Franklin, while I inform him that you’ve arrived.”

“Thank you, Gerald.”

He pushed a button. “Sir, the young Mr. Franklin is here.”

“Send him in.”

I passed through the next set of big, ornate doors and entered my father’s office.

Chapter 18: Old Man

I hadn’t been here in years, and immediately felt like a kid. The big bookcases, the leather chairs, the dark mahogany… It was exactly the same. It seemed slightly smaller, but I had grown. And I do mean “slightly,” because the office took up most of the floor. I knew that the corridor I had come from had a public bathroom, and that there was a private one off my father’s office. Otherwise, this floor was for Gerald’s small office and then my father’s tribute to himself.

While there were a lot of books, the shelves also prominently displayed photographs of my father. He was shaking hands with eight successive mayors, one president, three governors. There were pictures of him receiving awards, opening buildings, and meeting celebrities.

He sat, not behind his desk, but in one of the reading chairs along the side of the room. Another was at a comfortable distance from him, positioned for a quiet conversation. He stood up, buttoning his black suit jacket.

“Good afternoon, Diggory.”

“Hello, Father.”

I crossed the distance and shook hands with him. His shake was still powerful. And, why not? He was just barely past fifty and took care of himself. He gestured for me to sit, and settled himself back down in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket as he did so.

I would have asked why he did that, but my father had told me years before. Presentation was everything. Sitting with the jacket unbuttoned kept the lines from rumpling, while doing it up while standing was to appear dignified and precise. My rolled-up sleeves and casual look in my own office would never impress my father.

“I understand that you’ve taken some real initiative with the Colorado project.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Christopher Geertz tells me you’re the best lawyer in his department.”

“If he says so.”

“He does.”

I sat silently. I wanted to drum my fingers on the arms of the chair, but fought the impulse. I just waited for him to say something else. That had been the rule at home. Answer questions, and then wait.

“I’ve reviewed the department’s past six months. He’s right. No one logs as many hours, finishes as many contracts, visits as many clients… You seem to live for your work, Diggory.”

“Yes, sir. I want to do my best.”

Here my father almost smiled. “Your mother thinks you’re working too hard.”

“Mother has never worked.” It slipped out. I really hadn’t stopped to think, and then realized I meant what I said. She wasn’t really in a position to judge.

“No, she hasn’t. She has never understood what we have in common.”

I blinked. Did my father just compare the two of us? That was unheard of.

“Pardon?”

“We have ambition. I noted it when you were young. You set your mind on what you wanted to accomplish, and then devised the means. I may not always have approved of your goals, but I certainly noticed the work ethic.”

He shocked me further. “I’m proud of you, Son.”

I sat back in the chair, and the world became a blur for a moment. I almost lost the thread of conversation, and it took a moment to register what he was saying next.

“After the Colorado deal is finished, I’m going to expect a lot more from you. Christopher didn’t realize it at the time, but admitting that you were the best lawyer in the building sealed his fate. You’ll be replacing him in two years, three at the most. Had he protested, tried to defend his own prowess, I might give him a chance. But he just blithely agreed. So, his job is yours, if you can keep things going.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Your mother wishes to congratulate you as well. Come for dinner on Friday, she’s having people over.”

“The country house?”

“No, the apartment in the city. She wants to go to the theatre this weekend. That will be all.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” I got up to leave, heading for the big doors.

“Oh, and Diggory?” I turned to look back at him. “Bring that young lady you’re seeing.”

Chapter 19: Revenge

I waited in the dark. Revenge would be mine. I had been plotting for days. They came in late, past eleven. She was giggling, he talked smooth. Then there was the unmistakable sound of two people passionately kissing. The ruffle of clothes being removed. I could hear them moving around the apartment, probably undressing on their way to the bedroom. I tensed in my hiding place, ready to pounce.

They were in such a rush that they didn’t turn on any lights. I heard a woman’s soft sigh, and knew that they were on the bed. I picked up my weapon and flicked it open. I pushed the button.

The telephone rang.

“Crap,” the man grunted.

“Leave it,” the woman said, her voice full of craving.

The telephone continued to ring. And ring.

“I can’t leave it,” he said. “Caller ID. He’s my best friend.”

She made a sound. A sound that said she was miffed. That little gasp of offence and indignation.

He reached for the phone.

“Gahh, what the hell?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s all over the phone,” He turned on the light. She began to laugh almost immediately. It grew louder and louder.

“Stop laughing!” I heard him say. Then, louder: “Stop laughing!”

I heard her giggles and chortles receding, and then the door slammed. He was alone. The telephone continued to ring. It stopped before the answer machine. And then started again.

“Fuck this,” I heard him say. Footsteps. He was in the kitchen. I decided to follow.

“Hello?” He said, his voice irritated, picking up the other phone. “Digger, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Matt. I just called to tell you the good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Payback’s a bitch. Have a nice day.” I hung up.

“That tricky bastard…” He said, his voice admiring.

“I am,” I agreed from behind him. “Smile.”

He turned, bewildered. I sprayed him with the sticky foam, as I had the bedroom phone. I laughed, and then snapped a picture with my cell. While he sputtered and swore, trying to get it off, I emailed it to our list of friends. Soon everyone would know, today I had my revenge.

I helped Matt clean up. I’m not a mean guy. He showered while I tidied the kitchen. Then, we went into the bedroom and started taking down the posters.

“I can’t believe you blew these up.” He shook his head.

There was one of him playing with his penis in the bathtub at the age of one or two. Another was him with his pants down at camp. There was Matt in high school dressed as a girl, the day he lost a bet. There was another from college, where he did the same thing on purpose, as a frat prank.

“Hey, you look good with shaved legs. It’s not my fault she’s not into cross-dressers.”

There was a poster of Matt mooning the cheerleader squad, and one of him on a blind date with a really fat girl named Celeste he met on the Internet.

“Dude, this was creative, I’ll give you that,” Matt couldn’t help but grin.

“I figured I owed you. My dad wants me to bring Calla to dinner on Friday.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’m getting promoted. And since you’re so good at public relations and marketing, you’ve impressed my parents with the young lady I’m seeing. Too bad I’m NOT seeing her.”

“Crap. Well, I guess that means you have to call her.”

“No way. She’s crazy. Not worth the hassle. I’ll just tell them we broke up.”

“Right. Because we know how much your father likes being let down.”

Chapter 20: We Couldn't Get Along Without You

Matt and I sat on his couch with a couple of cold beers. I sipped mine slowly, thinking.

“I’m screwed,” I said abruptly.

“Oh?”

“Thanks to you, Mr. Big Mouth, I can’t just tell my father that I broke it off with Calla. He and my mother expect this impressive young lady. She’s a sign that I’m maturing. That I’m ‘boss material.’ I can’t show weakness or a lack of commitment. My father will immediately question whether I’m fit for the new promotion.”

“What if you tell him it was a misunderstanding? You weren’t really seeing her, I was having a prank at your expense.”

“Yeah, if I tell them that, then I’ll look just as weak. I should have smacked you down then and there, not let you ramble on. I’ll come across as a coward. That works for someone you’re offering the entire law department.”

Matt grimaced. “Sorry, dude.”

“It’s not your fault.” I stood up and grabbed my coat. “You didn’t know. I have to either figure out how to convince Calla to come on Friday, or invent an emergency to avoid my parents’ little party.”

“Given how pissed your dad will be, I’m thinking ‘faking your own death’ sounds good.”

“Goodnight, Matt.”

I had little trouble waking up at my usual time on Wednesday morning. Having been out until midnight should have caused a problem, but knowing Matt helped. I knew he would be late coming back and stole a nap in the evening, before exacting my revenge.

Now, I will never understand how he can stay out so late with a girl and still make it to work on time the next morning. Though perhaps he pulled the “calling in sick” trick more times than I was aware of.

I headed to the coffee house for the first time all week. I stood in line, got my cup, and found a seat. I looked around the room, hoping to spot Calla. There was the usual mix of university students and young adults, but no pretty physics majors. I shrugged and went to work.

I worked on files and contracts for a good chunk of the morning and then called Calla’s place. I felt like I needed to do some work first, personal calls always made me feel like I was cheating on my job. She wasn’t in, but that kind of made sense. After all, she was probably at class or the lab.

“Hi, Ms. Wiley, it’s Diggory Franklin calling. If you could contact me, my number is…”

I felt like such a dunce. She had called me on Saturday, and I’d been ignoring her ever since. What were the chances she’d bother to return the call? More importantly, what would I do if she did call? The last conversation had been surreal, with that nonsense about me having a year to live. I would need to find a way out of this.

Lorraine buzzed me. “Mr. Franklin, you’re needed in the conference room.”

“Thank you, Lorraine.”

I pulled on my suit jacket and walked down the hall, thinking hard. I turned and opened the conference room door, and was suddenly blitzed by sound.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” People screamed, making me jump. Then they harmonized with “For he’s a jolly good fellow…”

I felt like I was having a cheesy nightmare. I looked around the conference room and saw that it had been decorated with balloons and a congratulatory banner. The entire law department staff was there, except for Lorraine, cheering.

She appeared at my elbow a moment later.

“Sorry, boss.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Lorraine.”

Chris Geertz passed around glasses and offered a toast, promising everyone they’d see “big things” from me in the future. I felt bad for the guy: he was genuinely nice, and had no idea my father planned to cut him off at the balls in a couple of years.

There was actually cake and pizza. I realized that this promotion must have been a bigger deal than I thought. Everyone was shaking my hand and clapping me on the back, big grins plastered on their faces.

I even caught one of the interns batting her eyes at me flirtatiously. I smiled back.

Maybe growing up wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter 21: That's What Friends Are For (the vulture song)

Chris Geertz pulled me aside after a bit.

“Nice touch on the surprise party, I totally didn’t see that coming,” I said.

“Hey, you’re welcome, buddy!” Chris clapped me on the back. “I’m really excited for you. But it’s not all fun and games. I want you to mingle, get a feel for who you want on your team in Colorado. I figure two more associates, maybe one of the interns, and three secretaries. Okay?”

“No problem.”

I couldn’t believe Chris. “Buddy.” He was such a decent guy. My father was going to stab a good man in the back, just because I showed a little ambition.

I looked around the room, returning smiles whenever someone glanced my way. Of course I considered Lorraine first. She was meticulous, and tough. We’d worked together practically since I graduated school. She had family here in town, though, and might not be up for travelling. I’d ask her first, but perhaps it would be best to leave her here to run the home office until my return. It would be good to have someone reliable here to touch base with.

I mingled, like Chris said. Grabbed people slices of pizza, offered to grab someone a drink. Made chit chat. And assessed everyone. There was a good mix among the associates in age. Some were recently out of law school, within the past five years, while others were experienced veterans. This older bunch was all male, most of them middle-aged dads. The younger group was more balanced between men and women.

I ruled out the married guys. They were solid and dependable, but if Lorraine might be uncomfortable leaving family behind, I didn’t want to put them through the same. Some of them might not even think about it, I knew that a few had problems in their marriages. But I certainly didn’t want to add to that. It would be nice to have a seasoned associate, but I’d have to make sure I picked one with no family.

That left the younger crowd. They were all eager to make names for themselves, just like I was. But I was the best of the bunch, that’s why this opportunity had arisen. Who was competitive enough that they would resent my promotion? Conversely, who was driven enough to keep up with me out in Colorado, without minding that I was in charge? That was a delicate balance. I didn’t want the sheep who needed to be handheld. But I also didn’t want wolves at my back.

Choosing secretaries wouldn’t be much of a problem, I’d just take the ones belonging to the associates I had picked. If they wanted a different one, for reasons similar to mine with Lorraine, they could recruit their own. Interns were a different matter. Chris probably wanted whomever I chose to learn from the experience, get a handle on property law and contract negotiations. Meanwhile, they’d help us on briefs and research, and get coffee when secretaries were too busy. A “gopher.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t know the interns too well. Perhaps I could set up time to interview each of them. Chris probably wouldn’t mind. There were only five, so it couldn’t take that long.

The little party was winding down. I nodded to Chris, and he followed me out of the conference room and back down the hall.

“Any thoughts?” He asked.

“I’ve got a few options in mind. I’m going to ask Lorraine first, out of loyalty, but I’m fairly certain I want her here minding the store until I get back. She can take point on organizing meetings here, doing research, take care of my other files. I’d rather have her doing it, familiar as she is, rather than bring someone new up to speed.”

“Good thinking. And associates? I was thinking Paulson and Reed.”

I shook my head. Erik Paulson was pushy. He drove a fast sports car and flirted with secretaries. The guy had “Alpha Male” written all over him, and would likely be one of the ones resenting my position. Nick Reed was a flake; he tried hard but was disorganized. I imagined Chris had some sense after all: he likely wanted Paulson off his own back, and someone else to fix Reed’s mistakes.

“Reed and I worked together on that arbitration thing last March. Our styles don’t really mesh that well. And Paulson’s not a team player, you know that as well as I do. He’s already slept with three secretaries that I know of, and it’s causing tension on the floor.”

Chris nodded. “You’re absolutely right. You’re the right man for this job, after all. Excellent insight. So, who would you pick?”

“I’m considering Bill Fayter. He’s diligent, friendly, and has a lot of experience. He isn’t the most aggressive lawyer, so you won’t need him to take point on any projects around here. The department won’t miss him. But he gets things done, so he’ll be an asset out west.”

Chris nodded. “Anyone else?”

“I’m still sizing up the younger associates. Bill’s the only one of the veterans who isn’t married or who doesn’t have kids. I think it would be a great experience for one of the newer lawyers, I just have to work out which one. And, I’d like to interview all five interns. Give them the chance to prove themselves.”

“Very wise. It’ll give them some incentive to compete with each other, and gear them up for what it’s like in the real world as a lawyer. I’m impressed, Diggory. Keep it up!”

Chapter 22: Foxy Lady

I spent the afternoon on the computer, looking at the files of my colleagues. Chris provided me with access, wanting me to choose the best team possible. I could see what kind of hours people put in, the files they were working on, contracts they’d handled. It would have been overwhelming, so I limited myself to just the past three months. I wanted a picture of what their work habits were like now, not two years ago.

There was a knock on my door around four o’clock. I looked up and saw Vanessa “Foxy” Brown. That was what Matt the Pimp called her, so you’ll excuse the source. I wondered if it was really a fair moniker, considering Pam Grier’s movie was a blaxploitation film, and Vanessa was white. However, she was hot enough to be labelled “foxy.” I smiled.

“Afternoon.”

“Hey, Diggory. Can I come in?” She smiled back.

“Of course.”

Vanessa crossed the short distance from the doorway to my desk. It gave me a brief moment to enjoy the sight of her long legs in motion. She was wearing heels and a dark skirt, with a cream coloured blouse. Her caramel hair was up on her head, but not like a bun. I think it’s called a French Twist? What do you want from me: I have testicles.

She sat on the edge of the desk. I tilted my neck to look her in the eye.

“I wasn’t able to make the party, I was busy with a client across town. Wanted to pass on my congratulations.”

“Well, thank you.”

“No, I mean it! I was worried that Paulson was going to get it, and he’s creeped me out ever since hitting on me at the Christmas party last year.”

I smiled. It was nice to know that I wasn’t the only one with misgivings about Paulson.

“Well, I’m pretty glad he didn’t get it either. However, I have a new problem. I’m trying to select two associates to go with me.”

“Well, of course you’re going to pick me.” She grinned. “Who else are you considering?”

I looked at her seriously. To be honest, she was one of my top three picks. Diligent, assertive, well educated. She was younger than Paulson and myself, so it was unlikely that she’d been hoping for the promotion herself. But, word on the floor was that she was hungry, eager to prove she had what it took.

“I’m thinking Fayter, he’s steadfast.”

“Nice choice! He won’t hamstring you, and knows his stuff. I worked with him on that mediated union agreement in Tennessee in June.”

“Oh, right, the factory thing… I forgot that you two travelled for that one.” I stroked my chin thoughtfully.

“Come on, Diggory! You know I can do this. You know you want to take me.”

Vanessa leaned a little closer, her head on her shoulder, looking down into my eyes. Something about her expression seemed almost provocative. Maybe she was better at telepathy than me, I could almost hear her thoughts. Pick me, I’ll be really grateful. I blushed for a moment and pushed back a bit in my chair.

“I’m not Paulson, Vanessa. This will be strictly business.”

She blinked. “Oh, of course! I would appreciate that. You and Fayter are probably the only associates who don’t see me as just a skirt.”

“Well, the older guys really don’t think women can practice law. I, on the other hand, am much more progressive.”

She laughed. “A real champion of equal rights?”

“Well, it’s the twenty-first century. Time to let you girls out of the kitchen.” I winked.

Vanessa laughed again. “Yeah, you’re a way better choice than Paulson. How about you let me buy you dinner tonight, and we’ll discuss the details?”

“Sure. You can help me figure out which intern to take.”

“See you at seven?”

“Great.” I grinned. Vanessa smiled back and slid off the desk, heading for the door. She glanced at me on her way out.

I leaned back in my chair, grinning to myself. This day kept getting better and better.

Well, that’s what I thought until the phone rang. I picked up. Lorraine spoke.

“A Miss Calla Wiley on line three for you, sir.”

Chapter 23: Two Girls in One

I took a deep breath. Then, I picked up the receiver.

“Diggory Franklin’s office.”

“Hello, Mr. Franklin. It’s Calla Wiley. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. What can I do for you, Calla?”

“Well, I’m actually returning your phone call from this weekend. I hope you can forgive me for not calling you back sooner. I haven’t checked my messages at all, I’ve been so busy in the lab. I wanted to apologize.”

“Oh, there are no apologies necessary. We just met, and we’re both very busy people.” I spoke to her as I would a normal person, but I kept rolling my eyes. How could she sound this normal, and then slide off the deep end in other conversations?

“Well, yes. I know you must be busy. I hope I didn’t call at a bad time?”

“Not at all, Calla.” I paused. “I wouldn’t have given you my card, if I didn’t want you to call. I was beginning to worry that I had offended you, however.”

“Offended me? No, not at all! I should have called you again on Saturday or Sunday. I just got so busy, it slipped my mind. I know we’re strangers, Mr. Franklin, but I’m a very conscientious person. I don’t often forget to be polite. I wanted you to know that.”

“Well, thank you for explaining.” I realized that I was being very formal, as if this was a business call. I had no idea how to restore the fun, flirtatious energy of our last face-to-face meeting.

She seemed to have no memory of her bizarre warnings. I wanted to know more about her, figure out what was going on. Maybe Bianca could explain about the personality changes? Her roommate must know her well. The only way to find out was to get closer to her. Maybe then I could figure out my attraction for her, help her with this strange problem, and get some answers.

“Anyway, we’re a bit off track here…” I said. “I called on the weekend to thank you for a lovely time at the gallery and to see if you were interested in grabbing coffee.”

“I told you before, I’m not really interested in dating…”

“I know. Just as friends. You seem new in town, and you’ve met my best friend, Matt. Obviously I need to spend time with a better class of people.”

She laughed. “Well, it would be hard for you to do much worse, that’s for sure.”

“To that end, I’m extending the hand of friendship. Coffee tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll be there. Eight o’clock sound okay?”

“Perfect.”

We exchanged good-byes and hung up. I smiled. That hadn’t been so bad. Not great, but not a total disaster either. Face-to-face, I’m sure we’d do better in the morning. And then I could convince her to come to my parents’ dinner party the next evening after that. Hopefully I would survive the week without much more craziness.

“Ready to go?” I asked, standing in Vanessa’s doorway at about five to seven.

She smiled as she turned off her computer. “All set.”

I helped her into her suit jacket, and we walked down to the elevators.

“So, this is your idea. Where are we eating?” I asked.

“I thought you’d like this little Italian place I love. Soprafino’s?”

“I like working with you already,” I said, grinning. We got onto the elevator.

“Oh? You’ve heard of it?”

“Probably my favourite in the city. It’s small and cozy, so it’s not pretentious like some places…”

“But the food is first class. I know what you mean.” She smiled. “Oh, I had some ideas about our team. I think we can safely narrow it down to three of the five interns. I was looking their files over today, and talked to a couple casually. Darren Rice is a very quiet boy; I don’t know why he’s taking law. I looked into his grades, and he tests well but his writing is very dry.”

“You looked into their grades?” I raised an eyebrow.

“They have to submit transcripts to get into our program. I saw some examples of his essays, and he’s not very creative. I think he’s fine in a research capacity, but he’s not one for taking initiative.”

“Well, things will be pretty fast-paced out there. I guess Rice is off the list.”

“Exactly. I also don’t want Sasha Bailey on the team either.”

Chapter 24: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

“What’s wrong with young Miss Bailey?” I asked. She was the pretty intern who had been flirting with me at the party in the conference room, but Vanessa didn’t know that.

“Well, to be honest, I’m the good-looking one on this team. I don’t need the competition.” Vanessa winked.

I looked at her. “Trust me, Ms. Brown, you still wouldn’t have any competition.”

“Diggory Franklin!” She playfully swatted my arm as we stepped off the elevator. For those of you who don’t know my friend Matt, that would translate in his terms as flirting. Getting hit is a good sign. Not that I really wanted to be flirting with co-workers. But “Foxy” Brown was hard to resist.

“So, seriously, why not Bailey?” I walked towards the lobby doors.

“She’s an excellent student, and a lot more assertive than Rice. But I think the same reasoning applies to her case as to Paulson’s. I don’t think she’s really a team player. Rumours on the floor indicate that she may have slept with two associates already, and she’s been assisting on some important work since then. I’m worried that she’s trying to line up a job here, but someone else like that in the department is going to end up being a distraction and a liability.”

“You mean someone like Paulson, who creates tension among the staff.”

“Exactly.”

“I want you to feel like an important part of the team in Colorado. I’m going to trust your judgement on this. Tomorrow morning, I want you to arrange interviews with all three of the remaining candidates. I’m going to call Fayter and ask him to join our team, and I’m going to delegate selecting secretaries to him. Is yours likely to come with us?”

“Joan? Of course. That’s not a problem.”

“Good.” We stood outside, and I hailed a cab. We got in.

“Then I’ll have Fayter inform her of what to pack. We’re all going to Denver next week to set up an office. He can pick two more to assist us.”

“You’re not bringing Mrs. Bowden?”

“No. Lorraine can stay here and be my eyes and ears. Besides, I don’t want her to feel obligated to leave Mr. Bowden for any length of time.”

“That’s sweet.”

We rode to the restaurant, chatting about office politics and gossip. I helped her out of the car like a gentleman and paid the cabbie.

“Hey, this is supposed to be my treat!” Vanessa scolded with a smile.

“You’re buying dinner. The least I could do is pay for a cab.”

We went in and were seated quickly. My new teammate had called ahead. Already she was proving to be detail-oriented and thorough. We sat across from each other. The waiter brought menus.

“I’m ordering,” Vanessa said, putting her manicured hand down on my menu before I could pick it up. “You said this is one of your favourite places. I’m guessing you even have a favourite dish. Well, I don’t want you buying something cheap because I’m paying, and I don’t want you to order your favourite, either. So I’m picking.”

I smiled, and let go of the menu’s edge. “Certainly.”

She grinned and browsed through the menu. When the waiter returned, she whispered to him behind it, not letting me know what we’d be eating. Vanessa seemed to have a playful side.

I knew that it was to gain attention, and that she wanted to be on the team primarily to further her own career. Well, that was the most likely scenario. Still, she was fun to be around and easy on the eyes. Matt would have hit on her by now. However, I figured that I could keep things professional, and just enjoy her company.

The waiter brought the seafood linguine with a fabulous white wine. I smiled in approval.

“Excellent choice. I haven’t tried that yet, but I love seafood.”

“I grew up on the coast. My grandfather trapped lobster.” She smiled.

We dug in. I had to admit, she had excellent taste in food. Which happens to be my greatest weakness. I own my personal gym equipment primarily to prevent myself from getting fat. I would cook all day if I could.

“Mmm, fabulous,” I said after a good mouthful of shrimp and linguine. “The sauce is perfect.”

Vanessa smiled at me across the table. “So is the company.”

Chapter 25: How Do You Sleep at Night?

I almost choked on the deliciously creamy linguine noodles in my mouth. I coughed a few times and grabbed a napkin to prevent sauce from flying out my mouth.

“Excuse me!” I sipped some water.

“Are you okay?” Vanessa asked.

“I’m fine. (cough) Just give me a sec.” I pushed back a little from the table.

I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. Was she flirting with me? Or just being really nice? After all that protestation about Paulson and Bailey, flirting between us would seem pretty inappropriate.

The coughing subsided after a moment, and I sat up again at the table.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“No worries. I hate when that happens.” Vanessa smiled broadly. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m really glad we got the chance to do this. I think I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

“Oh?”

“Well, of course. Part of the reason for this dinner was to see how well we get along. Your work record speaks for itself, but I find you’re easy to just hang out with. We’re going to be working pretty hard in Colorado, in close quarters. I’d hate to get that far with someone I can’t laugh with.”

“Good point,” I said, silently sighing with relief. She wasn’t going to make things complicated with flirting, she just wanted to know we could work together. That made life easier.

No matter how “foxy” she might be. I didn’t have to think about it. Or, not much.

We got through the rest of the meal without any further upsets. Vanessa and I talked about our college days, and a bit about family. It was surprisingly comfortable, she was right. We fit together fairly smoothly. The fact that she was fantastically sexy didn’t detract from it either, it added a little spice to the meal, an undercurrent.

She paid the bill with a credit card.

“So, bright and early tomorrow? I’ll organize the interviews and you can talk to Fayter.”

“See you then. Thanks for dinner, Vanessa.”

“Next time it’s your treat,” she said, winking.

“Deal.”

I lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. Too many thoughts were crowding for room in my head. I wondered if Vanessa was just being nice to get special treatment at work, or if she genuinely liked me. Or, if she was actually attracted and trying to cover it.

Then, I worried about Calla. She affected me on levels “Foxy” couldn’t. She was sexy, yes, but Calla’s kiss had real passion behind it. Vanessa was closer to Matt’s ideal, tall and leggy and sexy. She wasn’t a young airhead like his usual Barbie, but she still fit the “Stick Figure Doll” mold. Calla was curvy, and sensual. They were both intelligent women. But Calla had an air of mystery, I couldn’t figure her out.

I wanted to look forward to our coffee “date” in the morning. Yet there was the distinct possibility that Calla had some sort of mental illness, one she might even be entirely unaware of. I had to find out more about that. At the same time, part of me wanted to run the opposite direction. If Vanessa turned out to be genuinely attracted to me, perhaps that would be a more appealing option.

After the Colorado deal was finished, of course. Before or during, it would look like she was trying to ingratiate herself for career advancement. After we got back and returned to our usual duties, it would be easier to tell that she liked me, instead of seeing me as an opportunity.

I hit my pillow. If Matt could hear my thoughts now, he’d accuse me of taking estrogen pills. He would never lie awake at night worrying about what a girl thought. Or about what I thought, for that matter. Why did I bother to worry about his opinion?

I groaned, staring at the ceiling. I worried way too much about things like that. My mother’s possible opinion of Calla on Friday. My father’s approval. Matt. Vanessa. Calla. Calla, Calla, Calla…

I woke up to the blaring alarm and smacked it. I missed the snooze and hurt my hand on the table.

“OW!”

This did not bode well for the rest of my morning.

Chapter 26: Scenes from a Coffee House

I cut myself shaving. Then, I popped a button on the shirt I wanted to wear. I changed quickly and grabbed another Pop-Tart from the fridge as I dashed out the front door.

It seemed everyone was leaving at the same time, so the elevator kept stopping and starting, until it was very crowded. We eventually made it to the lobby, where I had a hell of a time finding a cab.

I shrugged it off and took the subway downtown, and worried about whether or not I’d make my eight o’clock meeting with Calla. Time ticked away, and all I could do was sit there. I stood on the train, holding a bar, and watching stations flow past.

As soon as the doors opened at my stop, I was off and running. I bounded up the stairs two at a time, just to get out to the street. The coffee house was up a block, and I sprinted. My Rolex said it was almost eight. I ran.

Which might have been a poor choice.

I came through the door at a run, and bumped right into someone on their way out, which caused their coffee to spill. All over my shirt.

“OWWWWWWWWW!”

“I’m so sorry, oh my, I didn’t see you there!” The person brushed at my shirt with napkins, apologizing.

“Owwww, it’s okay. That was hot! No, seriously, I’ll live.” I tried to take over, stepping to the side and dabbing with the napkins.

“I was just coming outside to see if you were on your way.”

I looked up and realized it was Calla.

“We sure have a way of running into each other, don’t we?” I tried to laugh it off.

Calla looked at me funny. “Pardon? Other than here last week, we’ve only seen each other at the gallery. Which I invited you to, remember?”

She was staring at me like I was crazy. Which was possible, aside from the fact that she had run into me almost this same way in the lobby of my office building last Thursday. I remembered it well, why didn’t she?

“I just meant… I keep making a jackass out of myself whenever we do see each other. I’m pretty clueless, aren’t I?” I tried a smile.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘jackass.’ You just don’t pay attention well.” She smiled, holding out more napkins. “Is your shirt okay?”

“Well, it’ll wash. I just need to get out my spare at the office later.” I looked around. “Can we sit?”

“Sure. Did you want to order something?”

“Huh?” I said, ever articulate. It’s easy to see how I graduated law school.

“Coffee? Tea? Did you want to order?” Calla sat down, and I took my seat.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you. I just wanted to see you.”

She blushed a little, staring at her hands. She had clasped them on top of the table.

“I… I’m glad you invited me. It would be nice to have friends in town besides Bianca.”

I looked at her, staring at her fingers. She was shy!

“Hey, it’s… Well, I just…” I blew hard in frustration, unable to think of the right thing to say. “I know you don’t want to date or anything, but I really like you.” It just kind of came out. She looked so damn adorable sitting there, feeling awkward. Calla looked up at me.

“I realize that we just met,” I said, before she could stop me, “And I know you’re a busy person, and I know I’m some random stranger. I’d like us to be friends. My parents are having a party tomorrow night, and I’d love to take you. But just as friends!”

Calla pursed her lips. Her fingers tightened. I couldn’t tell if she was about to tell me off, or say something nice. Her eyes flickered with some unspoken emotion. Shit! Why did she seem so cute? When did I become such a dork?

“Sure,” she finally spat out. “Sounds great.”

“Where can I pick you up?”

“I’ll give you directions. How should I dress?”

I blinked. “Probably the best that you have, my mother is a total snob.”

Calla laughed, her voice startling in its volume and clarity. I couldn’t help but smile as other patrons looked at us over their coffee and newspapers.

She reached across the table and took my hand, writing her address on it with a pen from her bag. I stared into her eyes, frozen by the sudden intimacy of her touch.

Chapter 27: Good Morning

Calla held my wrist in her hand, leaning across the table. I could smell her; warm and fragrant. I stared into her eyes. For a moment, the world was a blur, and there was only the grey of her bright gaze.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, smiling. Calla slid out of her chair and was through the door, leaving me to stare after her.

“Hey, wait up!” I chased after her, not willing to just let her get away that easily again. I dashed onto the sidewalk, catching up.

“Let me walk with you a bit,” I suggested, pulling aside her and realizing I really didn’t know what to say next.

“Don’t you have to get to work?” She grinned.

I waved my hand, scoffing. “Work! My building’s right there,” I pointed, “I can spare a moment or two.”

“For a friend?”

“Right, exactly.” I grimaced. “I’m soooooo not smooth.”

“Sooooo.” She nodded. “That’s okay. Your friend Matt seems like a smoothy, and I wouldn’t want to talk to you if you were more like him.”

“Ouch. I’ll pass that along, it’ll make his day.”

“Oh, I don’t want to offend your friends, don’t tell him that!” She grabbed my arm. I smiled.

“No, I’m serious, he’ll be pleased. Matt will find some way to twist it around. ‘See, Digger,’ he’ll say, ‘I’m an original. So cool that no one can copy me. Like a Rembrandt.’ He’d gloat.”

Calla laughed as I did my best “I’m Matt, the big fat cool jerk” voice. “Would he really?”

“Well, not the Rembrandt part.” I shrugged. She giggled again. “But don’t worry about offending him. Matt likes to banter and joke, if you don’t do it back he’ll walk all over you. You have to have ba… bravery.”

“You were going to say ‘balls,’ weren’t you?” Calla waved a finger at me, smiling. “What, didn’t think I’d approve? Do I come across as some feminist crazy, just because I’m a scientist? Or am I a prude?”

She seemed to be mostly teasing. “No, that’s not it. It’s just…”

“What?”

“You’re too sweet a girl to consider you having balls. You could be tougher than a Pittsburgh Steeler on steroids, and I still wouldn’t want to picture that.”

She laughed again. “I think that was a compliment.”

“I hope so, I kind of pulled it out of my ass.”

Calla laughed again. I loved that sound. God help me, I was trapped inside a romantic comedy film. The banter just kept coming.

“If me having balls was an unsightly picture, how do you handle imagining pulling jokes out of your ass?” She giggled.

I blushed. “I try not to. I’d go blind.”

We were both laughing by now. Calla wiped her eyes, they were leaking a little.

“Phew. That was fun. I have to get to class, and you might want to think about getting back to your job, sometime. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Have a great day!”

I watched her walk away. I waited patiently. Matt the Pimp had given me the key to knowing if a girl really likes you, way back in the eleventh grade. If she looks back after leaving, you can be sure of your status.

I waited. “Come on, come on,” I whispered to myself.

Calla slipped in and out of crowds along the sidewalk until she reached a corner. She glanced back in my direction, and I think I could see a small smile on her face. I offered a small wave, and she waved back.

I turned to go to work. The day had started rough, but it was starting to look up.

Chapter 28: That's Where it is

My route towards work took me back past the coffee house. I sped through the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk, weaving through bodies. This was why I usually took cabs, I thought. I was already late, and totally distracted. People in my way didn’t make it any better.

“Frank!” Someone yelled as I passed. “HEY FRANK!”

I pressed on through the crowed, wishing “Frank” would just answer, so the yelling would stop. A moment later someone was pulling my arm, and I looked up. I immediately felt really stupid.

“Did you forget something?” I asked Calla.

“What’s the date today?” She asked, her voice full of urgency.

“Um, September eighteenth. Why?”

She glanced at her hand. Someone had written there: “September 19th, 8 AM.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!” Calla enthused. “I didn’t expect that at all.”

“What did you do, sprint around the block while changing as you ran?” I asked, noting she was wearing the sweater and jeans from the week before.

“Shut up, Frank,” Calla said, not unkindly. She got out a pen and wrote “September 18th, 8:30 AM” on her other hand. “I might finally get this sucker calibrated!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen, just promise me something? Be here tomorrow, okay?” She looked in my eyes, and (as usual) I was mesmerized. Her grey orbs fascinated me and made me wish I knew lyrical poetry.

“Tomorrow? We’re meeting tomorrow night anyway for my mom’s dinner party, but coffee sounds great, too,” I said, dazed.

“Oh, are you serious?” Her eyes widened in anger. “I told you, stay the hell away from me.” She shoved my shoulder. “I’m not kidding. Don’t you dare pick me up for that party tomorrow. That is a very BAD idea.”

“Why the hell do you want to meet for coffee then?” I asked, getting frustrated. “That’s ludicrous.”

“You need to trust me on this, you big dummy. DON’T take me to the party. DO meet me here in the morning. It will help with the calibration process, trust me. I’m trying to save your life here!”

It was so weird whenever she insulted me. Calla might call me a dummy, or push me, but her eyes were swimming with angry affection. I don’t know how else to explain that look, the one that said she cared about me, yet was infuriated that I wasn’t listening. She was completely confusing.

She was also completely enticing. I wished I could give myself a swift kick in the pants.

“You make no sense!” I almost shouted. A few passers-by stared at us. I blushed.

Calla leaned close, pulling on the edges of my open jacket, looking up into my eyes as she established this physical intimacy between us. Her lips pursed.

“Frank, shhhhh. I know it’s confusing right now. I told you about it tomorrow. Just wait until then. I’m almost at the end of my range and deceleration is about to take place. I had to wait for my counterpart to leave. Tomorrow we’ll have more time, okay?”

She leaned in close and kissed me. I could feel her warm body, snug against my chest, and the scent of her shampoo. I kept getting caught up in these weird little details about her. Her lips were on mine, and she suckled my bottom lip briefly before biting down on it. Her kiss was so goddamn hungry. I closed my eyes and was lost to the world for a moment.

When I opened my eyes she was gone.

“Who is she? Batman?” I said angrily.

Pedestrians out-and-out stared at me as I clenched my fists and audibly groaned.

Tomorrow morning there were going to be answers, or I was going to flip out. I wanted to know what kind of game she thought she was playing. Honestly!

I glanced at my watch and realized the time. I had to get to work or Vanessa was going to start the meetings without me. And I still had coffee on my shirt.

Chapter 29: In This Town (Boredom eats me like Cancer)

I reached my office at about five to nine, which was extremely late for my usual routine. Lorraine glared at me.

“Thought maybe you were calling in,” she said. “Ms. Brown has left a message.”

“I’ll call her myself. Good morning, Lorraine.” I tried a smile.

“Good morning, sir.” She didn’t.

“Lorraine, do you want to come to Colorado? Or would you prefer to stay here and run the office, be my eyes and ears?”

She raised an eyebrow over her glasses. “I get a choice?”

“Of course.”

Lorraine looked at me funny through her glasses, that steely gaze boring into my soul. I shivered.

“You’re acting strangely lately.”

“You said that before.”

“It’s still true.” She paused, holding her hands together on her desk. “Be that as it may, I would rather stay home than travel.”

“I’d love to have you here running the office. It’s easier than getting someone else familiar, and I know I can rely on you to keep it organized while I’m gone.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good. Glad that’s settled. I’m going to go call Ms. Brown.”

“Don’t forget that you have coffee on your shirt, sir.” Lorraine said as I slipped into my office. I shrugged sheepishly.

“Vanessa, it’s Diggory,” I said once she came on the phone.

“Good morning! All ready for your interviews?”

“Yes, are they all scheduled?”

“First one starts in fifteen minutes, conference room three. See you there?”

“I’ll be right down.”

I grabbed the spare shirt I kept in my closet and changed while I glanced over my calendar for the day. I took a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. Calla had left me pretty shaken. I breathed slowly, and then headed to the conference room. I entered and sat down with Vanessa on one side of the conference table. She had the files for each of the three interns in front of her, including their resumes.

“Who’s first?”

“Carrie Harrison.”

The energetic Ms. Harrison came into the room a few moments later with a big smile and a hearty handshake. She sat down with straight posture and faced us. Her hair was cut short, with just enough gel to make it shiny and edgy, a modern-yet-professional look. She seemed very focused as we asked our questions.

I let Vanessa handle most of them. I wanted a sense of her operating style, as we had never really worked together before. She asked some pretty insightful questions, hitting both legal expertise and personal style, which mattered almost as much. We didn’t want to take a personality we’d find incompatible with our own.

Truthfully, I was bored with the process after three questions. I don’t need to hear lawyers talk law, and I knew from the way they interacted that Vanessa would get along with Carrie. Unimpressed with the dialogue, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander along irrelevant paths. First, was the realization that Carrie would one day become a Soccer Mom. She had that attitude, the one that says “Hey Team, I’ll bring the Kool Aid and bake some brownies!” Except maybe she’d lean towards healthier fare. She wasn’t a lifer, that was for sure. It’s just something you can see in a lawyer.

Vanessa, for example, would never turn into Super Soccer Mom. She was too elegant, too refined. She’d possibly transform into Sexy Socialite Mom, the kind who hired nannies and ran benefits, and organized cocktail parties, unless she continued to work.

Inevitably, I wondered what Calla would turn into, in a few years. I had avoided thinking about her since returning to the office, but she found her way back into my thoughts. What would she become? The Sexy Physics Professor? Were there such things? She had a simple clarity to the way she dressed, a sense of restrained style, so she wouldn’t have much trouble fitting in with the upper class. Yet I could also see her baking. It was a weird thought: being mostly a fantasy, with a lively existence in my head, Calla could become anything. Who was she really? Did I really want to find out?

“Thank you for coming, Carrie,” I stood up and shook hands with her. As she left, I turned to Foxy.

“Who’s next?”

Chapter 30: Always on my Mind

“Dwayne Austin.”

Dwayne Austin was a big, broad-shouldered young man. He came into the room with a solid step, a small smile, and a very firm handshake. He reminded me of the linebackers from my school team: solid, dependable, and slow.

Vanessa’s interaction with him proved that first impression entirely correct.

“So, Dwayne, you’re interested in accompanying us to Denver?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“It sounds like a great opportunity.”

“What particular skills do you think you’d bring?”

“I work hard. I put in long hours. I think I’m very dependable.”

His short, declarative sentences were lulling me to sleep. Dwayne seemed to put little thought into his answers, and honestly seemed to think they were enough. I was relieved when Vanessa smiled and thanked him for coming.

“One more?” I said.

She shrugged. “Ford Jones. And then we can be done and go to lunch.”

I groaned. Ford Jones was the last person I wanted to see. I had completely forgotten he had been accepted to the internship program. The smarmy little shit-head.

He entered with his perfect hair and his perfect smile, and seemed perfectly happy to see us. He shook hands with Vanessa while I silently fumed.

“Good morning, Diggory. How are your mother and father? I haven’t been out to the club lately, but Father had a round of golf with your dad the other week…”

“Sit down, Ford. This isn’t a social call.”

He blinked and found his seat, suddenly not so perfectly self-assured. Vanessa raised an eyebrow at me as she sat down, and I gave a half-shake of my head, “No.” She turned to Ford and began asking questions, but without any of the usual warmth she had for people.

Which was good. Because Ford Jones was evil incarnate.

I had grown up only semi-aware of Ford Jones and his twin brother, Fisher. Their parents were friends with mine, and belonged to all the same clubs and charitable organizations. I actually used to believe “Keeping Up with the Joneses” referred to them, being that they were at least as rich as my father.

My first impression of them was of two identical boys, one a complete brat and the other kind of quiet. By the time I was graduating high school, I had it figured out. Because, at the tender age of fourteen, Ford had stolen my father’s car from a valet parking lot during a benefit dinner, and subsequently crashed it.

He successfully found a way to pin it on his brother. Fisher spent the next few years trying to salvage his honour, doing yard work for my parents and working odd jobs, trying to pay back the damage. Meanwhile, according to rumours, Ford impregnated three girls during high school and quietly paid for abortions. They both went to the same law school, my alma mater. Friends on the faculty and still attending school would keep me posted about the Jones boys.

I personally recommended Fisher to our internship program. Unfortunately, his interests lay in criminal law, rather than corporate, and he had a spot in the Public Defender’s office. The internship committee mistakenly hired Ford, with some urging from my father. My father, who still believed Fisher was the “bad Jones boy,” and wanted to please his friend. It would make future favours highly likely, as “one hand washes the other.” That was one of Dad’s favourite sayings.

I cut the interview short in the middle, thanking Ford for his time brusquely. He exited without saying goodbye.

“What was that all about?” Vanessa asked.

“Ford’s the devil. We’re taking Carrie, you two get along well.”

“I was leaning in that direction, anyway.” Vanessa shrugged. “Dwayne’s a little slow…”

“I have some things to take care of. I’ll be busy the rest of the day. Rain-check on lunch?” I asked.

“Sure,” Vanessa said. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” I retreated to my office, where I locked the door.

Calla Wiley. Mystery, fantasy and frustration, all in one package.

And just what the hell did she mean by “calibrate” and “deceleration?” Not to mention "counterpart," what was up with that?

She promised me answers the following morning. I wanted them desperately.

Chapter 31: Do This

I decided not to wait.

I got up from my desk and left the office, calling out to Lorraine as I went past.

“Clear my schedule, Lorraine. I’ll be back when I’m back.”

Not giving her time to answer, I marched to the elevators and headed down to the lobby. I exited swiftly and hailed a taxi, getting in and giving the driver Calla’s address.

I wanted answers, and I wanted them yesterday.

The cabbie pulled up to an apartment building a few blocks from the university, where the bustling and shiny downtown core gave way to older buildings. I guessed a lot of students found housing in this district, given that it was noticeably cheaper while still being close to campus. That, and there were college girls in tight shorts, using up the last few days of warm weather the best they knew how.

How I missed university. Sigh.

I shook off this momentary nostalgia and strode to the front door, pressing the intercom button for her apartment.

“Who is it?” A female voice answered.

“Diggory Franklin, for Ms. Calla Wiley,” I announced, in my most professional voice.

“Oh, the lawyer! Hi, it’s Bianca. We met at the gallery, I think.” Her voice was warm and friendly.

“Hi, how are you?” I answered nicely. Then I remembered that I was here on a mission. “Can I come up?”

“Sure.” She buzzed me in and I fairly flew up the stairs towards their place. I knocked on the door a few minutes later.

“Hi, Mr. Franklin,” Bianca said as she opened the door. She was wearing a billowy skirt and a tank top, all in greens and browns. Her hair was still in a disarray of braids and plaits, tangled in a jumble on her head.

“Hello, Bianca. Is Calla in?”

“I’m afraid not, she’s still out. Can I get you something while you wait? Tea, or water or something?”

She ushered me into the apartment. Pictures abounded on the walls, colour prints as well as black-and-whites. Some had frames, but the majority were up with staples, tape or (presumably) sticky tack. Plants in pots sprawled across tables and shelves, spider plants and bamboo. The furniture, by contrast, was free of clutter, and perfectly angled for guests to sit. I guessed that the roommates had a standing agreement that the artist could decorate, so long as the scientist got a certain amount of cleanliness.

“Uh, water would be great,” I said, deflating. My sense of purpose had carried me here, but now that I was here, without Calla, I had no idea what to do next.

Bianca headed off to the kitchen and I heard cupboards and the refrigerator open and close. She was back momentarily with cups of water.

“Hope you like Brita filters, we don’t do plastic bottles and I hate tap water.”

“Thanks, this is perfect.” I sipped slowly. “Do you expect her back soon?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Bianca gestured at an armchair, while she herself sat on the arm of the couch. I smiled sheepishly and sat as directed, and then realized she hadn’t answered my question.

“So, Calla…” I began again.

“She’ll be in shortly. She likes to come home for lunch before going back to class or the lab. I thought we could use the time to get to know each other.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice…” I reflected that, being roommates, they must be close, and therefore Bianca’s interest must reflect Calla having discussed me. Or, so I hoped.

“If you hurt her, I will feed your balls to you. One at a time.”

I gulped. I hadn’t counted on the over-protective roommate scenario.

Chapter 32: She Drives Me Crazy

“Listen, Bianca,” I said, after an incredibly awkward silence, “I don’t know what Calla’s said about me, but we’re just friends…”

“Calla doesn’t have friends. Or boyfriends. She has me, and that’s it. So where did you come from?”

I furrowed my brow. “I met her last week, at the coffee shop near my work. We flirted a little, sort of. She seems nice. I don’t know how I’ve offended you…”

“You haven’t.” Bianca smiled. “It’s my job to keep her safe. And I don’t know you. It’s nothing personal.”

“My balls are considerably personal.”

She laughed. “Lighten up! That’s hyperbole. Roomies and best friends are entitled.”

I tried to smile. “Well, she’s lucky to have such a dedicated friend. Seriously, I’m not here to hurt her, that’s far from my plans.”

“But you do want to date her, right? It’s not like you’re agenda free.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to her. But I have zero problem with just being friends with her.”

“That’s good. Because the chances of anything more are worse than the chances that I’ll marry Brad Pitt.”

Bianca sipped her water as I sat back in my chair, digesting what she’d just told me.

“Why are my chances so bad?”

She appraised me over the rim of her glass for several seconds. Then she shrugged.

“It’s not my job to protect you, just her. If you’re going to be persistent, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Bianca put her glass down on the coffee table.

“Persist with what? You already said she doesn’t have boyfriends. I guess that means you don’t need to worry.”

Bianca laughed again. “You’re stupid, Diggory. Do you think I’d be grilling you, if she wasn’t interested?”

I groaned. “You’re crazier than she is! You say she doesn’t date, that I don’t have a chance, and yet she’s interested? That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Calla probably doesn’t realize it herself. But she’s talked about you way too much in the past week for it to be just some casual thing, a random meeting with a nothing guy. She likes you. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“So, again, why no chance?” I was getting tired of going round in circles.

“Because Calla is Calla. You’ll see.” Bianca got up. I stood, reflexively, trying to mind my manners with this incomprehensible girl.

She sighed. “You seem like a nice guy, Mr. Franklin. Calla is a nice girl. But that doesn’t mean she’s the right girl for you. Just trust me on this. You don’t want to get involved.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m sure,” I said. “Maybe I would, if you weren’t being so damn cryptic about it.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Look, I’m not going to share my friend’s problems with a stranger. I shouldn’t be saying anything at all, except that I don’t want you pushing your way into her life, only to find out you don’t want to be there. I don’t want her getting hurt. Get it? She has baggage enough. Don’t add to it.”

I nodded. “If it’s the bipolar thing, you don’t need to worry. I already suspected it, and wanted to talk to you about what to do.”

Bianca blinked. “Pardon?”

“Ever since she came to talk to me last Thursday evening, I’ve wondered what was going on. It’s the only explanation. Her mood swings are so volatile.”

This comment caused Bianca to laugh. I watched her, wondering if perhaps Calla wasn’t the only crazy person. Gradually, Bianca regained her composure.

“You think Calla’s crazy? She’s the most sane person I know, for all her problems. I’m thinking you’re the one who needs to see a shrink, Calla was with me last Thursday.”

“What?” I said, utterly shocked.

“Calla went to class like normal, and came home in the afternoon. She and I were here the whole time, watching movies. She told me she met you that morning, which is when I began to realize she must be interested, or she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Inviting you to the gallery was icing on the cake. But now… I think you’d better leave.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We have enough to deal with here, without adding more craziness. Get out.”

Chapter 33: She's My Best Friend

I was in deep shit.
I had come to Calla Wiley’s apartment in order to get some answers after her incomprehensible behaviour of the past week. I had found her roommate Bianca instead, and within moments she had changed from a friendly acquaintance to a pissed-off adversary. Her smiling face had transmuted into a disgusted snarl. Bianca truly believed I was crazy.

I wasn’t so sure I disagreed with her.

“Hold on, hold on…” I said quietly as she pointed at the door, demanding my departure.

“GET OUT!” She yelled.

“HOLD ON!” I shouted back. It startled her momentarily, and I filled the void with soft speech. “I understand why you might think I’m crazy. You don’t know me, and I come out of nowhere to disturb your little universe. But I saw Calla last Thursday evening, and she called me over the weekend. I still have the messages. You can come listen to them, and judge for yourself which one of us is crazy. I think she needs our help. If you’re really the protective friend you claim to be, you’ll keep an open mind and come listen. Just in case Calla needs your help.”

Bianca’s brow was furrowed, her mouth straight and grim. But her scrunched face softened a little over the course of my little speech, and her mouth opened with a small “O” of surprise. She put her hand down.

“That’s more reasonable than I would have expected from a crazy man,” she said after a moment. “But I’m not going anywhere with you alone. Just in case you’re crazy.”

Bianca smiled winningly on that last line, with a little shrug. It was a shrug that said that maybe she believed me. A little. I breathed out, not realizing until I did it that I’d been holding my breath.

“We’re alone right now,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was before I thought you were crazy,” Bianca said, smiling wider.

“You’re nuts,” I laughed. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know, you’re the smart one who found a way out of the last impasse.” Bianca sat back down on the arm of the couch, folding her arms. “Figure it out.”

I thought about it. And then I slapped my hand to my forehead in disgust.

“It’s on my answering machine at work! There are people there. If I seem crazy, you’ll have witnesses, you can just hand me over to them.”

She nodded. “Sounds fair enough.”

“Why are you being fair to a crazy person?” I asked.

“Because, as stupid as it seems, Calla seems to like you. I’ll kill you if you hurt her, but she could use some friends.”

“So, if I’m not crazy and I don’t hurt her, we’re good? Sounds like a fair proposition from where I’m standing, since I know I’m not crazy and I have no intention of ever hurting Calla.”

“Yeah, well, from where I’m standing, you still need to prove it. But, at least I’m willing to give you that chance, right?” Bianca smiled and stuck out her hand. We shook on it.

“I think you’re crazier than either Calla or me,” I smiled.

“Probably. But I’m an artist, comes with the deal.” She shrugged. “Shall we?”

I nodded and we headed for the door. We walked down the stairs.

“So, how long have you known Calla?” I asked.

“A long time.”

“So you know her really well?” I inquired.

“Better than anyone.”

“So she’s going to be a PhD, huh? I bet her parents must be really proud.”

Bianca turned to me with a smile when we reached the main floor..

“Is that a lawyer thing?”

“What?”

“Asking all these probing questions, to try to pump me for information.”

I blinked. “I was just curious.”

“Yeah, well, you can ask Calla that stuff yourself.”

We got a cab and rode the rest of the way in silence.

Chapter 34: Crash! Bang! Boom!

I sat in awkward silence with Bianca, Calla Wiley’s artsy roommate, while our cab weaved through traffic. It only had to go a few blocks to reach my work, but it seemed like everyone was out on the streets for lunch. We hit three red lights with bumper-to-bumper traffic.

As a result, our taxicab pulled up to my building just as lunch hour was finishing. People scurried along the street to return to their places of business, while I stepped out of the cab and offered a hand to Bianca. She accepted it with a soft smile, and I wondered if we were declaring a truce. I opened my mouth to say something.

And a deafening boom erupted overhead.

Acting purely on instinct, I shoved Bianca down and forward, knocking her into the backseat. I leapt in atop her, a human shield. A split second later the cab was hit by innumerable shards of glass, tinkling off the roof and windshield like hard rain. They hit with enough force to scratch the glass windows. The vehicle rocked for a moment and then settled back down. My ears were ringing from the explosion, but that shower of glass splinters had still sounded like a downpour or machine gun fire.

Bianca was trying to say something, but it seemed muffled. I wondered if I’d lost some hearing, or if my nervous system was just trying to deal with the shock. She hit my shoulder and I realized she was telling me to get off her. I got up slowly, tilting my body so she could sit up. I moved to the other side of the seat and looked out the open door.

People were running here and there, covering their heads. Some were cowering against walls. More than a few had lacerations from the glass. Papers blew all over, some of them smouldering. Smoke cast a pall over the air. I could barely make out the sound of sirens in the distance. I looked up.

My father’s building was burning. It looked like all the windows had been blown out about three quarters of the way up the building, and dark trails of smoke were still raining soot down on the city. I thought I caught glimpses of flames, and wondered what the firefighters would do when they got here.

I looked back at Bianca, whose eyes were wide with shock. She was staring upwards at the smoky destruction. The cabbie was shouting something, but I couldn’t make it out. The ringing in my ears was too much. My whole body felt like it was trembling, and I looked at my hands. They weren’t shaking, though it felt like it. It was as if the explosion had rocked my body, and not just my ears. I wondered dreamily if this was an adrenal reaction, and imagined my pulse must be racing.

Yet everything moved in slow motion.

Bianca exited the cab, looking upwards in awe. She put a hand on my arm. I looked down at it, surprised. I couldn’t tell if she was reaching out to steady herself or offer consolation. I was too numb to need it. I wondered how long that would last.

An eternity later, though it was probably only a few minutes, cops and firefighters were on the sidewalk, directing people and assessing damage. The activity made me dizzy, so I didn’t fight the paramedic who guided me to a nearby ambulance and made me sit down. Someone draped a blanket over Bianca and me, and we sat close like children while the world rushed around us.

I regained my hearing an octave at a time, it seemed. One moment there was only ringing, and then there were the high-pitched wails of sirens. I started snatching bits of words as people screamed or cried or yelled. Voices started to cut through the din.

I sat there, bewildered, as I relearned how to hear. I turned to look at Bianca. She gripped my hand in hers, interlocking our fingers. She gave a comforting squeeze.

“Can you hear me?” I asked.

She nodded. “You’re yelling.”

“Sorry,” I tried to soften my voice. “Is that better?”

“Much,” she grinned.

We sat there in silence for a bit longer, watching the police and emergency crews as they rushed back and forth. I wondered if anyone died. I wondered what had caused the explosion. I wondered where we would be working tomorrow.

“I guess we won’t be checking your messages, huh?” Bianca said.

Chapter 35: This is the Best Day Ever

I sat with Bianca in the emergency room while she waited for x-rays. It seemed that I may have sprained or even broken her collarbone when I tackled her into the cab earlier. I felt bad about that, and apologized at every opportunity.

“Seriously, Diggory, don’t worry about it. You probably saved my life,” she would say each time, and give me another pat on the arm.

“I know. I just feel bad.”

“You’re probably still in shock and dwelling on minute details to keep your mind off the bigger picture. I know I would,” Bianca said.

The ER was crowded with people from the business district who had been hit by shards of glass, or inhaled too much smoke. I had yet to find anyone from my office, but then, they could have been diverted to another hospital. I hoped no one was hurt. It was taking ages for them to get to Bianca, but then, her injuries probably seemed minor.

Once she realized we’d be there for longer than she’d hoped, Bianca got out her cell phone.

“I think I’d better tell Calla where we are,” she said. I nodded.

“I’m going to call my parents’ place, see if my mother knows anything. She’s probably out of her mind with worry.”

We stood outside the emergency bay, calling our respective numbers. I wondered how real the warning was about using cellular phones inside the hospital. It was damned annoying. I waited while it rang.

“Hello?” My mother’s voice answered after several rings.

“Hi, Mother. It’s me.”

“Good afternoon, Diggory darling. How are you, dear? So unexpected to hear from you. Are you coming to my party tomorrow?”

I stopped short and stared at the phone in my hand. My mother’s voice sounded slurred.

“Mother, are you okay?”

“Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t I be?” She actually giggled. My mother had been drinking in the middle of the afternoon.

“Um, okay… Have you been watching the news?”

“Well, dear, I just woke up from my afternoon nap, so I’ve been dead to the world. Why, is something the matter?”

“Maybe you had better find a news channel. There was an explosion at work, and I’m in the hospital. I’m fine!” I added hastily. “A friend just needs x-rays.”

“Oh dear! I do hope everyone is all right. Have you heard from your father?”

“I was hoping that he had called you by now. I’ll try his cell number. I’ll call you back, Mother.”

“Take care, darling.”

I hung up and shook my head. Then I called my father’s personal cell phone number, and got no answer. I told myself there could be a million reasons for that. It could be off. It could have been damaged. He could have lost it while leaving the building. He might have left it in the office or at home.

I really didn’t want to think about the alternative.

“Everything okay?” Bianca asked me.

“What? Oh, yeah, fine. My mother didn’t even realize anything was wrong, she was taking a nap.”

“I feel like I could use one. This has been an exhausting day.”

I shifted my feet and stared at them. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. You wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if you hadn’t come with me to work.”

“Diggory, stop blaming yourself. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, predicting the future hasn’t been my strong suit lately.”

“Is it anyone’s?”

“Well, I usually have a long-term plan in mind. Things have been a little disrupted this week.”

“Because of Calla?” Bianca asked with a grin.

I blushed.

That was a loaded question I didn’t really want to answer.

Chapter 36: Alive on Arrival

We were still waiting in triage when Calla came into the ER. I was getting a water bottle from a vending machine, so she saw Bianca first. She rushed over to give her roomie a hug.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Calla said.

Simultaneously, Bianca cringed in pain as her friend shifted her sore collarbone, “Ouch!”

“I’m so sorry! Oh no!”

“It’s her clavicle. I think I broke it,” I offered quietly from the side.

“Diggory!” Calla said, turning to me. “No, Bianca told me you saved her life. Thank you!”

“Well, aside from the fact she wouldn’t have needed saving if I hadn’t dragged her along with me, you’re welcome.”

“Stop saying that,” Bianca slapped my arm with a smile. “You’re a hero.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Have you heard from anyone? What happened?” Calla asked.

I shrugged. “The cops took a statement at the scene, but we couldn’t tell them much. The building exploded near the top somewhere. They didn’t share information with us, so if they know anything more, they’re keeping it to themselves.”

“I wonder if it was terrorists,” Bianca said. “Everyone is scared of terrorists.”

“They are in the business of terrifying people,” Calla said with a smile in the corner of her mouth. “But that’s a little random. Why would they target Diggory’s work? It’s not a government building.”

“It could just be something normal, like faulty mechanics or a gas line, then,” Bianca said.

“I think we should let the experts figure it out,” I suggested. “You need to sit down and rest. They’ll probably call you in any minute.”

We all sat down. My cell phone started to ring.

“Would you ladies excuse me?” I took it out of my pocket and wandered a few feet away around the corner into the corridor adjacent to triage. “Hello?”

“Dude, are you okay?” Matt the Pimp’s familiar voice came over the phone. “I’m at a pay phone, I had to borrow some quarters. Thank God you’re alive!”

“Matt, what the hell happened? Are you okay? I haven’t seen anyone else here at the hospital.”

“I went out for lunch with that cute girl from accounting, and when I got back the building was on fire! Paper and shit all over the street. The cops wouldn’t let us get anywhere close, and I left my phone inside. I haven’t seen anyone else either. Why are you at the hospital? Did you get hurt?”

“No, I was just coming back from lunch myself. Sort of. I went to see Calla.”

“Ah,” Matt said, and I knew he was grinning, “For lunch. I see!”

“No, you don’t. She wasn’t home. I spoke with her roommate, Bianca, and she came with me to our building. Just as we arrived, it exploded. I pushed her back into our cab and jumped on top to protect her, like an ass. We think I broke her collarbone. She’s pretty sore.”

“Way to go, champ! You’re a regular Clark Kent!”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I shrugged, tired of hearing it.

“Hey, she’s hot. Put in a good word for me, will you?”

“I’ll call you when we’re done here. Good-bye, Matt.” I hung up.

I turned to go back to triage. From the corner I could hear Calla and Bianca softly murmuring. On a terrible, sneaky impulse, I stopped to listen.

“So are you going to get more serious with him, or not? Because if you don’t jump his bones, I will,” Bianca said.

“Are you kidding?”

“He’s hot! Plus, he’s kind of heroic and noble. I don’t usually go for that, but you should have seen him! The building went up and he just instinctively knew what to do, jumping on top of me instead of panicking. I totally froze! He’s tough: I straight up yelled at him, playing the over-protective roomie, and he stood up to me. You’ve never had him lying on top of you, trust me, it’s an experience worth repeating.”

“He broke your clavicle!”

“Totally worth it.”

Chapter 37: Cops on our Tail

I composed myself and walked casually into triage.

“Everything okay?” Calla asked.

“Yeah, that was just Matt, letting me know that he survived, like all cockroaches.”

“He’s your friend?” Bianca asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, a) you called him a cockroach, and b) he hit on me after I saw him hitting on a waitress at the gallery last week. He’s kind of slimy.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so. He wants me to put in a good word, and that saves me the trouble.” I sat down.

“Ewwwwwww,” Bianca scrunched up her nose. “Matt’s so dirty. Even his cousin Sheila thinks so.”

“She’s a snob,” I said.

“You don’t have a high opinion of people, do you?” Bianca asked.

“Not when I’m tired. What’s the point of lying to you? Sheila only let you and your classmates use her gallery to score points with her clients, and look all humanitarian. It was self-serving. Matt hits on any girl that walks by. He might be a loyal friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a pig. If I pretend with you, sooner or later you’ll find out and then you won’t let me talk to Calla.”

“Let you?” Calla bristled. “Bianca is not my mother.”

“Then maybe you had better take that up with her, she thinks she can decide whether we’re friends or not,” I said, grinning.

“That’s not what I said,” Bianca sputtered. “I said I’d kill you if you hurt her.”

“So you say,” I shrugged. “Still sounds like you’re making decisions on her behalf. Maybe you should let her speak for herself.”

“I think you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Bianca stuck out her tongue.

“I think you’re both being silly,” Calla declared. “Bianca just wants to be a good friend, and Diggory, that won’t change the fact that I’m going out with you tomorrow night. Now, is that settled?”

I shrugged and Bianca nodded. “Good,” Calla said. “Now, what I want to know, is what the two of you were doing together this afternoon, that caused you to go to Diggory’s work.”

I blinked. I had forgotten all about that.

“Diggory wanted to talk to you. You weren’t home,” Bianca started. “He said something funny…”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a big deal,” I interrupted. “I was just trying to prove to Bianca that I had your best interests in mind.”

Calla turned to her friend, “But why would you need to go to his office for that?”

I screamed at Bianca telepathically, and tried to mouth the words “Not now!” to her urgently, widening my eyes. I didn’t need Bianca discussing my theory that Calla was crazy. For one thing, I didn’t want to insult the girl, and for another, I didn’t want her thinking that I was nuts.

For once, telepathy might have worked. Bianca raised her eyebrow and then spoke to Calla.

“Oh, I just thought it would be better for us to get to know each other off my home turf. I mean, you were coming home soon, after all. I didn’t have a lot of time to interrogate the man. Away from the house, I could find out more and then we could come back.”

I was impressed with Bianca’s ability to improvise. I smiled and mouthed “Thank you.”

“And the building blew up before she could get much out of me,” I said. “So that’s how we got here.”

“I see,” Calla said. “Weird day.”

“Very weird.” I nodded.

A pair of police officers entered the ER through the outer doors. They glanced around and one of them pointed in our direction.

“That’s him,” one said.

The pair came over. I had a grim feeling that my day was about to get weirder.

“Diggory Franklin?” One asked. I nodded. “Could you come with us, sir? We need you to come down to the precinct to answer some questions.”

Chapter 38: Boys in Blue

Bianca and Calla looked up at me as I went with the police officers.

“Diggory?” Calla said. Her brow furrowed.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tonight once I’m home.” I waved for them to remain seated and left the emergency room. The boys in blue led me to a patrol car, and I got into the backseat.

“What’s this all about, gentlemen?” I asked. I felt a little out of place behind the glass, but at least I wasn’t wearing handcuffs. “I gave my statement at the scene.”

“Sorry, sir, it’s nothing to be alarmed about. Our captain would like to speak with you, that’s all,” one of the officers answered, the one on the passenger side of the front seat.

“Oh,” I said, staring out the window, trying not to clasp my hands together too tightly. A million thoughts ran through my mind in an instant. Did they have a suspect? Were there bodies I might have to identify? Were people missing?

Those were three thoughts. The other nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and seven thoughts were about my father. Was he alive? Or dead? Maimed? Burnt? Worried about me? Alive? Dead?

We arrived at the precinct moments later. The officers let me out of the back and I followed them inside and up a few flights of stairs to a busy row of cubicles. They led the way to an office in the back.

“Captain?” The driver of the patrol car knocked on the open door. “He’s here.”

They stepped aside and I entered the office. A burly gentleman with a short beard and greying hair greeted me with a handshake.

“Captain McCoy, at your service. Sorry about the chauffeurs, Mr. Franklin. I had several cars looking all over the city for you, in case you ended up at one of the other hospitals. I imagine they aren’t the sort of escort you’re used to.”

“Not a problem, sir,” I said, trying not to raise an eyebrow at his comments. I fought to keep a blank face as he gestured towards a chair and I moved to sit. “I gather that this is a matter of some importance, then?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Franklin.” The captain moved to sit behind his desk, pushing aside a clutter of paperwork and empty paper coffee cups. “Some importance, indeed.”

He paused. Captain McCoy looked down at his desk, and then back at me. He took a deep breath.

“Not everyone from your building has been accounted for, as of yet. We understand that some of them were out for lunch at the time of the, uh, incident, and not all of them have checked in. However, it makes it difficult to determine if there were casualties.”

“Did anyone die?” I asked.

“Frankly, Mr. Franklin, we’re not sure.” The captain paused again, as if realizing how awkward that sentence had sounded. “The fire was extremely destructive. We have experts at the scene, but my understanding is that the fire department has never experienced anything like this. We’re all waiting to see.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“We can’t tell if this was an industrial accident, of some kind, or a bomb, or what. We have to wait for the experts on that. We have to wait on the missing people to be identified. It’s a big waiting game.”

“So I gathered. Why am I here, then?”

The captain took yet another pause. “One of the missing people is your father.”

I had already anticipated this, as a possibility. I had tried to brace myself for it in the car. But hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gonads. I tried to take a deep breath.

“Because of the high profile of this, uh, incident, we had to enquire as to the status of your father’s company structure. That is to say, we needed to find someone in authority. Unfortunately, the company VP is missing, along with your father, and most of the law department isn’t accounted for.”

I still hadn’t caught my breath. Each revelation made it that much harder.

“As a last resort, we contacted your father’s personal attorney, instead of one of the corporate employees.”

“Old man White?” I finally found something I could comment on. “He always visits at Christmas.” Of course, my comment was entirely unhelpful.

“Yes, James White. He informed us that, in the event of your father’s death, or an emergency such as this, there is only one person with authority to speak for his company.”

I gripped the armrests of my chair, and I could feel my fingernails digging into the wood.

“Apparently, you own the company, until your father’s whereabouts are established.”

Chapter 39: Drinks On Me

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, blinking.

“You are the majority stockholder of Franklin Investments. The acting chair. I don’t know what your company would call it. Mr. White said you can call him if you have any questions, apparently your father has left some very specific instructions.”

“We don’t even know if he’s dead!”

“No,” the captain agreed, “But, be that as it may, Mr. White assures us that your father planned for every contingency. I just wanted you to know that we’ll be calling you as the investigation continues. The rest of it you’ll have to sort out yourself.”

“Thanks,” I said. For nothing, I thought. “Is there anything else?”

“Not at this time, Mr. Franklin, but I’ll be in touch as soon as we know more. Unfortunately, your office building will be cordoned off for a few days, we’ll let you know as soon as you can return.”

I shook hands with Captain McCoy and exited his office, walking across the floor to the stairs. I went down a flight and took several deep breaths, shaking my hands. After a few moments, I continued down to the main floor and exited, waving at a cab.

I got in the backseat and realized that I had no idea where I wanted to go. Part of me wanted to go home and sleep for a month. Part of me thought that I should go to my mother’s apartment and make sure she was all right. I also wanted to ask Mr. White for advice, as I would no doubt have to speak with the insurance company, and get renovators to repair the building, which could take months. I would have to organize temporary office space, and who knows what else.

I wasn’t equipped to run an international company. I had yet to even lead my own legal team. I guessed that I wouldn’t be going to Denver, after all.

I could think of a million responsible actions I could take tonight, to start taking initiative and picking up the pieces after this catastrophe. I knew that it was all on my shoulders, and it was time to be a man.

“Madison’s Bar, on Fifth, please,” I told the cabbie.

If I had to be a man, I wanted a good, stiff drink first.

“How many has he had?” A familiar voice said through the fog.

“Tequila or vodka?” Another voice said.

“He drank that? It must be bad.”

Someone plunked down beside me at the bar. I turned slowly, wondering why the room kept swirling after my barstool came to a stop. I blinked and peered at the person before me. I turned my head and looked with one eye, and then turned the other way and used the other eye. It seemed they both wouldn’t focus at the same time.

“Matt! Hey, Matt! How’s my pimp?” I laughed, and then I smacked my lips a few times. “Hey, has your mouth ever gone numb before?”

“Digger, man, what are you doing? I haven’t seen you like this since… Well, it was a week ago, but other than that, never. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing a’ tall. Nope.” I turned back to my drink, sipping it. There was only a few drops left. “Hey, Mel, somebody emptied my glass!”

Melanie looked at me, and then at Matt. I could see two of him shrug. She shrugged back and poured me two drinks. I raised my two right hands and grabbed for it.

“This could take awhile,” I murmured.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Matt said, somewhat louder.

“Nothing! Just, the building blew up. People are missing. And I’m the new president!”

“I thought the election wasn’t until November?” Matt asked Melanie. “When did you decide to run?” He directed this to me.

“Ha!” I said, and then I laughed at the joke for a while. If it was a joke. “Ha! That’s funny. I’m not going to be the new Bush, Matt. I’m the new Franklin.”

“Benjamin Franklin, or Franklin Roosevelt? I don’t think Ben was ever actually president.”

“Ha!” I laughed again. “You’re so stupid, Matt the Pimp. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know what I’m talking about. We both don’t know. Isn’t that funny?”

“Sure, Digger, tons of fun. What happened since I talked to you last?” He intoned this last sentence very slowly.

“The cops told me I’m the president. Daddy’s gone bye-bye, and I’m in charge.” I raised my glass. “Drinks are on me!”

Chapter 40: Woke up this Morning

Luckily, there were only eight people in the bar. Melanie poured out a round for everyone amidst subdued applause.

“Boy, this place sure is dead!” I scoffed, reaching for my drink. Matt slid it to the side.

“You don’t really need that, pal.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s only like seven in the evening.”

I blinked. “Is that why this place is so empty?”

“That, and most of the business district is a ghost town, after the explosion. Let’s get you home, Digger.”

I frowned. “All I’m going to do there is worry. That’s no fun!”

“And all you’re going to do here is drink until you puke. You’ve done that once this month already, I don’t need to see a repeat.”

“Yeah, that would be kind of derivative, huh?” I chuckled.

Matt got my arm over his shoulder and helped me stumble out of the bar and into a cab. He got me home safe and sound and dumped me into bed.

“Sleep it off, pal. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“G’night, Matty.”

I woke up at about six the next morning, my eyes burning and head throbbing. I smacked my forehead, unimpressed with my own stupidity. Of course, that made my headache worse.

“Ow!”

I rolled out of my blankets and shuffled my way to the bathroom, taking a hot shower. I dressed for the day, eschewing my usual suit for casual slacks and a sweater. There wasn’t exactly an office to go to anymore, now was there?

I sat in my kitchen eating dry toast and sipping water, and then I looked at my clock.

“Why the hell am I up so early?” I wondered to myself. “I could have stayed in bed.”

Then I remembered the date.

“September nineteenth, eight A.M. I have to get to the coffee house!”

Calla would be waiting, and hopefully, so would some answers.

I got there at just past seven-thirty. The coffee house was sparsely populated. It seemed few people still wanted to be out downtown. I nodded at the barista behind the counter, being a regular, and she gave a timid wave back. I ordered a coffee and sat down where I could watch the door.

“Who are you waiting for?” a voice asked from behind me.

I turned. Calla had emerged from the bathroom. I grinned, unable to help myself, and stood up.

“You.” I hugged her on an impulse. She sighed happily and clutched me tight.

I urged her to sit down, and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Frank, you will never understand how hard this is sometimes.” She shook her head.

“So explain it to me. Yesterday you said you would.”

She blinked. “You saw me yesterday? I hate how confusing transition is! What was the date?”

“Yesterday was September eighteenth. You wrote it on your hand. Which was weird, because you already had today’s date on your other hand.” I pointed at her two hands in sequence, open and bare on the table. “What was that about?”

She tilted her head. “I haven’t done that yet. What did the one with today’s date say?”

“Just ‘September 19th, 8 A.M.’ Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t. I’m going to, in ten minutes, apparently. The question is, why?”

“You said for calibrating. What do you need to calibrate?”

“Oh! My time machine.”

Chapter 41: Time Operator

I laughed and then tried to stifle it, snorting a little coffee.

“Ow. Sorry,” I chuckled. Calla merely stared at me. “I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to react to that. Am I supposed to make a crack about Marty and the Doc? Ask if you parked the DeLorean out front? It’s a joke, right?”

Calla stared at me some more. I began to feel a little awkward as the silence went on. After another moment, I felt like a bit of a jackass.

“You’re not kidding, are you?” I ventured sheepishly.

“Have you listened to anything I’ve told you over the past week? Your life is in danger! What’s funny about that?” She glared.

I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again. I shrugged a little. “I honestly don’t know how to react to this. My first impulse was to assume you were being funny. Anything else, I’m simply not going to understand. You say ‘time machine’ as casually as someone talking about their new DVD player.”

“I realize it’s not a conventional topic of conversation. But you had to know something weird was going on.”

I blushed a little. “Truthfully, I’ve been thinking you might be a little crazy. Your behaviour is entirely erratic…”

Calla looked genuinely sympathetic. “I’m really sorry, Frank.” She took my hand in hers. “Not all of this is going to make sense right away. It’s going to be hard on you. But what I’m telling you is the truth: I built a time machine in order to save your life. Because you are going to be dead in a year.”

I looked in her eyes and saw nothing but conviction. I remembered the old joke that every Napoleon in the average insane asylum really believed that they were the Emperor of France, but Calla didn’t come across as irrational. She seemed entirely serious. I found that more terrifying than insanity.

“You say you’re not crazy. So, you’re from what, the future? How am I supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t really know how to prove it to you,” she started to say.

“Can I see the machine?” I asked, realizing that it would be physical evidence.

“Not really. It doesn’t work like in the movies. I don’t travel here in a magic car. I showed you the device after I built it, but that hasn’t happened in your personal timeframe yet.”

“Maybe you had better start at the beginning. I’m already confused enough as it is.”

“That’s the other fun thing about time travel. It’s incredibly disorienting. I was able to find you here because the coffee house is one of our favourite spots, and I know that you came here even before we met. But I never know what day it is when I arrive, and have to check with newspapers or ask someone the date. I often mix up my own personal timeframe, it appears that transition jumbles neural pathways. I imagine it has something to do with the acceleration affecting the electrical charge in the brain…”

I held up my hands. “Whoa! I said I was already confused.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep it simpler. The machine, it’s not something you travel in. It’s more that it gives my body the right energy frequency to travel against the entropy wave…”

Calla glanced my way as she spoke, and I guess she realized I was in way over my head. “Okay,” she paused, “I’ll think of a way to explain that later. Basically, I get thrown into the past by energy. When the charge wears off, I go back.”

“Back to the Future.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “But the machine is difficult to aim, and I often end up on the wrong day. I’ve been trying to land on the day we met, to convince you not to talk to me.”

“You did! I met you, we kissed, and then we met again and you had no idea who I was!”

“Well, I guess that means I get this thing calibrated. But the biggest problem with that is the disorientation effect. By the time I get back to my present, your future, I hardly remember what I’ve done, so I can’t really configure the machine to send me to a different day.”

“Well, if your memory sucks so much, maybe that’s why you wrote it on your hand. It will tell you the day and time you visited in the past when you get back.”

“It might work.” Calla smiled. She went to the counter and spoke briefly with the barista, who handed over a pen. Calla came back and wrote the time on the back of her hand.

“September 19th, 8 A.M.” I said. “Maybe that works.”

“So does this mean you believe me?” She asked, hope in her eyes.

Chapter 42: I'm No Ordinary Girl

“I don’t know how to believe something I hardly understand,” I shook my head. “But how about this: I’m willing to suspend disbelief. I’ll keep an open mind, until you figure out how to prove it to me.”

Calla tried not to grin. “I’m a little more concerned with saving your life, but I’ll think about it.”

“So fill me in. Why is my life in danger?”

Calla sat back in her chair and blinked a few times, hard. I could see emotion welling up there again. “I don’t really want to talk about you dying. It’s still pretty fresh for me.”

“Whereas, for me, it’s not really on my itinerary. All I know is that you seem pretty adamant that I’m going to die and that being around you causes it.”

“So the solution is pretty simple, stop spending time with me. Then, you don’t have to worry about when or how you die.” She tried to smile, though I could see it was forced.

“If I did stop spending time with you, and didn’t die, doesn’t that mean you wouldn’t travel back in time to save me? Ergo, you wouldn’t even be here right now. So, that’s like a paradox, right?” I said. I wasn’t even sure I understood what I meant, but I said it anyway.

Calla stared at the top of the table, doodling on it with her index finger. She seemed like a pouty child for a moment. “I don’t like thinking about that, either. I’m hoping it doesn’t apply.”

“What?” I asked, a little surprised. “I’m not a scientist, but I understand logic and causal relationships. You’re hoping that normal cause-and-effect physics doesn’t apply? You don’t know?”

“How can I know? It’s not like there’s a Time Traveller’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’m making this up as I go.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “So, hypothetically, I die, and you travel back in time to prevent it, and you’re not even sure it will work? What did you base that idea on?”

“Because I wanted it to work. Stupid, emotional, sentimental, and not at all scientific.”

“Do you even have a working theory?”

“Sort of. Newton believed matter could neither be created nor destroyed, it just took on different forms. To some this meant time travel could never be possible, as it would be introducing new energy into a closed system, thereby overloading and destroying it. My presence in the past demonstrates that all forms of matter exist irregardless of their location in temporal space. The fourth dimension of time might work in the same way as length, width or height, it’s just another location. I can be near the beginning or the middle, without displacing anything.”

“I think my brain is being displaced, there’s so much I just don’t quite grasp. I think you mean that people assumed someone couldn’t travel to the past because the matter in their body was already there, in another form, right?” She nodded, so I continued, “And what you’re saying is, that the matter of the past and the future, they exist independently? I don’t really understand it, but I think that’s what you’re saying.”

“That’s it. There is a school of thought in physics that speculates that the universe is a multiverse, alternate dimensions where the different configurations of matter all have a place. A person turns left instead of right. A car crash happens, or is averted. All of them exist in the universe, somewhere. So the only thing that moves is consciousness, according to one choice or another. Have you ever seen someone line up dominoes and then knock them down? Picture time like a line of dominoes, each one a little different than the last. All that transfers between them is the force of the first one being knocked over, that same little spurt of energy goes from one to the next until they all fall down.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Well, I’m saying each moment in time is a different domino. But consciousness can be moved between the dominoes like the force of the first one falling. You can’t see it. But it has an impact. So, I’m just moving the domino of ‘me’ from my time frame to the domino representing your time frame, which exists independently. The past, present and future are all occurring at the same time, the only thing that registers them as linear is our perception, our consciousness. From outside the time frame, the different time periods would be a still picture.”

“My head hurts.”

Calla smiled. “I’ll try and think of another way to explain it. But, the important thing is, what I believe will save your life is that, if I can come here to this ‘domino,’ I can cause the chain of events after it to go in another direction, and save your life.”

“Isn’t that kind of playing God? Messing with history like that? If your machine allows you do something so world-changing, that’s a dangerous little toy.”

“Well, it’s not like I intend to use it for anything else. And no one else knows how it works.”

“I think that’s what they said about the nuclear bomb after World War Two,” I said.

Calla stared at me, her face growing pale.

Chapter 43: She Drives me Crazy

Calla’s hand moved to her mouth as she gasped, her fingers trembling minutely. I gave her other hand a gentle squeeze, seeing that my comment had freaked her out.

“I couldn’t have been short-sighted, could I?” She said, almost to herself. “I mean, the possible ramifications… I need to bury the research, maybe even disassemble the machine… Oh, Frank, how will I save you if I do that?” She looked at me then, eyes wide.

“Shhhh, Calla, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to get you more worked up. I really have no idea if your machine is real, or if anything you’ve said today is even possible. I’m completely out of my element. But one thing I believe in for sure, is cause and effect. Evidence. I’m here, you’re here, the world isn’t going anywhere. I don’t think you can cause a paradox and destroy what’s already happened. I don’t think your device can hurt anyone.”

She blinked back tears and wiped her nose. “But then I can’t save you, either. I don’t want to believe that.”

“Look, maybe I do die in a year, or whatever. But everybody dies. I can see from our weird little visits that I become really important to you. Just the idea of that makes me really happy. Why would I want you to stop that from happening? Even if it’s only for a short while, it’s more than I’ve ever had before. I say it’s worth the risk.”

Calla’s tears started flowing again. “You stupid jerk. That’s probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

She reached across the table and grabbed the back of my head, pulling me in close to her for an urgent kiss. My head swirled.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she whispered against my lips after a moment of bliss.

“Mmm, okay,” I murmured back, eyes closed, trying to memorize the shape of her lips against my own, and remember the warmth.

I opened my eyes and watched her head off in the direction of the bathrooms, down a short hallway adjacent to the main room of the coffee shop. I sighed happily.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting there drumming my fingers on the table, and I let out a quiet sigh of frustration.

“Problem?” One of the baristas said, the one with the purple streaks in her punky hair.

“Uh, yeah,” I thought quickly, “My friend is an epileptic and I’m worried that she passed out on the floor of the ladies’ room. Could you maybe check?”

“Uh, sure, no problem.” She wandered down the hallway and went through the restroom door. I tapped my fingers on the tabletop, increasing in speed until she returned a moment later.

“Um, I don’t know if you missed her or something, but there’s nobody in there.”

“I might have been mistaken. Can I ask a dumb question?” I asked, and she nodded. “Is there a window in there?”

“No, it doesn’t face the outside. Why?”

“No reason. Thanks.”

She ambled back over to the counter to serve customers. I got out my cell phone and dialled Bianca and Calla’s place.

“Hello?” Bianca answered.

“Hi, Bianca. Good morning.”

“Diggory? What’s up, dude?”

“Not much. Just I had coffee just now with Calla, and she was talking really strangely. I figure I should tell you whenever something like this happens, so we both know and can keep our eyes open for a pattern. She was talking about me dying and being from the future, all kinds of crazy stuff. I just thought you should know.”

Bianca paused. “Yeah, thanks. By all means, keep me informed. The more people aware of it, the better chances we can get her some help. I’m glad you brought it to my attention yesterday. How are you doing, anyway? Any word on your dad?”

“Not yet. I’m meeting with his lawyer later today, so I can figure some things out. They’ve put me temporarily in charge of the company, which is just ridiculous. I’m also calling my mother, to see if she still even wants company this evening. I’ll call back later to let you and Calla know what I’m doing.”

“Thanks. Talk to you then,” she said. I hung up.

It sure felt better to let someone else worry about that situation for the day. I had enough shit to deal with, let alone adding a crazy “time travelling” girlfriend to the mix. Right now, I had to figure out what to do before I drove a multi-billion dollar corporation into the ground.

Why do these things happen to me?

Bonus Chapter: Bianca

As Dictated by Bianca Davies, circa 2009:

So, I guess I met Diggory Franklin in September. My friend Calla invited him to one of the student art shows I was in. He struck me as a cute guy in a suit, but I didn’t think much of it. Calla is a very sensible girl, and isn’t easily impressed. But she spent a lot of time talking about him, after they met in a coffee house.

Of course I was curious as to why he had made such an impression. But it was a busy night, and we didn’t have a chance to talk. That would come about a week later. He came to our apartment to speak with Calla, but she was out.

That first conversation was also the first sign that maybe something was wrong with Mr. Franklin.

First off, I tried to warn him not to get too attached to Calla. She’s not really a people person, and lacks interest in socializing. She also has family baggage of her own. He impressed me a little with his ability to hold his own in that conversation, he clearly wanted to get to know Calla better despite risks.

But then he said something very strange.

He asked why there was baggage with Calla, and I said: “Look, I’m not going to share my friend’s problems with a stranger. I shouldn’t be saying anything at all, except that I don’t want you pushing your way into her life, only to find out you don’t want to be there. I don’t want her getting hurt. Get it? She has baggage enough. Don’t add to it.”

He responded strangely: “If it’s the bipolar thing, you don’t need to worry. I already suspected it, and wanted to talk to you about what to do.”

“Pardon?” I said, a little taken aback.

“Ever since she came to talk to me last Thursday evening, I’ve wondered what was going on. It’s the only explanation. Her mood swings are so volatile.”

I had to laugh at that. Calla is dryly rational, she thinks everything through. She’s got more logic than Spock, you know? And, he had his days mixed up. Calla had been with me Thursday night, there was no way she’d seen him. Something was up with this dude.

“You think Calla’s crazy? She’s the most sane person I know, for all her problems. I’m thinking you’re the one who needs to see a shrink, Calla was with me last Thursday.”

“What?” Mr. Franklin said, and it really seemed to rattle him.

“Calla went to class like normal, and came home in the afternoon. She and I were here the whole time, watching movies. She told me she met you that morning, which is when I began to realize she must be interested, or she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Inviting you to the gallery was icing on the cake. But now… I think you’d better leave.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We have enough to deal with here, without adding more craziness. Get out.” I was adamant. If he was going to be disrupting Calla’s life after all the shit she’s been through, I wanted his ass out the door.

“Hold on, hold on…” Mr. Franklin spoke softly, so I yelled at him. I wasn’t putting up with bullshit.

“GET OUT!”

“HOLD ON!” he shouted back. I was thrown off for a second, and then he was talking gently. “I understand why you might think I’m crazy. You don’t know me, and I come out of nowhere to disturb your little universe. But I saw Calla last Thursday evening, and she called me over the weekend. I still have the messages. You can come listen to them, and judge for yourself which one of us is crazy. I think she needs our help. If you’re really the protective friend you claim to be, you’ll keep an open mind and come listen. Just in case Calla needs your help.”

Something about his earnest face, and the concern in his eyes, made me want to believe him. Mr. Franklin talked me into going back to his office, where he apparently had voicemails of Calla behaving oddly on the phone. I agreed to look at his “evidence” just in case my friend really needed help. He’s a smooth talker, when he wants to be.

Of course, that was Thursday, the eighteenth. Everyone knows what happened next: the Franklin building blew up when we arrived. Everything that’s happened since in Diggory’s life has been attributed to stress caused by that event. His father’s disappearance, his mother’s reaction, his own behaviour… But he told me about seeing Calla on Thursday the eleventh before that all happened. The first sign something was wrong came before.

I kind of forgot about it in the chaos of the explosion. He saved my life, pushing me into a car so the shrapnel didn’t shred us to pieces. It was easy to forget. But Friday morning he called our place, and gave me a reason to remember.

The phone rang and I answered.

“Hi, Bianca. Good morning,” Mr. Franklin’s familiar voice said.

“Diggory? What’s up, dude?”

“Not much. Just I had coffee just now with Calla, and she was talking really strangely. I figure I should tell you whenever something like this happens, so we both know and can keep our eyes open for a pattern. She was talking about me dying and being from the future, all kinds of crazy stuff. I just thought you should know.”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking this was the craziest thing I’d ever heard. I didn’t want to upset him, though, not over the phone like that. So I just played it cool.

“Yeah, thanks. By all means, keep me informed. The more people aware of it, the better chances we can get her some help. I’m glad you brought it to my attention yesterday. How are you doing, anyway? Any word on your dad?”

“Not yet. I’m meeting with his lawyer later today, so I can figure some things out. They’ve put me temporarily in charge of the company, which is just ridiculous. I’m also calling my mother, to see if she still even wants company this evening. I’ll call back later to let you and Calla know what I’m doing.”

“Thanks. Talk to you then,” I said. I hung up and looked across the breakfast table to Calla.

“That was Diggory?” she asked. “Didn’t he want to talk to me?”

“Uh, not right this minute, he seemed like he was in a rush. He told me to tell you that he’ll call back later in the day, once he finds out if his mother is still having that party. With everything that’s happened, I’d be surprised if she did.”

Calla nodded and went back to her cereal. She had slept late, having worried about me and Mr. Franklin and the explosion all night.

“You really like him, huh?” I asked.

She blushed and shrugged.

“Just… be careful,” I said.

I should have told her then what he had told me. About the time travel stuff and his weirdness. I don’t know why I didn’t.

I think we all regret that a little now.

Chapter 44: On Top of the World

I called Mr. White’s number as I waited for a cab in the street. It rang a few times and then the grizzly voice I knew so well answered.

“Good morning,” James White said.

“Good morning, sir. It’s Diggory Franklin. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Not at all, Diggory. An old man like me wakes up at the crack of dawn after barely any sleep. Damned bladder.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I listened to his gruff chuckle.

“I assume you’re on your way over to discuss your father’s papers?” Mr. White asked.

“Indeed I am, if it’s convenient for you.”

“I’m old and retired, young man, it’s no imposition. And my convenience was never a concern for your father. That’s why he paid me so much damn money, in his words.”

I out-and-out laughed at that. “See you in a bit then, sir.”

Mr. James White was my father’s oldest friend, in both senses of the word “oldest.” He must have been in his late seventies, at least, and had known my father since before his university days. He was so trusted, my father kept him on as his personal attorney even after White retired, despite the fact he left several capable younger partners in charge of his law firm.

He lived in a house built around the turn of the century, maintained with loving care and lots of money. I pulled up to the well-aged building and remembered Christmas Eves of my childhood, where people from all over the city gathered to pay their respects to a significant member of their community. I think he was the only man my father ever looked up to, for all their mutual teasing.

To me, he was like a grandfather.

I knocked on the door, and his nurse, Greta, let me in. She showed me to the old man’s study. He was sitting in a big leather armchair, his legs wrapped in a blanket, his hair a halo of white around his ears.

“Good to see you, lad,” he smiled. I crossed to his chair and shook hands, preventing him from trying to get up. I marvelled at how fragile his fingers looked, yet could still feel like a steel grip underneath.

“Glad to be here, sir. So, tell me, how much trouble am I in?”

“A lot. Your father left you in charge of one of the largest corporations in North America. Luckily, the directors of the subsidiary companies are more than capable of running their own little fiefdoms, and making you money in the meantime.”

“That’s a relief.” I tried to smile as he waved me to a seat. I sank into a leather chair.

“Basically, you have three options. One, we open the envelope on my desk, and you follow your father’s instructions on how he intended to invest over the next few years, according to his analysis of current trends. That’s your father’s principle work, these days, and his great gift. He can always predict the market. He never felt the need to run the companies he bought stock in, because he believed they were doing things right anyway. He just got in before anyone else realized he was right.”

I nodded. “So, option one, I don’t do any thinking. What are the other two?”

“You can try to handle things yourself. I’m fairly certain that intimidates you?”

I didn’t even try to bluff. “Scares me shitless.”

He nodded, not saying anything about the cursing. As a boy, he would have paddled me for it and then told my father, who would have added salt to the wounds. I took it as a sign that he had realized I had grown up along the way somewhere.

“Third… Well,” he paused, “You could sell Franklin investments, all of your controlling stock. Let it worry about itself, and you could retire as a young man and find your own path.”

I stared at him. I hadn’t realized I had that much control of my father’s stock.

“How is that possible? They aren’t even sure he’s dead.”

Old man White shrugged, settling back in his chair. “Doesn’t matter. He’s left very specific instructions as to who gets voting control. So long as he is missing, you are his proxy and have power of attorney. You can do whatever you want: sell his house, rip apart the company, drive his cars. There’s a trust set up for your mother, a significant amount of his personal fortune, but the company itself is under your direct control.”

“So now what do I do?”

“Choose.”

Chapter 45: When it Rains, it Pours

Old man White and I spent most of the morning in conversation. We discussed my options to a tremendous extent, and he walked me through the company’s structure and dealings. I made a minor decision.

“There’s no way I can just take over without knowing whether my father is dead or not. I’ll see how things play out over the next few weeks with the police investigation. I’ll get the office staff temporary space so we can get back on our feet during renovations, and that way we’ll find out if I’m any good at managing the business. There’s no need to be hasty and completely take over, or dismantle the company.”

Mr. White nodded. “Very sensible.”

I thanked him for his time and left. I called my mother from a taxi, just to check in.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mother. It’s Diggory.”

“Diggory, darling! How are you?”

Once again, my mother sounded tipsy. I wondered if this was a regular thing with her.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing, with Father missing and everything. Did you still want me to come over this evening?”

“Of course, dear! Everyone’s still coming.”

“You’re still having your dinner party?” I asked.

“Yes, dear. Everyone wants to see that I’m all right, and the show must go on, as they say. I’d feel better if people were over, it gives me something to do.”

Something other than drink, I thought to myself.

“Well, if you’re certain…”

“You’re such a dear, to be worried like this. I’m fine, darling, really I am. I’ll see you and your lady friend tonight. Bye now.”

I shook my head, feeling a little bewildered. Then, I made a phone call that I really should have made the day before.

“Bowden residence.”

“Hi, Mr. Bowden, it’s Diggory Franklin calling.”

“Mr. Franklin, hello. Lorraine and I have been worried about you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Please tell me that means she’s okay!”

“Oh, yes, sir! She was overnight at the hospital, with a twisted ankle, but she’s home now. Took them forever to see her in the emergency room, with everything else. But Lorraine is quite all right.”

“Please give her my best. I’ll call again when I have more time, I’m kind of in between appointments. I just wanted to make sure that she was okay.”

“I’ll tell her you called.”

Once I was off the phone with Mr. Bowden, I ordered a floral arrangement to be sent to their house with a card. Lorraine talked tough, but she was my favourite person to work with. I hung up with the florist, only to have my cell ring in my hand.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Franklin, it’s Captain McCoy. How are you, sir?”

“I’m fine, considering the odd situation we’re all in. How about you, Captain?”

“Well, Mr. Franklin, to get straight to it, I’d like you to come down to the station.”

“Oh? Something come up in the investigation already?” I leaned forward in my seat. The sooner this was all resolved, the better.

“Sort of, sir. Experts. One of them wants to speak with you.”

“Who’s this?”

“The F.B.I.”

Chapter 46: Mo Money Mo Problems

The desk sergeant led me upstairs towards Captain McCoy’s office. I nodded at a few detectives as I passed through, who seemed friendly enough. I figured that, if the F.B.I. were here to be dicks, the cops would be a little more aloof. I told myself that, anyway.

“Mr. Franklin,” the Captain said as he opened his doorway, showing me in.

I stepped into the room. A tall, lanky fellow with curly hair was standing by the windows. He looked at his watch and then looked at me and smiled.

“Mr. Franklin, so good of you to come,” he said, pleasantly enough. He extended his hand. “Agent Jameson, from the Bureau.”

We shook hands firmly. “Good to meet you.”

He directed me towards the chair in front of the desk. I turned to sit and noticed that McCoy had vacated the office. He had also closed the door. Jameson took the Captain’s chair.

“I want to thank you for coming down here. We’d be glad of your assistance.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, you just let me know.” I looked across the table at him, trying to read his pleasant smile.

“Well, Mr. Franklin, we’re dealing with a strange situation, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Agent Jameson folded his fingers together on the table like a steeple.

“Just out of curiosity, what changed in the investigation that caused the Bureau to be interested?”

“A bombing on U.S. soil is extremely interesting, as you put it. Especially when the police cannot find the cause of the explosion.” Jameson picked up a briefcase from behind the desk. “As to the reason for our involvement, well…”

He glanced at the closed door and leaned across the table a little. “You understand that this is strictly confidential?”

I leaned in closer, as if we were passing secrets in study hall and we didn’t want the other kids to hear. “Hey, I’m all ears. If I can help you guys out.”

“We have reason to believe that it was a terrorist attack,” Agent Jameson said as he pulled a dossier out of the briefcase and put it on the table.

I looked down at pictures that he spun so I could see them. The photographs were grainy monochrome shot from a distance.

“Security cameras?”

“From the lobby of your office building. Luckily, the security office is on the ground floor and was unaffected by the explosion. Funny thing is, moments before the incident, they all stopped working. But not before we got these.”

I took a closer look. People were passing through the lobby. Jameson pointed at one. An older man, wearing sunglasses and a suit. He had a beard and long hair in a ponytail.

“Do you know this man?” Jameson asked.

“Can’t say that I do. Who is he?”

“He has many names. Lately he’s gone by Zebediah. He’s unofficially Public Enemy Number One.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Unofficially?”

“Yes, indeed. Because the public doesn’t know he exists, and we really don’t want them to know.” Jameson smiled his pleasant smile.

“So why are you telling me?”

“We believe he may try to contact you or threaten you. We suspect he’s behind the explosion. If he does make contact, we’ll need you to inform us immediately. We need information on him, even if we can’t apprehend him. That takes someone who can get close to him.”

I sat back in my chair. “I’m bait.”

“Yes indeed, Mr. Franklin. Unfortunately, whether you like it or not. If we’re right, Zebediah will contact you regardless. And we’ll be watching, regardless. At least this way, you know ahead of time and can assist us in our investigation.”

“So I’ll be bait that’s aware that I’m in the trap.” I rubbed my chin and then ran my fingers through my hair. “Great.”

Jameson smiled again, as if in sympathy.

“So, why exactly did he pick my father’s company? What makes a terrorist interested in an investment company?”

Chapter 47: A Question of Priorities

Agent Jameson steepled his hands together again and stared at me for a moment.

“Franklin Investments owns a tremendous amount of stock in various companies. Taking it out of commission would throw the market into an uproar. That’s just one reason.”

“There are other reasons?” I asked.

Jameson shrugged. “We won’t know unless and until Zebediah decides to contact you. Maybe you can find out more from him.”

“That’s just great. If and when I get to talk to the psychotic building-exploding terrorist, I can ask him why he did it. Sounds like a great plan!”

Jameson held up his hands. “Mr. Franklin, believe me, I understand your frustration. I know your father is missing, and you’re under a lot of pressure. I don’t like this plan at all. But it’s our only plan right now, so we need to make it work as best we can.”

I ran my fingers through my hair again, groaning. Agent Jameson smiled pleasantly at me.

“I’m sorry, if that’s any consolation.”

“Is there anything else, Agent Jameson? I have to get on with my day.”

“There is one other thing,” he said, checking his watch. He took a deep breath. “Over the next few days, the C.I.A. might contact you as well.”

“Are they helping out?”

“They’ve taken an interest. But, if they decide to contact you, I’d advise you not to mention this conversation.”

I looked directly at him, asking a question with my eyes.

“You don’t want them to know?”

“We believe Zebediah has informants. People on the inside. If there’s a leak, I don’t want them to know that you’ve been warned about him.”

I tapped my fingers on my knees. “So the good guys might be bad guys. You really know how to reassure a person.”

“We’ll be watching, Mr. Franklin, to ensure your safety. I don’t know what else to tell you. Try and have a pleasant day.”

I walked out of the police station and looked around. Pedestrians wandered past, cars drove down busy streets. I shook my head, wondering what to do. I pulled out my phone and dialled Calla’s number. I got the machine.

“Hi, Calla, it’s Diggory. I guess you’re not in yet. If you’re still interested, my mother’s still having people over for dinner. I guess she’d feel better if people were around, instead of being by herself. Give me a call and let me know. I’d really like to see you.”

I hung up and then blew air in frustration. I decided to head home and decompress a little before dinner. The past twenty-four hours had been beyond stressful.

“Decompressing” for me meant running up the stairs of my building until I reached my place, and then hitting the gym until I was sore. Pounding the weights, hearing the metal clanking, and clearing my mind of explosions, time travel, insanity and the F.B.I.

I pushed myself to the limit with a groan, pumping my maximum on the bench press, feeling the sheen of sweat on my skin. I sat up and stayed on the bench, hunched over, breathing hard.

I walked slowly to the kitchen, and found myself a bottle of water. I gulped it greedily. I leaned against the counter and stared off into space.

These were my problems:

1. I was falling in love with Calla Wiley, who was almost certainly mentally ill.
2. If she wasn’t, I was, because she claimed to be from the future.
3. I had to run a billion dollar corporation, without my father.
4. The F.B.I and the C.I.A. were watching me because
5. A FUCKING TERRORIST WAS BLOWING UP BUILDINGS!!

In order of importance, I needed to worry about the psychotic killer and the people after him, and the company that might be torn apart in the midst of their game. The crazy girl shouldn’t have been a priority.

But all I wanted to do was kiss Calla Wiley again.

Chapter 48: The Way You Make Me Feel

I did some serious thinking while I showered and then dressed for dinner. I was in conflict: my head was saying that my current situation was precarious, and I certainly didn’t need to add to the chaos by dating Calla, while my heart had notions of its own. As irrational as it was to pursue someone at a time like this, I wanted her. I had to admit it.

The conflict was over whether or not I should act on those feelings. And I strongly suspected my heart was going to win, if for no other reason than the simple fact it had never had anything worth fighting for before. It had been saving its energy for this battle, it seemed. Because it had come out of its quiet corner fighting like a wildcat. Every time I tried to clear my head, I found my interest had her growing instead of going away.

I picked out a dark navy suit for the dinner. I had thought about black, but wondered if it was prematurely morbid. There was no definite proof yet that my father was dead, though it was entirely likely. I figured I should save black for the future funeral, and compromised with a sombre blue.

The telephone rang at about five o’clock, as I was adjusting my tie.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Diggory.”

“Hello, Calla. How are you?” I couldn’t help but smile at the sound of her voice.

“I’m fine, thanks. Just got back from the lab and got your message. Are you absolutely sure your mother still wants company? I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’d prefer it was a family thing.”

“No, everyone that was invited is still coming. My mother seems to believe ‘the show must go on.’ And she’s asked me to make sure to emphasize that you’re welcome, she’d like to meet you.”

“Really?” Calla’s voice went up a little. I wondered if the idea made her nervous.

“Well, Matt made a big deal about you at our country club, trying to embarrass me. She’d like to see for herself, I guess.”

“Why would Matt do that?”

“He likes trying to get me going. We’ve been pulling pranks on each other for years, just immature guy stuff.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised. I imagine the two of you can tell some crazy stories.”

“Oh, he probably will tonight. Matt can’t resist an audience. So, shall I pick you up around six?”

“Sounds lovely.”

I grabbed a cab and headed to a florist, picking out a bouquet of flowers for Calla. The lilies, of course. I didn’t know if I’d ever have another opportunity to give them to her. For one, apparently my life might be in danger. For another, crazy or not, she might not want to get involved with the weirdness going on in my life. I wanted to show her the best time possible. I stared out the window as the taxi headed towards her neighbourhood, lost in thoughts of what she might wear.

I knew that, a week ago, I’d have made fun of myself for being so sappy. But a lot had changed, particularly in the past twenty-four hours. My priorities were suddenly quite different.

The cab pulled up to the curb outside her building. I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door, stepping out. I held the flowers carefully, marching up the steps to the front door. I pressed the buzzer.

“What’s up, dude?” Bianca’s voice answered.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Because we’re not expecting anyone else at six o’clock this evening. Come on up.”

I went in. I took the stairs slowly, feeling my heart hammer in my chest. This wasn’t much of a first date, but it felt like a big deal. I imagined she wasn’t nearly as worked up about this as I was. I took a deep breath.

Bianca opened the door a second later, leaning against the doorframe.

“Looking sharp, Diggory. You clean up pretty good.”

“Thanks, Bianca. Is Calla ready?”

“Yes, I am,” she said softly, from their hallway by the bedrooms.

I turned to look and felt my heart stop in my chest.

“Wow.”

Chapter 49: Not Your Average Love Song

Calla stood there wearing a dress with a white, black and grey pattern that I wanted to call “checkered,” except that it was made of circles and not squares. The skirt fell just below her knee, with a bit of a wave. Her hair was up, with black pins decorated with sparkly bits. Her shoes matched, being black with sequins or something to that effect.

I realized something, from out of nowhere. It was as if I’d been walking through a black and white world and stumbled onto colour, like Dorothy going from Kansas to Oz. I suddenly became aware that I’d been singing to music all week long, ever since I’d met Calla. Music for me was always something in the background: on someone’s radio, pumped over speakers in the coffee house, playing in a cab or an elevator. Sometimes I’d use it for motivation during a workout. By and large, I was not passionate about music. But, almost below the level of my awareness, I’d unconsciously been singing along for a week. I suddenly had something in my life worth singing about.

Seeing Calla, the music in my mind gained volume. It was not your average love song: my heart was pounding a percussive beat, and my blood pulsed a bass line in my veins. Calla smiled, almost shyly, as I took it all in. I saw the hint of a blush on her cheeks. Then, I regained my composure a little, and hoped that whatever I said next would be lyrical.

“Brought… flowers.” I held the bouquet out.

Bianca saw that both of us were useless twits and took the lilies, putting them in water in the kitchen before bringing out the vase she’d chosen and displaying it on the table. Calla and I stood there like staring morons.

“Okay, kids, have a nice time at the prom,” Bianca grinned like a cheerful soccer mom, and clapped her hands. This seemed to do the trick, as Calla and I both laughed and took deep breaths.

“Shall we go?” I asked, and she nodded.

“Don’t keep her out too late, she has a curfew,” Bianca continued to tease, waving us out the door.

We walked down to the waiting cab sneaking little flirtatious looks at each other, and smiling like teenagers. I helped her into the car and off we went.

“Thank you for the flowers, they were lovely,” Calla said.

“You’re… lovely,” I said, and then blushed. Apparently I had yet to regain most of my vocabulary.

“Is this really a date?” Calla asked. “It feels like a date.”

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we’re not going to just be friends,” I ventured. “Matt certainly never had this effect on me.”

“That’s a good thing,” she smiled, and then we were holding hands. My skin tingled.

We rode in companionable silence for a while. The taxi pulled up to my mother’s building. Calla craned her neck at the window, looking up at the gleaming edifice.

“My mother’s in the penthouse,” I said. I exited the car and held open Calla’s door.

“What does your father do, exactly?” She said, still looking up.

“That’s kind of a complicated question. Apparently he owns stock in most of the biggest corporations in America. He follows trends and profits from them immensely.”

“If that’s all he does, or did, then how come he has so many employees?”

“That’s the complicated part. Apart from being an investor himself, my father had his own brokerage, insurance company, consulting agency, and real estate. He owns this building, for instance, and rents out executive apartments, and sells condos. The Franklin Investments building housed the stock brokers, insurance people, and the pension, benefits, and human resources departments that supported them. But, it also provided office space to clients running other businesses. Having an address in a Franklin building is considered high-end.”

“Oh.”

I said hello to the doorman, Lawrence, and he let us in. We crossed a marble lobby to the elevators, and I used my security card for the penthouse. Calla took my arm.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“A little. I think your mother, and her friends, are different than what I’m used to.”

“Don’t worry. They’re harmless. There’s no one here you need to impress.”

“And what if I want to impress you, Mr. Franklin?” She smiled at me playfully.

“You already have.”

Chapter 50: Welcome to the Party

Arm in arm, Calla Wiley and I entered my mother’s penthouse apartment. Servants who had been hired for the evening’s festivities greeted us in the front hallway off the elevator. My mother liked to keep a permanent staff at her country house, where she spent most of her time. The city apartment was scarcely ever inhabited of late.

Now, however, it seemed to be teeming with life. Waiters and waitresses moved about with platters, offering fancy guests fancy food. Some sipped fancy wine. Everywhere there were people in sombre colours, as if the same idea had occurred to everyone else as it had to me: this was a serious situation, with no certain outcome.

Every party, every public gathering for that matter, has a tone and mood. One could equate it to water flow. A busy crowd at a sports arena has crashing waves of sound, an ocean of people. Some parties are raucous rivers, with torrents of conversation and emotion. This party, however, was a small murmuring stream, barely a babbling brook. Everyone spoke in muted tones, uncertain if they should be festive or mourning.

My mother, however, was a rule unto herself. She greeted everyone with a warm smile, clasping hands, thanking them for coming. I led Calla towards her, in the centre of the room. Light sparkled everywhere, surprisingly bright for such a dulled down crowd. The incongruity jarred in my mind, that the atmosphere looked happy, but felt glum. I was so lost in that realization it took me a moment to realize most of the guests had turned slightly, watching us approach my mother.

“There he is,” one whispered, “The heir apparent.”

We were attracting attention.

“Diggory, darling!” My mother opened her arms in welcome, beaming. I hugged her. “And is this your lady friend?”

“Mother, allow me to introduce Calla Wiley.”

She clasped Calla’s hands and kissed each of her cheeks. Calla, to her credit, bore it well, though I knew the gesture was likely one she was unfamiliar or uncomfortable with. This sense of mine was confirmed when she turned back to me, widening her eyes momentarily before reassuming a straight face. I stifled a smile.

“Diggory, she’s lovely!” My mother enthused.

“Mother, she’s standing right here. You don’t have to speak about her in the third person,” I whispered.

“Oh, of course! Calla, dear, you’re just lovely! Thank you for coming.”

I blinked. My mother had taken my quiet criticism without batting an eye, almost as if she was oblivious to the awkwardness of her gaffe and her follow-up. Calla raised an eyebrow discreetly, and I shook my head minutely.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Franklin.”

“You’ll excuse me, dears, there are so many people to greet, but perhaps we can chat later, during dinner?” My mother smiled and moved past us.

I stood closer to Calla.

“She’s drunk,” I whispered. “Yesterday, too.”

“Worried about your dad?”

“I hope that’s all it is.”

We wandered across the room. I snagged a pair of wine glasses from a passing server, and we stood in our own little corner, talking softly.

“I’m sorry to put you through this. I’d like to say that I brought you to impress you, but nothing about this is all that glamorous.”

“So why did you bring me?” Calla asked, sipping her drink.

“I could say it’s because Matt put the idea in my parents’ heads, and they’re hard to say no to. I could say it’s because I’m tired of them butting into my personal life. I could say a lot of things. But what matters is that I wanted to be around you, and this was just an excuse. Plus, I don’t like walking into a pack of hyenas by myself.”

Calla laughed softly, stifling it behind her hand. “You don’t think highly of your peers, do you?”

“I’ve lived among them my whole life, and there’s not much about them worth liking.”

“So what makes you different?” Calla smiled.

“Am I different? I hope I am. Luck, I suppose.”

“Well, so far I don’t detest you. But, we’ll see how the night goes.”

I grinned as she smiled at me.

“So why did you want to come?” I asked.

Chapter 51: This is America

Calla smiled at me, and there was a playful spark in her eyes.

“Why did I come? I could say it’s because you saved my best friend’s life. I could say it’s because you’re so persistent, I didn’t see a point to saying no. I could say it’s because I wanted to see how the other half lives, where the grass is greener. But what matters is that I wanted to be around you, too, and this was a convenient excuse.”

I laughed at her mimicry of my silly little speech, and nodded. “I’m thankful you came.”

“So, is there anyone here worth meeting?” Calla asked. “Not that I dislike our little mutual admiration society, but if we keep gushing all over each other it’s going to get mushy.”

“There’s just me, of course,” Matt the Pimp announced, sliding in beside us with a glass of wine and his crocodile smile.

“Matt, how good of you to join us.” I glared at him. “So nice to see you.”

“Hey, Digger. Howdy, Calla. Enjoying the soiree? All the smiling, fancy people.”

“They seem pleasant enough,” Calla said.

“Well, they’re not. Dull and boring, am I right, Digger?” Matt smiled at me.

“That’s why I brought a date,” I said. “Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Matt pointed at a leggy redhead across the room. “But she won’t entertain me until later.”

“You don’t want to enjoy her conversation skills?” Calla raised an eyebrow, feigning shock.

“Oh, I like her, Digger! This one has fangs!” Matt smiled and hissed at Calla. She smiled and, to my surprise, playfully hissed back.

I smiled, glad that Calla was holding her own. Matt was a bit of a jerk, but the only way to handle him was to stand up to it. That was the only way to find the loyal friend beneath the slimy exterior.

“So, Digger, what’s the news on your dad? Everyone’s asking, and nobody seems to know.”

“Nobody knows, that’s why. The cops haven’t found anything definitive yet. But, he left specific instructions that make me head of the company in his absence.”

“So you weren’t kidding, last night at the bar?” Matt’s eyes widened.

“What does that mean?” Calla asked. “How are you supposed to run the company?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m a little out of my element. I can run it myself, or access my father’s instructions, or sell it off.”

“You can’t do that!” Matt said. “The market is already in turmoil, after the mortgage disaster and the hurricanes. With the explosion yesterday, it only got worse. If you dump your father’s stock on the market now, it will only exacerbate the problem. It will be like a crash!”

“Stock Market Crash?” Calla asked. “Like before the Depression? Economics isn’t really my forte, but everyone knows history.”

I nodded. “It could be that bad. I heard Washington did a buyout with A.I.G. and is discussing whether to help Wall Street, but they’re letting more than a few companies fold under the pressure. It could be a sign of worse to come. That’s why I’m confused about what to do. My father’s stocks are spread through major companies, and pulling out could be a disaster. But hanging in, without having his experience, could be just as bad.”

“I say access his files,” Matt suggested. “Next best thing to having him back in charge. You can’t do it on your own!”

“Nice vote of confidence,” Calla said.

“No, he’s right. I’m a lawyer, and barely starting out. My father was probably going to groom me for more later, but he’s not around now, is he?”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. I was talking to my father’s lawyer, Mr. White, and he seems pretty adamant that I have to choose. He won’t advise me until after I make a decision.”

“That’s pretty shitty,” Matt said. “What a way to help a guy.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s per my father’s instructions. He wants me to make up my own mind, show some leadership.”

“Trial by fire,” Calla nodded.

I smiled, glad she understood. “The American Dream is to be rich and powerful, but I could easily turn this into a nightmare. Burn it all down.”

Chapter 52: Cosmic Genesis

Our little financial conversation was interrupted a moment later as a waiter announced dinner. We joined the rest of the guests in a short walk to the dining room, with the decorative chandelier. The long table was adorned with centrepieces, orchids floating in water. Though, can you say “centrepiece” when there are a half dozen and they’re not in the centre of the table?

My mother sat at the head of the table, and placed me on her right, with Calla facing me on her left. The servers brought out soup and wine, the first course.

“So, Calla dear, tell me what you’re studying at the university. The boys said you’re a graduate student,” My mother started her inquisition early.

“Well, Mrs. Franklin, I’m studying physics. My areas of interest include particle physics, quantum mechanics and string theories. The building blocks of the universe and its creation.”

“Ah,” my mother said, nodding. “So do you plan to teach?”

“I’m not really sure. I may, in the future. Right now I’m concentrating on lab work and research. Experiments.”

“Oh? What kind of experiments?”

“Well, I’ve been given access to the university’s particle accelerator. My professor and I are helping the team of researchers who are responsible for the Large Hadron Collider.”

“What’s that?” My mother asked.

“I think I read about it,” I said. “It’s in Switzerland, right?”

“Yes. It’s a massive device that throws protons together, in an attempt to understand the forces at work in the creation of the universe. And that’s the simple summary. Thousands of scientists and students are participating in the study around the world, assessing the data. I was actually there when they turned it on, the day before I met Diggory.”

“Oh, you’ve been to Switzerland? Aren’t the Alps lovely?” My mother asked.

“You didn’t tell me that,” I said.

“I didn’t realize you had an interest in the Collider.” Calla smiled. “I spent a week there, and returned on a late flight. I habitually go for coffee in the morning, but that day I really needed it, I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Well, it sounds fascinating!” My mother declared.

I smiled as salad was served, wondering if “fascinating” meant “I don’t understand.” I ate quietly, watching the lovely Ms. Wiley. I had forgotten that she was more than a very pretty girl with a sense of humour. She was quite likely much smarter than me, to boot. Her levels of complexity intrigued me. I found myself wondering if I was boring to her.

“So what happened with the Collider? Did you learn anything yet?” I asked.

“Diggory, dear, I’m sure the young lady doesn’t want to just ‘talk shop’ all night!” My mother said. “It sounds like she works too hard as it is.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Calla smiled. “Fact is, the Collider was only up and running for a few days, before there was a problem with the equipment. It’s shut down for repairs, but hopefully I’ll be able to go back when the spring semester is over. We gathered some data that we’re currently analyzing, and it's led to some other tests on our smaller accelerator, but it’s all very preliminary.”

“Did you find any time for sight-seeing?” My mother asked.

To her credit, Calla took my mother’s hint graciously. “Actually, I got to spend some time in Zurich, and toured a few museums. Have you ever been to the Kunsthaus?”

“Oh, of course! I love their Modern Art collection!” My mother beamed.

I let them talk about it, and simply watched the young lady across from me. She had consumed my thoughts for more than a week, and only kept growing in my estimation.

I looked down the table and caught Matt looking at me. He rolled his eyes and mimed making himself puke. I tried not to laugh. Making sure no one was really watching, I gave him the finger in return.

We made chit-chat through dinner, surviving my mother, and then everyone scattered around the apartment to enjoy cocktails and gossip.

I had other plans.

“So, you want to get out of here?” I asked Calla, the moment we were away from the table.

“Love to.”

Chapter 53: Ice Cream

Calla and I snuck out of my mother’s penthouse like giggling teenagers, whispering a little too loudly. We rode down in the elevator, giddy with freedom: neither one of us seemed well suited for the rarefied air on the top floor. I’d never felt at home amongst my mother’s peers, that’s for sure.

The lovely Ms. Wiley leaned against my arm, and I looked down into those magnificent grey eyes. We rode down in a wonderfully intimate silence. I felt more comfortable there than I had any other time in my life.

The elevator doors opened, and the magic moment left through them. Calla grinned mischievously and bolted, and I ran after her. Suddenly we weren’t flirty adolescents, we’d become children at play. She laughed as I sprinted behind her, racing each other to see who could reach the lobby doors first. I won, but just barely.

“I didn’t expect you to be that fast!” I panted.

“I jog every day,” Calla admitted. “Not such a nerd now, huh?”

We exited the building arm in arm and strolled the downtown streets. They were still rather empty, after Thursday’s events, but people were slowly starting to resume their normal routines. We walked a few blocks in the crisp evening air, until I pulled her into a posh ice cream place on an impulse. Grinning, I ordered us double waffle cones slathered in chocolate and peanuts.

“You’re not allergic, are you?”

“I’m not, and they’re my favourite.” Calla smiled.

We wandered the city streets, not really caring where we went, just enjoying each other’s company and our dessert. It was a surprisingly sensual moment for me, watching the lovely Calla in her short dress as she savoured her ice cream, while the crisp night air heightened my awareness. Humid weather always makes me sleepy, and autumn somehow makes me more awake. I reached out and then Calla and I were holding hands, swinging them comfortably between us as we walked.

“Sorry about the party,” I said, after a long time.

“I’m having fun.” Calla shrugged. “Your mom’s not that bad.”

“So, what about your parents?”

A gloomy expression came over her face, a total solar eclipse blotting out the formerly sunny smile. All at once the magic evening wasn’t so perfect.

“Let’s just say that I have some idea what the past twenty-four hours have been like for you,” Calla said. “Can we leave it at that, for now?”

“Absolutely.” I raised her hand in mine, and kissed the back. She smiled again.

The night air suddenly seemed colder. Calla rubbed her arms. I took off my suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. I wondered how I had been so foolish as to leave our coats at my mother’s place, but I guess we’d been so caught up in the spontaneity of it all that we’d simply forgotten.

I put my arm over her shoulder, and Calla snuggled in against me as we walked. Suddenly, the evening was pretty perfect again.

We found ourselves in her neighbourhood eventually, not too far from her building. She stopped us under a tree that was already beginning to show shades of autumn in its leaves. Calla turned in towards me, pressing against my chest, looking up at my face. I put my arms around her like I had done it every day of my life.

“It’s only been a bit more than a year. They died last summer,” she said quietly. “It changes you. I forgot what it was like.”

“What?”

“To have feelings for someone.”

Her grey eyes sparkled. I raised my hand to her cheek, feeling the exquisite softness of her skin against my fingers. I wiped away the solitary tear that fell.

“I’m not the easiest person to put up with, Diggory. But, I want you to know I like you. And I’m trying.”

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” I hugged her gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lay her head against my chest for a moment, just under my chin. I squeezed her a little tighter. Calla sighed, but it was more a happy, contented sigh, than a sad one.

“It’s funny. I probably would never have met you if they were still alive.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just hugged her tighter. She stepped back after a moment.

“Thank you, for a wonderful evening.”

Calla leaned in, and then we were kissing. It was soft, and sweet, with none of the hurried urgency of our earlier kisses. Those had been heated and full of passion. This was gentle and tender. I wondered if it was possible to fall in love twice.

I walked her home, standing with Calla on the front stoop of her building.

“There’s nothing like a first kiss,” she murmured, and then slipped inside.

All in all, it was an amazing evening.

End of book one.

Chapter 1: Damsel in Distress

I stared at Calla’s door for a moment, committing every detail of our first date to memory. I turned and walked down the street, whistling to myself and strolling at a leisurely pace. All was right with the world, for the moment.

I passed a few houses, and saw someone duck into the alley. They failed to do so gracefully, and knocked over a garbage can with a resounding clatter. I glanced down the darkened gap between houses, and was astonished to see Calla, wearing jeans and a shirt.

“What the…”

“Oh, shit!” Calla said. She put up an arm to block her face, but not before I saw that she was crying.

“Calla? How did you… Why are you crying? What’s going on?”

She stumbled over the can, picking her way out of strewn garbage. I helped her as she wiggled through the last few steps. Calla looked up at me, her face full of misery.

“I told you not to go on that date, you stupid jerk!”

It had been maybe forty-five seconds since I’d seen her last, wearing a fancy dress and make-up. Her presence here was physically impossible. Unless physics had rules I simply didn’t understand.

“You were there… Now you’re here…” I looked back towards her house, and then at Calla.

“Oh, seriously, please tell me you’re this stupid!” She almost sobbed, sinking down to the sidewalk.

“You can’t be here, and there…” I tried to make sense of it.

The answer I kept coming back to was one that I couldn’t’ accept. She couldn’t travel through time. It was ridiculous, the stuff of movies and comics. What was even more unsettling was the fact that, if she was telling the truth about time travel, I was doomed. Calla had predicted my death in a year.

I wanted to believe her, because this future Calla had a passion for me that no other person had ever shown. I wanted her to love me this much. I wanted to love her back. But I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to believe it.

I knelt, putting an arm around Calla. I kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t believe you. Part of me wanted to, and part of me couldn’t handle it…”

“I get it. I seem crazy. But I had to risk it…” She held onto me tightly.

“What the hell do we do now?” I held her as she continued to cry softly.

“Whenever I go back to the future, you’re still dead. Why don’t you listen? Why do you keep pursuing me for a relationship? Your life is in danger!”

“Because I love you,” I said, amazed to hear it out loud. Coming from my own mouth, no less. “I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

We sat like that for a long time, on the cold sidewalk, just holding each other. I sighed.

“Maybe it’s meant to be like this. I don’t believe in paradoxes. Maybe you can’t change the past. My future. Whatever.”

Calla rested her head on my shoulder, looking up as I spoke. I wiped away the tears.

“So what do we do?” She asked.

“Make the time we have count. I’m going to become a part of your life, and love you, and cherish every damn moment. Even if they’re numbered. Because, really, everyone’s moments are numbered. I just know that I have less of them, so I have to make them count for more.”

“But losing you… it’s going to break my heart.” Calla held me tighter, wrapping her arms around me.

“Maybe when it happened. I imagine it must have been terrible, if it inspired you to break natural laws. But now you know that I’d risk anything to be with you. Maybe that will soften the memory, in time.”

She nodded. “You’ve always been the bravest person I know. How could I not love you?”

“Plus, I’m good looking,” I deadpanned. Calla smiled weakly.

“Frank…”

“Yes, Calla?”

“I’m decelerating.”

Calla’s body shimmered and then seemed to recede, as if shrinking into the distance at high speed. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. I slumped back on my butt on the sidewalk, totally astonished.

“Holy shit!”

Chapter 2: Comedic Relief

I sat on the sidewalk and tried to stop my hands from shaking. I had witnessed something utterly incredible, in the oldest sense of the word: I could not believe it. Calla Wiley had been sitting with me one moment, and the next receded away from me at tremendous velocity, to disappear from sight almost instantaneously.

I got to my feet and found my legs were wobbly. I began to stumble towards home, trying to make sense of what I had seen.

Part of me wanted to turn around and knock on Calla’s door. If anyone could make sense of what I had experienced, it would be my lovely physics graduate student. However, I could see that going one of two ways. First, she’d think that I was crazy. Second, she might believe me, which seemed even more complicated. Her future self seemed to be going out of her way to avoid the present Calla. I didn’t know why, but I could only assume from Michael J. Fox movies that she was worried about an impact on the timestream.

I realize that basing my behaviour on a movie I watched seems ludicrous, but it’s not like I had anyone else to inform me about this type of situation. No one I could ask for advice.

I got back to my building and rode up in the elevator, slumping against the wall. All I wanted to do was collapse into bed and hope this was all a bad dream in the morning. I was tired of having so many things pile up on me at once. The past two days had been exhausting.

I turned the key in my door and opened it, looking forward to twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. I was sorely disappointed a moment later.

“What’s up, Digger? Get dressed.”

Matt the Pimp was sitting on the back of my couch, wearing jeans and a sweater. He tossed some clothes at my chest. I caught them reflexively.

“What the hell?” I snapped.

“Dude, you promised that I could plan our Friday night. Did you really think I was going to let you off the hook?”

I shrugged. “Matt, I’m exhausted…”

“Have some Red Bull.” He walked to the fridge and got out a can, tossing it in my direction. I dropped the clothes and caught this, not really willing to be struck by an aluminium can. “I planned ahead.”

“Thoughtful,” I scoffed. “Can’t I just sleep instead?”

“Nope.”

I sighed, and picked up the clothes. “I’ll go get changed.”

Some might wonder why I went along with Matt’s plan. Mostly, I wanted the distraction. Calla One and Two were running through my brain, and if anyone could make them stop running laps, it would be Matt and his crazy plans. Perhaps not the wisest plan, but I was desperate.

I wondered if I was just plain stupid when he got out a blindfold.

“What’s this?”

“Dude, don’t you trust me?”

“Not particularly,” I admitted.

“Funny. We’re going somewhere awesome. It’s a surprise, though.”

“I don’t think I’ll like this surprise.”

“Trust me. It’s awesome.”

“You already said that,” I sighed.

Matt tied the blindfold and then guided me by the elbow, walking alongside. We went to the elevator and then across what had to be the lobby. Once we were outside he helped me get inside a low vehicle, which I could only assume was his sports car. I sat in silence, wondering what kind of insanity he was going to expose me to.

I remembered how he invited strippers to my parents’ house for my twenty-first birthday. Thank God they were out of town. Then there was the time he took me and some college buddies to crash a party held by a fashion model his cousin Sheila knew. And there was also the time we broke into a neighbour’s mansion to hold a kegger. Matt was creative, I had to give him that.

We stopped and he helped me out of the car. Wind pulled at my hair, and from the way it felt, I knew we were in a fairly open space, with few or no buildings.

“Where the hell are we?”

“The airport. Come on,” Matt said. “Trust me.”

Chapter 3: Up, Up and Away

Matt led me across the tarmac of the airport, as I kept putting one wobbly foot in front of the other.

“Is the blindfold really necessary?” I asked.

“Yes.”

He pulled me forward for a while, making my anxiety grow with every step.

“Seriously, where are we going?”

“Seriously, do you understand what a surprise is?” Matt laughed.

We walked a little further.

“Okay, buddy, you’re going to want to put your hands out in front of you.”

Matt helped me forward, and I felt metal. There was an opening, perhaps a high door? He gave me a bit of a boost and then guided me to a seat. A moment later he was buckling me in and putting earphones on my head.

“What is this?” I said.

“Helicopter. You’ll enjoy it!”

With that, a noisy engine started, and pretty soon the space around us lurched. I could feel us lifting, which was rather disconcerting when I couldn’t see what was going on. I felt my stomach roll.

The chopper was extremely loud, I could barely hear myself think even with the headphones. I leaned into my seat and held on tight, feeling the little craft buck and bounce.

I don’t know how long we were in the air, I just fought the surges in motion as we travelled. It could have been an hour or more, but certainly not less. I felt dizzy, and was tremendously relieved when the helicopter touched down on solid earth with a bump.

“Wasn’t that awesome?” Matt yelled at me, helping me out of my seat as the engine slowed. He removed the headphones and helped me out the door and down to the ground. The wind picked up, presumably from the slowly decelerating blades, and Matt led me away.

We crossed an endless tarmac again and then he helped me into a car. It smelled like a taxi. I have no idea how to describe that smell, the one that says a million people before you have sat in these seats, but anyone who’s been in a cab knows.

The car drove off. I turned towards Matt the best I could, still being blindfolded.

“This better be worth it!”

“Dude, have no fear! This is going to be great.”

I sat stewing, wanting to yell at Matt yet wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. I clutched my legs and gripped them tensely, wishing I knew what was going on. It was a tremendous relief when the taxi came to a stop and Matt helped me out.

He led me down a sidewalk, quite a distance. Then the sound seemed kind of closed in, like maybe there were walls on both sides. Things just didn’t seem as open air as they should, so I wondered if we were in an alley. A door squeaked open, on metal hinges. Matt led me indoors, and down a hallway.

“He’s with me,” Matt told someone, and another door opened. This was repeated twice more at different checkpoints, and I became even more nervous, if that was possible. Just where was he taking me?

Suddenly there was a burst of noise. People were everywhere, talking and laughing. Buzzers went off, and things dinged and clanged. The air itself seemed bustling and busy, so I could only imagine how crowded the room must have been.

“Here we are!” Matt said, untying the blindfold.

I opened my eyes to look around, and was startled to find myself in a sea of people, hustling between slot machines, roulette wheels and blackjack tables. There was a bar, and tables and chairs. The room was huge, and it looked like there were corridors off this area leading to more.

“What is this place? We weren’t in the air long enough for Vegas.”

“It’s your surprise. You’re going to love it here.”

Matt pulled me deeper into this underground casino, and I realized it was likely highly illegal.

I hoped the F.B.I. wasn’t watching me too closely today.

Chapter 4: The first rule of Fight Club...

"I'm not too sure about this," I said to Matt as he dragged me further into the illegal casino. "It's been a long week..."

"Dude, you made a promise. Is Diggory Franklin the kind of guy who would break a promise?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect it to lead me to a criminal underground gambling lair!"

"Yeah, well, then don't make blank cheque promises. You said I could pick anything, not 'anything but illegal stuff.' You're a lawyer. That's called a loophole." Matt grinned at me.

I scowled. He had a point, and I should have known better.

We moved through the crowd. I've only been to Vegas once, and it has a surprising number of senior citizen tourists. Here, the crowd was noticeably younger. Well-dressed as well. Everyone here was out to have a good time.

Matt led me out of this first room into a corridor. On either side there would occasionally be doors leading to more crowded chambers. One was playing loud music, like a club. I peeked inside, and saw strippers on numerous stages with light shows and music accompanying their pornographic acrobatics. The crowd went wild.

"Maybe later," Matt said, pulling me by the elbow. We went further along.

"Honestly, Matt, I don't think I'm at the best time in my life to be involved in anything illegal..."

"When did you turn into a pussy? The Digger I know would never back down from anything."

I glared. "The Digger you knew wasn't responsible for a billion dollar corporation, with the F.B.I. investigating a recent explosion on its premises."

Matt stopped short. "Seriously?" I nodded, and he absorbed the information. "Well, then it's even more important that we do this tonight."

"Huh?"

"Look, I realize you have new responsibilities now. Starting next week, you're going to be all busy running the company, and figuring out what to do. You're going to have meetings, and advisors, and stress. How often are you going to be able to go out with the guys and me? How often will you be able to do something crazy? You're going to be scrutinized. Today, chances are, it's the last time you'll be able to get away with something this immature and dangerous."

I blinked. "Holy shit, you're gay! You're worried I won't have time for you anymore." I shoved Matt's shoulder playfully. He tried not to look embarrassed.

"You're my best friend, Digger. And now you have to grow up." He shrugged. "It sucks."

"Come on, faggot, let's go have fun." I grinned, glad to have turned the tables and embarrassed Matt for once. Granted, fun with Matt seemed to require misogynistic, homophobic banter and a level of "macho" behaviour, but it's not my fault he couldn't communicate any other way.

Matt shook off his uncharacteristic melancholy, and showed me which way to go. We emerged from the corridor into a small arena, with a roaring crowd. Down on the floor there was a ring set up, and two men squaring off.

"Bareknuckle boxing?" I asked.

"Listen, you can't talk about this place, okay?" Matt said. "We were never here."

"Duh!"

"People gamble here, make bets on the fights, do lewd things with the strippers. There are few rules, and those that do exist are viciously enforced by the people who run this place." Matt pointed at the ring. "The fighting is no-holds-barred, more dangerous than even the Ultimate Fighters. And anyone can step into the ring."

We found seats and watched the two brawlers go at it, kicking and punching. Topless waitresses wandered through the crowd, selling food and drinks. Matt the Pimp grabbed us some beers.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I said.

I'd been looking for a way to distract myself from Calla's impossible disappearance. Illegal betting and boxing sure seemed to do the trick.

Chapter 5: I coulda been a Contender!

I was sitting in a den of iniquity. I think that’s what they call it when someone’s surrounded by crime and depravity, anyway. And, despite my training as a lawyer and my respect for the law, I found myself oddly enjoying the spectacle. Two men fought hand to hand in a ring below us, while we drank and cavorted. It was bizarre.

Part of my pleasure came from being slightly inebriated. Part of it came from momentarily escaping a life that was becoming increasingly complicated. And I think a great deal of it came from the fact that I had been an athlete in school as a member of the football and wrestling teams. I took pleasure in the physical thrill of competition. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it.

When the current bout ended, I asked Matt where the bathroom was, and then got up to relieve a pressing need. Once finished, I exited the restroom and started walking back towards the little arena. People were milling about in between matches: getting snacks and drinks, or just having conversations. I heard a familiar voice from down the corridor.

“Just who does he think he is? I know he’s your friend, but he’s a snob. Somebody should put him in his place.”

“You should be careful what you say there, man.”

“I don’t care who hears me. He’s a prick. If he hadn’t been my boss, I’d have slapped him for being so insulting. In front of Foxy Brown, no less. Like I was nothing.”

“He’s got good reason to dislike you, so I wouldn’t flap my gums, if I were you.”

“Fuck that. And fuck him! Diggory Franklin would be nothing without his parents, and now that Daddy’s gone, everyone will see how totally inept he is. And good riddance, too, the old fart!”

The voice of reason in this conversation was Matt. His increasingly vulgar conversation companion was none other than Ford Jones, the deviant intern. I walked up behind him, trying not to smile. Matt’s eyes widened slightly.

“If Diggory was right here, I’d say the same thing!”

“Would you?” I asked from over his shoulder. Ford perceptibly cringed and turned around.

“Diggory! Hello! I didn’t see you there…”

“Oh, don’t make nice now. I think it’s a little late for that.”

Ford was trying to smile. As always, there was something oily about this, as if it wasn’t quite clean or honest. Like a crocodile smile. I detested him.

“So you wanted to slap me, did you?” I asked.

You could see him calculating behind his eyes. What was it worth to lie? Was there a way out? What happened if he told the truth? I saw his mind wriggling like a snake, and tried not to grimace.

“Yeah, so what if I did?” He said finally, straightening up and trying to look tougher. I glanced around and realized we were in a circle of his friends, all here to enjoy the evening. Well, I figured we should make sure it was entertaining.

“So, if you want to, go ahead and try. What’s stopping you?” I dared him.

Something clicked in my head as I surveyed Ford and his cronies. An odd thought: if paradox was impossible, and Calla was right about the future, I was going to die in a year. That being the case, logically, I was immortal until that moment. Nothing else could kill me, else Calla’s future would have been wiped from existence. If Ford wanted to pick a fight, I could give him one. My head swirled giddily at the idea.

Ford looked at me, calculating again. Then, he swung. I caught his wrist and bent his arm, and then slammed my open hand into his throat, catching him with the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. He gasped for air, and I used his vulnerability to twist his arm and slam him up against the wall.

His friends stepped back in shock. Matt watched me like he didn’t recognize me. I growled in Ford’s ear:

“You have something to say? Want to even the odds? I’ll be waiting in the ring.”

I walked down towards the arena, Matt coming behind me.

“What are you doing?”

“You said anyone could fight, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Start taking bets. I feel like blowing off some steam. It’s been a bad week, and it’s time someone else got the brunt end of it.”

I marched down the stairs, stretching my neck and arms, limbering up. Things were about to get interesting.

Chapter 6: Ready to Rumble

I pushed through the front row surrounding the ring and boosted myself up on the apron. I stood in the nearest corner and commenced untying my shoelaces, muttering to myself. I had been slowly simmering for days, pissed off without an outlet. Ford Jones and his bad attitude gave me a convenient target. The illegal fight club gave me an irresistible opportunity.

I stripped off my socks and put them in the shoes, leaving them in the corner. A swarthy man came to the edge of the ring and hissed for my attention.

“Hey, pssst, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m picking a fight, how about you?”

He blinked. “You’re not scheduled. The area champ is up next.”

“Well, he’ll have to wait. I’m kicking someone’s ass in a minute.”

I used the same tone of voice my father used on other people’s assistants. The one that said you better hurry up and get the damn coffee, regardless of whether you knew who he was. It worked on this oily prick the same way.

“I’ll clear it with the boss.”

“You do that.” I started stretching, and testing the ropes.

Ford Jones arrived a moment later, escorted by his gang of pals. They were giving him a pep talk, it seemed, and massaging his shoulders like he was in a Rocky movie. He looked like he had found the guts to do this, anyway. Good, I thought to myself. This should be fun.

Ford jumped up on the apron and then bounced himself over the rope. He kicked off his shoes and then stripped off his shirt. He was in pretty good shape. I guessed he ran fairly regularly and maybe did some time on the weight machines. When he started doing warm up moves I realized he had some martial arts background. He was playing to the crowd with it, and they were getting revved up. Evidently, they didn’t care who was next, so long as someone got beat up.

The fun part was, I knew a few fighting styles myself. And, based on what I was seeing, Ford knew enough to intimidate the ignorant. If he had more than three years actual experience, I’d be surprised.

“Pssst, hey!” The guy was back.

“What now?”

“The boss says it’s okay by him. So long as the winner fights the champ.”

I shrugged. “His funeral.”

The little man blinked. He hadn’t expected that. I smiled.

Matt arrived, standing in my corner.

“You’re doing this?” He asked.

“Yep.”

“Good. I got two-to-one odds after Ford put on his little Kung-fu Panda routine. Make me some money.” Matt the Pimp grinned. I smiled grimly back.

“Ring the fucking bell,” I told the slimy little shithead at ringside.

He shrugged and signalled the official. Apparently they didn’t waste time with a referee, but a bell-ringer/timekeeper was essential. No rules sounded good to me.

Ford punched his fists in the air, getting the crowd to cheer. His friends hooted and hollered. He punched in my direction rapidly, indicating he intended to punch my guts out, I guess. It was cute. The crowd appreciated his showmanship.

I took one step forward and peeled off my sweater and t-shirt. The crowd silenced immediately, followed by a soft gasp of surprise. I had a good thirty pounds of chiselled muscle on Ford, daily workouts meant I had the physique of an elite athlete. The only reason I hadn’t played in the NFL had been my father’s influence, not a lack of ability. I had slimmed down since college, with running and yoga, but I still maintained excellent muscle tone. Ford noticeably gulped.

Noting that he had lost the crowd, Ford cheered again, a mild war cry. They tried to boost his spirits a little, cheering back quietly. It was enough to inspire him to charge. I guess he figured he could shock me into submission, catch me off guard with an aggressive first strike.

It was cute.

I planted my open palm in his face Mossad style, hitting him with the heel. Along with the web of the hand and the elbow, it’s one of the almost unbreakable parts of the human body. His nose broke with a satisfying crunching sound, and he fell to the mat crying like a baby.

“Next time, keep your mouth shut, dumbass.”

Chapter 7: Now We Are Fucked

The crowd broke out in raucous cheers. Apparently, they changed sides quickly. This supported my theory that they didn’t care who got beat up, so long as someone did. I ignored them, and leaned against my corner. For one thing, I wasn’t here as entertainment. For another, they’d seen enough showboating from Bloody-Nose Jones.

“That wasn’t bad,” the oily fellow at ringside said from the apron. “You ready for the champ?”

“Whatever.” I shrugged. Adrenalin was still coursing through my body. Ford had gone down a little too easily, and I still had some aggression to work out. At this point, it didn’t really matter who received it. I couldn’t hit the elusive terrorist who’d blown up my office and likely killed my father, so anyone else would have to do.

“Anyone else” stepped into the ring a moment later, accompanied by deafening cheers from the fickle crowd. They obviously liked this guy, at least for now. He had at least three inches on me, maybe more, and probably a good seventy-five pounds. He also looked like he had been carved out of stone.

“Good luck,” the smarmy little weasel at ringside said, trying not to laugh.

“Holy shit!” Matt said. “You agreed to fight that guy? Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You have balls the size of Texas! Are you kidding?”

“I didn’t know who he was, at the time.” I shrugged. From across the ring, the big champ pointed at me, glaring.

For a moment, fear twisted in my belly, and my hands began to shake. This wasn’t a wuss like Ford Jones. This was a hardened veteran of the ring. He could likely tear me apart.

I had two things going for me: the sheer certainty that I couldn’t die, and the element of surprise.

“YeeeeeeARGH!” I roared and ran forward. The champion had been momentarily playing to the crowd, so he turned in surprise. I leapt at him like a monkey, flying through the air. He almost grinned as he held out his arms, capturing me in a bear hug.

This would ordinarily be an “Oh shit, now I am fucked,” kind of moment. Not many people would want to be caught in the arms of a near three hundred pound monster intent on crushing them. His arms were the size of my legs, and squeezed like a bear.

Good thing I wasn’t worried about using my own arms, seeing as how they were caught in his grip. I swung my head up swiftly instead, slamming his jaw. Blood drooled as he bit his tongue and his eyes rolled. His arms loosened, so I dropped to my feet.

Immediately, I slammed my knee into his groin and then brought my forearm across his face as he buckled. He hit the mat hard, smearing his blood across the surface with his cheek as he rolled. I stepped back, breathing hard. This time the crowd roared its approval as if they loved me, and I rose my hands in triumph, a little bewildered at how quickly it had happened.

Matt jumped in the ring, slapping me on the back and cheering, bouncing around. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. After a victory lap around the ring, we made our way to the apron and slid to the floor. Matt handed me my sweater and shoes. I started putting my stuff back on.

“Boss wants to see you,” my sweaty little friend said, arriving a scant moment later.

“That’s nice,” I said, pulling my sweater on and turning my back. Two very big guards loomed in front of me. I turned around. “So where’s your boss?”

“This way.”

I grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him along.

“Ten to one odds! I just made fifty grand!” Matt laughed as we walked. “Where are we going?”

“To meet the boss.”

Matt’s eyes widened. “You sure know how to get people’s attention.”

“It seems like a gift lately.” I marched us through the crowd, following the weasel while his two big buddies made sure we didn’t break for it.

The crowd parted in front of our escorts, and we found ourselves parading down a corridor, the only empty one in the place. It was dimly lit. A big door loomed at the end of the passage.

“This way, gentlemen.” The little guy held the door like a professional. If he’d been wearing a hat, I’d have expected him to tip it.

Matt and I walked through.

“It’s a good thing I know we live through this, or I’d be pissed that you were about to get me killed,” I said to him as the door closed behind us.

Chapter 8: The Godfather

Matt stared at me, but he didn’t have time to formulate a response to my seemingly random comment. We were interrupted.

“Good evening, Mr. Franklin, so good of you to come!”

We were in an office, or more like a den. Leather chairs, red carpeting, dim lighting, a bar. An old man sat behind a big desk, lounging as he sipped a drink.

“My reputation precedes me,” I said, wondering who on earth this could be.

“Indeed, indeed. I’ve been following your career for years. However, nothing quite like tonight’s performances.” He gestured at a big screen television, where my fights were replaying. I saw them twice before I looked back at him: after all, they hadn’t been very long.

“Sorry I can’t say the same,” I said. Matt stood behind me.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t give a name, it’s harder for people to identify a nameless old man.”

“He’s the Squid,” Matt whispered in my ear. “He’s the godfather behind most of the crime families in the city! No one knows his real name.”

The old man watched us, raising an eyebrow at Matt’s quiet words, perhaps trying to discern what they might be. He raised his glass.

“Congratulations on your victory, nonetheless! Would you care for a drink? Sit down.”

I moved to take one of the chairs. Matt did the same. I waved off a glass, preferring not to drink. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, we have a bit of a problem. You rather thoroughly embarrassed my best fighter. Ordinarily, we’d just have a new champion. Somehow, I don’t think your publicity department would appreciate you taking that role. The press might have fun with it, however.”

I smiled. “What was he worth?”

“Two million,” the old man shrugged, smiling winningly.

“Will three cover the damage? I assume it might take extra for you to bring in someone new on short notice.”

“That should do nicely.”

“Good. I’ll have Mr. Pinard here deliver it on Monday. Cash?”

“What else?”

Matt sat by, blinking. He looked from me to the “Squid,” and back again. I think he was trying to figure out why I was so comfortable with this.

“So, why the interest in me?” I asked.

“Oh, your father and I were old acquaintances. There’s a saying on the street, that you can’t do business in this town without one of us granting approval. It just depends on the kind of business. Given our relative positions of power, it was inevitable that we should meet.”

“Do you know anything about his death?” I asked directly.

“I’m afraid not. In fact, it’s a point of honour that I find something out myself. Bad for business, the current state of affairs. I don’t like to see a friend rubbed out, especially when no one asked my opinion.”

“Of course, I only have your word on that.” I smiled. “And we just met.”

“And I could have had you killed at any moment since you walked in. I think that if I wanted Franklin Investments to stop working, I’d have an easier time eliminating you on my own turf, than the people who erased your father on Thursday doing it on his.”

I nodded. “Good point. Well, if you do find any information, I’d be grateful. And generous.”

“Pleasure doing business. You have your father’s gift of catching on rather quickly.”

“Well, I am his son. Have a good day, sir.” I nodded and stood up. He nodded back.

Matt followed me out, and we walked up an empty corridor. Apparently, escorts were no longer required.

“So, does that mean your dad was involved with the mob?”

“So it would seem.”

Chapter 9: Expect the Unexpected

Matt the Pimp and I made our way through the underground gambling establishment owned by the mysterious mob boss known as the Squid. As we walked, I discovered I had a question.

“The Squid said something interesting. He said no one in this town does anything without working with him, or my dad. What did he mean, exactly? This town?”

“Oh, that,” Matt said, and he looked a little embarrassed. “We never left the city. First time visitors aren’t allowed to know where this place is, so I blindfolded you. The rest of it, the helicopter ride and everything, that was a con job. I kind of figured it would also give you some plausible deniability.”

I really didn’t know what to make of that. On the one hand, he had been trying to protect me. On the other, he’d been deceptive to do so. And led me into an illegal operation, without my knowledge or consent.

I rubbed my face. “Dude, that wasn’t cool. With everything that’s happening, the last thing I need is my best friend trying to trick me, for any reason.”

Matt hung his head. “Yeah, I figured that when the big dude had you in the bear hug. For a moment I thought you were toast, and I was never going to forgive myself for bringing you here.”

“So just keep me in the loop from now on, okay?”

He nodded. We reached the first checkpoint to exit the building. Matt held out the blindfold.

“Seriously? I’ve already been here!”

“It’s the rules. The first time, you aren’t allowed to know how to get here. If they decide they want you back, they extend an invitation. I’m guessing you won’t be back.”

I shrugged. After tonight’s events, I doubted I’d want to return myself. I let Matt tie the blindfold on, and then we marched back through the doors to the outside. The night air was chilly.

Matt led me to a car after a few moments, and five minutes later was helping me out again.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re here.”

Matt undid the blindfold and I found myself staring up at my building.

“Are you kidding? Five minutes from my apartment?”

Matt shrugged. “I was trying to make it exciting.”

“I just met a mob boss, fought a champion, and visited an illegal casino. Mission accomplished.” I mock-saluted him. “I could go a few weeks with little or no excitement in my life. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to bed. See you later?”

“I’ll give you a call. Good-night.” I headed inside.

I slumped against the wall of the elevator as soon as its doors closed. I felt weary in my bones, so much had happened. The explosion, the hospital, the police, my mother drinking, the party, Calla, Matt… I wanted a break. This had been the longest two days of my life.

I walked down the hallway towards my apartment quietly, getting out my keys. I turned them in the lock and crept inside, not wanting to disturb my neighbours so late at night. Or early in the morning, it depended on how you looked at it.

I closed my door almost soundlessly and turned to go towards the bedroom, looking forward to a long, long sleep.

The lamp beside the lounge chair in my living room clicked on.

“Good evening, Mr. Franklin.”

Chapter 10: Secret Agent Man

An unexpected voice rang out in my darkened apartment, welcoming me home. I’d like to say that I kept my cool and responded calmly. But I can’t. I let out a yelp, which I sincerely hope was manly rather than the girlish shriek I’m afraid it was, and jumped.

“I hope I didn’t startle you, Mr. Franklin, showing up uninvited, but I felt discretion was necessary.”

A tall man with black hair was sitting comfortably in my favourite lounge chair, one foot resting on the opposite knee. He smiled warmly.

“And you are?” I managed to gasp out, holding my hand to my chest. It felt like my heart was ready to pop out of my rib cage, and I imagined that I was holding it in. My pulse roared in my ears.

“My name is Agent Johnson. I’m with the C.I.A. So, of course, this conversation never happened.”

He smiled again. It was smooth, practiced. Like a car salesman or a politician.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” I snapped, tired of today’s surprises.

“There’s no need for hostilities, Mr. Franklin,” Agent Johnson said, holding up his hands. “I’m here as a friend, on behalf of the government. Our sole intention is to assist. No one here means you any harm. What good would that do anyone? Then we couldn’t protect you, and you couldn’t help us.”

He was a fast talker. And not just in the sense of being a motor mouth, which he was. He also had a persuasive quality.

“Help with what?”

“That’s why I’m here. It’s my job to explain what we need, and hope that I can convince you to add your efforts to the project. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? One hand washes the other, you scratch my back and I scratch yours, and all that jazz.” Johnson smiled again.

“I already told the guy from the F.B.I. that I was on board. I really don’t see why you need to show up in my home at three in the morning.”

I was still standing by the door. In truth, part of me wanted to go for the knob and get the hell out of here. Too much had happened too quickly, and I hadn’t had any time to absorb it all. The tall, charming fellow sitting in my chair gestured for me to sit down on my own couch like he owned the place.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Franklin. Allow me to explain. I’m only asking for ten minutes of your time, and then you can go to bed and have some much deserved sleep.”

I hesitated. “Why can’t this wait until the morning?”

Johnson gestured at the couch again, still smiling. I sighed and plunked down.

“Thank you,” he grinned, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, as to your questions: in the morning, the likelihood that I would be noticed increases. I’m not interested in advertising my presence to our friends at the Bureau, nor to the men we’re all interested in catching. No one needs to know that I’m here. However, you, Mr. Franklin, certainly need to know that the Bureau is not looking out for you. There’s a mole inside their operation, and it’s likely his job to get you killed.”

I sat silently, absorbing what Johnson had just said. The guy from the Bureau, Agent Jameson, had said the same thing about the C.I.A. But, he’d also said not to let them know he’d told me. I decided to play dumb.

“Why would anyone want me dead?”

“Come now, Mr. Franklin. Your father’s company was bombed on U.S. soil by terrorists. You don’t think they’d target you, as the new head of the company? Anyone so brazen as to perpetrate such a crime won’t be easily deterred. If their intention is to help cripple the American economy, they can’t allow Franklin Investments to continue business as usual. I’m sure the Bureau told you as much?”

“They didn’t have much to say, really. I was simply informed that they would be heading up the investigation, instead of Captain McCoy with the police department. They told me they’d be in touch, and I offered to cooperate in any way I could. Conspiracy theories about the economy weren’t really part of the conversation.”

“Well, over the next few days they might take you up on that offer to cooperate. Whatever plan they try to recruit you for, watch your back. I’ll be in the background, trying to keep you alive.”

“What makes me, or rather, my father’s company so important?”

Johnson smiled again. “That’s a question for Mr. White. Ask him about your father’s investment strategy. Compare that to the current economic situation, and I’m sure you’ll be able to put two and two together.”

Johnson stood up, and I reflexively got up. We shook hands.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around the apartment. The agent smiled again, and then he left.

Chapter 11: Wise Old Man

I slept fitfully, with unsettling dreams. They featured Sean Connery in a shootout with Don Corleone, with me stuck in the middle. I woke up thinking I’d watched too many action movies as a kid.

But, in daylight, my problems didn’t seem much smaller. I was caught in the middle of a vast web, with spiders all around me. The C.I.A., the F.B.I., a dangerous terrorist, and apparently the mob, all interested in me and my father’s company. The stakes kept getting higher in a game I didn’t really want to play.

Based on the clock, I’d slept more than ten hours. I pulled on sweatpants and a hooded sweater, and went for a jog. Some fresh air would hopefully clear my head. The steady beat of my feet on the sidewalk, the crisp autumn air in my lungs, no worries save how to swing around pedestrians…

I lost myself in physical exertion for quite awhile. When I stopped to rest, taking deep breaths, I realized I was in a familiar neighbourhood. I walked a few moments and found the little café I was looking for.

“Diggory Franklin, good to see you!” The craggy smiling face was in the same chair.

“Hank Wilson, right?” I panted. “What’s new?”

“At my age? Nothing much.” The old man grinned and waved at the empty chair at his table. I smiled and took a seat.

Hank was quiet while the waitress came out. I ordered bottled water and then looked at the chess table.

“How’s your friend in Boston?”

“Quite well. His grandchildren keep him happy. What about you? How’s the grand adventure of life?”

I chuckled. “A little more adventurous lately. It’s been a busy week, since we met.”

“Oh?”

I shrugged. “Do you remember me mentioning my friend Matt, last week?”

“I’m old, Diggory, but I’m not yet senile. The one who believed drinking was a solution to problems, correct?”

“That’s right,” I chuckled. “Well, he’s the best friend I have. Which means I don’t have a lot of sources for advice when I’m in trouble.”

Hank appraised me from across the table. He didn’t just look at me, I could tell he was pondering. “So you come to an old man?”

“I look at it this way: you don’t know me. My friends. My life. If anyone can be objective, it’s you. And you have years more experience than I do. And I don’t have anyone else.”

“Still having problems with your parents?”

I blinked. “You could say that. My father went missing on Thursday. There’s a good chance he’s dead.”

Hank paused. “I’m sorry to hear that. Can I ask what happened?”

I almost laughed. “You haven’t heard? It’s all anyone in town seems interested in.”

Hank sat back. “Franklin… Your father was the head of Franklin Investments? I didn’t even realize…”

“Well, it’s not like I’m as famous as my father,” I smiled. “Nor as capable of running the company.”

“That’s the position you’re in?”

“It’s much worse than that. The explosion wasn’t an accident, the police believe it’s an attack. The feds are involved, and they think I’m in danger.”

“What do you plan to do?”

I looked down at the chessboard. The pieces reminded me of my situation: every move could lead to disaster, when you couldn’t ascertain the strategy of your opponent. “I don’t know. The market is extremely volatile right now. If I make the wrong moves with the company, I’ll make a bad situation worse. And I really don’t want to get killed.”

Hank sipped his tea slowly, his face grave. “No, you don’t want that. So what do you do?”

“What would you do?” I asked, not having an answer myself.

“Me? Dear boy, I was a history and literature teacher. Running billion dollar companies is a little outside my field.” Hank chuckled.

I appraised Hank, this time. “History and literature, huh? Maybe I have a question inside your field after all.”

Chapter 12: Useful Exposition

“What do you know about time travel?” I asked my aged friend, Hank.

“Time travel? You mean in literature? Obviously, there’s H.G. Wells’ pre-eminent work, groundbreaking in the field of science fiction. His time traveller only visits the future. There have been numerous writers since that era who have seized hold of the theme for their writing.”

“Any good ones?”

Hank stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I can think of one in particular that I’d like to recommend. He revisits the idea of time travel in several different novels, and thusly covering most possibilities. He wrote about travel to the past and future, and also addressed the possibility of opening up paradoxes in time, resulting in alternate dimensions. At the same time, in some stories his characters theorize that you cannot change the past by visiting it, else you would never have gone back.”

“You lost me there.” I raised my eyebrow.

“Yes, well… Say that you wanted to travel back in time to stop the Titanic from setting sail, and thus avoiding its sinking. Well, if you succeeded, the motivation to travel back in time would never come to you, and thus you would never travel. Since you never travelled back in time, the Titanic would still sink. It is a paradox, violating the laws of cause and effect, to go back to intentionally change something: you could never succeed.”

“I think I get it. So this writer wrote books where paradoxes didn’t occur?”

“Yes. He showed how the time travellers in question had to deliberately cause actions in the past to create the future they already knew, despite not knowing they had caused them when they were in the future. That way, their actions in the past did not result in paradox, but in fact contributed to the cause and effect relationships of their time periods.”

“I think I’m getting confused because you’re talking in generalities,” I suggested. “Maybe you could summarize the actual story?”

Hank nodded. “Perhaps that’s best. The story that comes to mind, by the author Robert Heinlein, is called ‘The Door into Summer.’ In it, the technology we call cryogenic freezing allows people to sleep for decades. One character wakes up in this way, far in the future, having been tricked by a friend and conned out of their business. He is an inventor, and discovers that several of his inventions are an important part of the future society. He finds a scientist with a time machine and goes back to his earlier era, and starts the company that owns his inventions. So, when he sleeps his way to the future again, he rejoins the society, as the rightful owner of the inventions and founder of the company, so he is quite rich.”

“But he was really already the owner?”

“Yes, he just didn’t know it because he hadn’t experienced it yet on his own. Hold on a second.”

Hank motioned to the waitress as she went by, and borrowed a pen. He unfolded a paper napkin.

“Events progress in causal relationships through time, A to B to C to D,” he said, writing down A through D with arrows between them. “This character was around for A, inventing his devices. Then he disappeared in time, sleeping, until C, the era that uses his device. So he travels backwards to B, the establishing of his company, and sleeps until D, waking up rich in the future.”

“So all the events are in order, but he experiences them differently, and avoids a paradox. I think I get it.” I grinned. “But you said sometimes the same author had a different theory?”

“Yes. He writes stories featuring a character named Lazarus Long: Methuselah’s Children, Time Enough for Love, The Number of the Beast, The Cat who Walks through Walls, and To Sail Beyond the Sunset. In ‘Time Enough for Love,’ Lazarus believes you cannot change the past by visiting it. However, characters in ‘The Number of the Beast’ and ‘The Cat who Walks through Walls’ demonstrate that if you do in fact change a past event, it opens up an alternate dimension. Both timelines exist.”

“So you can defy cause and effect? Alter time?”

“It’s actually the opposite. You are in fact participating in the A, B, C and D of one consistent timeline, while the other timeline continues in exactly the same way it always did. Nothing changes, you’re just visiting an alternate dimension.”

“And both of these are scientifically possible?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not a scientist. As a layperson, I would say both have been discussed by scientists as possibilities, but they remain unproven.”

“So if I wanted to read about time travel, this Heinlein guy is pretty good?”

“I think so. He was considered one of the best science fiction writers of the twentieth century,” Hank smiled. “May I ask why the interest?”

“Oh!” I blinked. “Um, a friend of mine is a physicist and studies time. I wanted some reading material I could actually understand.”

Chapter 13: Unsettling Patterns

“I see,” Hank said with a grin. “Would this friend of yours also happen to be the young lady you were so upset with last week?”

I blushed, unexpectedly. “How’d you guess?”

“Well, you were quite upset the day I met you, over this young lady. Today you are in considerably better spirits, despite the explosion. In fact, you’re more interested in talking about science fiction than you are your current dilemma. I’m guessing things have improved between the two of you?”

“You would be guessing correctly, sir,” I smiled. “We had our first official date last night, and it went pretty well.”

“Ah, to be young!” Hank said, chuckling. “I knew you were on the cusp of life’s greatest adventure. I can always tell.”

“Well, it’s been pretty exciting so far. But ‘great adventure?’ We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Well, best of luck to you, sir! I hope it goes well. But, while you might be able to enjoy her company in your spare moments, what are you going to do about your father’s company? I’m all for distractions, but they won’t make your conundrum disappear.”

I drew circles on the table with my finger. “You’re right. I just figured I had years before I’d ever have to deal with this. I’m not ready for it yet.”

“What does one usually do when they don’t know something?” Hank asked.

“Ask? Find a teacher?” I shrugged.

“Sounds simple enough. Did your father have confidantes you could rely on? A vice president? Surely you’re not alone in this.”

“Good point. I think most of the higher personnel went missing when my father did, unfortunately. But he certainly had other advisers and friends.”

“I’m no financial expert, but delegating responsibilities while you learn something new doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” Hank sipped his tea. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry so much about the possible financial disasters, eh?”

I nodded. “That’s my biggest worry. With so much uncertainty in the economy right now, no one needs me to bankrupt my father’s company, it would have a huge impact on the market. It’s volatile enough out there right now. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Interesting times we live in,” Hank said. “Well, if you ever need a moment’s escape, I’m here most Saturdays.”

“I’ll remember,” I smiled, and we shook hands.

I spent the rest of the day going over files concerning the company. While I was at it, I also called one of our warehouses and had the staff clear out an entire floor. I told them to outfit it with tables and phones and computers for Monday, paying them overtime to do it. We needed space for our office workers during renovations, and it didn’t need to be fancy.

By the time I crashed into bed, late that night, I had everything set up for Franklin Investments to continue running as of Monday morning. What was left of it, anyway. Twenty-seven people were still unaccounted for after the explosion, most of them from the law department and some of the executives. I had an appointment for Monday afternoon with Mr. White, to see about getting in touch with some of my father’s friends and to go over something I’d noticed in the quarterly reports.

I wasn’t a financial expert by any means, and I’d only dabbled in the stock market so far. My father was the expert in that regard. But, going over the files, I’d noticed that he’d had a knack for buying stock really early, and cheaply, and then selling at the height of speculation. Oil prices this summer had set record highs, for one, and my father had gotten out of the stock just before it started coming down. Same thing for potash and mortgages, and some other commodities.

How did he know that the bubble was about to burst on all of these stocks? He had an uncanny sense of timing. Right now, as of September 19th, 2008, my father owned stock in strong, stable companies, relatively insulated from the upheavals of the market. He’d made a considerable amount of money on risky properties over the summer, and then either reinvested it safely, or put the money away. It was some remarkable foresight.

I wanted Mr. White to explain it. It seemed statistically unlikely.

Plus, there was the whole “mob involvement” thing. If anyone might know why my father was friends with the Squid, it would be Old Man White.

Because I certainly didn’t know my father at all.

Chapter 14: Romantic Interest

I slept late on Sunday morning, recovering from the activity of the past few days. I sat down in my kitchen, wearing just my boxers, and ate three bowls of cereal. I really wasn’t in the mood for cooking. I just wanted to take it easy for the day.

After my final bowl of Rice Krispies, I reached for my phone.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Calla!” I said cheerfully as she picked up.

“Oh, Diggory! Hello!” She sounded glad to hear from me.

“Hi! Just thought I would call and thank you for a wonderful time on Friday. Thank you for going with me.”

“It was my pleasure. I had fun, too. Funny that you’re calling me this morning, though.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I thought maybe I’d hear from you yesterday. If you’d called, I was going to invite you out for brunch this morning. But now, the brunching hour has passed. So sad.”

I laughed at her playful tone. “Well, then, I suppose I owe Matt a punch in the arm.”

“Oh? What for?”

“Years ago he insisted there was no benefit in calling a girl the very next day. One should always wait, he claimed. To increase anticipation.”

“How is it that you don’t have anyone in your life more reliable than Matt for advice? How have you lived this long?” Calla chuckled.

I couldn’t help but do the same. “I must be incredibly lucky. After all, I met you.”

She paused. I imagined a blush, as she attempted to regain her composure. “Yes, well… If you’re still feeling lucky, we could meet for coffee in the morning, same place as usual?”

“Sounds great. Since I missed my window on brunch. But, does that preclude the possibility of dinner this evening?”

“That certainly sounds like a possibility… Oh shit! Bianca, take this!”

There was a momentary bobble of the phone, as I heard it clank off a counter or table, and then there was contact again.

“Hi, Diggory. What’s up, dude?”

“What happened there?” I asked.

“Oh, Calla’s making crepes and it looks like she just barely rescued them from burning. I guess you’re a distraction.”

“I suppose I am. Crepes, eh? That’s an ambitious endeavour. I just made cereal for breakfast.”

“You made it?”

“Well, I added milk. That counts, right? I’m having a bit of a lazy day. I haven’t even bothered to dress yet.”

“So are you sitting there naked, or in your underwear? Let me guess, boxers, right?” Bianca said teasingly.

“Bianca!” I could hear Calla in the background.

“Tell Calla I’ll pick her up at six. I’ll talk to you both later,” I said, stifling a laugh.

“Have a good one,” Bianca said.

I put the Rice Krispies back in the cupboard, and dumped the bowl and spoon into the sink for later. I jogged towards my bedroom to get dressed with a spring in my step, whistling.

I didn’t know if I was having “life’s great adventure” as Hank put it, but waking up and talking to Calla was a great way to start the day.

Chapter 15: Enter the Dragon

I laced up my sneakers and stretched in the elevator, hoping for a good, pulse-pounding jog. I walked across the lobby and hit the sidewalk. And a butt-load of pedestrians. I actually had to bob and duck backwards to avoid getting run over by three. It seemed like a mad rush of people.

I waited in the doorway of my building as the flow went past. It reminded me of a busy business day, not a lazy Sunday morning. When I finally realized that the current wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, I jumped forward and slid through to the street. I turned and looked at the mass of people walking along the sidewalk and shook my head.

I wasn’t going to be able to jog my usual route, that was for sure. I wondered where they were all going, momentarily, and then jogged down the side of the street, going around parked cars. I waited until the crowd thinned out a little, and then tried the sidewalk again. There was still a fair amount of people, but at least now I could weave around them. It was still a pain in the neck, so I decided to jog down to the park a few blocks away. There would be some open spaces there.

As I jogged, I thought about what to do about dinner that coming evening. Should I buy Calla something? I already brought flowers on Friday. It seemed too soon. We’d hung out and had a pretty simple time, after leaving my mother’s, so maybe a fancy place would work? I could take her to Soprafino’s, if she liked Italian.

I made my way along the paths of the park, thinking and humming to myself. It was a lot quieter there, with almost no one around. I found myself enjoying the autumn air, the changing trees. It was almost pastoral. I decided to sit on a park bench by an open field. In the summer kids would use it for soccer, but right now it was empty and peaceful. It was a mild day, barely a cloud in the sky, and sunny. I just took it all in.

Then there was a wind.

It started suddenly, though mild, but it grew steadily in intensity. Soon it was ruffling my hair. The pressure dropped rapidly. The scant white clouds on the horizon seemed to congregate and grow. They darkened as they built up, filling the sky with an uncanny speed. The wind was whipping almost angrily, shaking trees and bending the grass as the sky became gloomy.

I stood up to go, hoping to at least be on my way before the inevitable autumn storm that seemed to be brewing. It seemed almost as if the wind roared to catch up to me, parting the grass as it rushed towards me. I was barely in motion when there was a crackle of lightning, and a boom of thunder. I turned to run along the path, and saw a man standing in the middle of the field. He hadn’t been in sight a moment before. The wind swirled around him, lifting the edges of his ragged trench coat. He had dishevelled long hair that rippled with the wind, and a beard to match. His eyes seemed as ominous as the sky as we looked at each other.

“Zebediah?” I asked after a moment, realizing he was the man from the F.B. I. photographs. He smiled.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said in the rich tones of a born orator.

We stood silently for a moment. I really didn’t know what to say or do. The wind was almost roaring, and droplets of rain had started to fall. I wanted to leave, but this man was an unknown to me. He could have been capable of anything.

“What do you want?” I asked finally.

“Ah, the real question is, what do you want, Mr. Franklin?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What do you want? Do you want to be the heir to a vast fortune not of your own making? Do you want to run a company that you didn’t build? Do you want the responsibility of maintaining an empire and keeping the economy going? Or, do you want liberty?”

I watched him carefully, tilting my head with questions as my mind raced. The rain was falling harder now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I say. Do you want a life you didn’t make, or do you want to walk away from it all and find freedom?”

“I don’t understand. Why should I even be talking to you? For all I know, you killed my father!” I had to shout over the wind.

“Unlike everyone else in your life, I’m going to tell you the truth. I killed him. When you’re ready to hear why, you’ll be on the first step of the path towards independence.”

I bristled, clenching my fists. “What the hell does that mean? You expect me to listen to you, after you’ve admitted to murdering my father? What do you mean, you’re the only one who’s telling the truth?”

“When you see through their deception, let me know. Until then, your mind is too clouded with their lies to be useful to me.”

The wind and rain went up another level of intensity. I could barely see in front of me. There was another bolt of lightning and the crash of thunder. I ran forward, resolute: I intended to destroy this horrible man.

By the time I got there, he was gone.

Chapter 16: Rain Falls Down

Completely drenched, I trod towards home. Even my shoes felt water-logged, sloshing around my feet. The rain slowly petered off as I walked further and further away from the park. For the first time I found the September weather cold, but the wind on my wet skin probably didn't help.

I had already done my running for the day, so I found myself with a lot of pent-up anger that I didn't have the energy to deal with. My arms and legs ached. I rode up in the elevator, slumped against the wall.

I walked towards my apartment, my shoes squishing all the way, and leaned against my door as I unlocked it. I slipped them off at the heels using my toes, and then kicked them against the wall. I peeled my drenched shirt over my head and tossed it onto the floor with a groan, feeling it tug along my clammy skin.

I shimmied out of my pants and roughly tugged my socks off. I stomped towards the bedroom, intent on taking a shower. I elbowed the door open with a bang, grimacing.

The shower was wonderfully hot, restoring feeling to my skin. I waited until the pins and needles faded to a pleasant burn, and rested my head against the tile wall. Once my blood was flowing, and some of the ache receded, I slammed my hands against the wall, screaming.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH!" I pounded my fists again and again, cursing wordlessly. I promised myself that Zebediah would die for murdering my father.

I slumped down to the floor of the shower, leaning against the wall. I hung my head as the shower water cascaded down on me like rain. Today was all about being wet, apparently. I couldn't tell you if my tears joined the water or not, I was so emotionally exhausted.

Eventually I got to my feet and turned off the water. I dried myself off brusquely and wiped my hand across the foggy mirror. I stared at my face, seeing a drained stranger. Gloom shadowed my eyes. I lurched into the bedroom and threw on a t-shirt and jeans, and made my way back to the living room.

I intended to get out my PS3 and wreak digital havoc. I just had to make up my mind about my weapon of choice: guns? blades? bare hands and wrestling? How did I want to mangle people? Because my fury needed an outlet.

"What was that all about?" Agent Johnson said, sitting in my favourite chair again.

"What the fuck?" I shouted. "Where the hell were you, you bastard? Protect me, my ass!"

I lunged at him, glad to have someone within reach that I could vent my spleen upon. (I didn't realize how much I remembered of obligatory Shakespeare in the required English lit class, ages ago, but then I thought of the spleen thing) I grasped at Johnson.

The agent, trained in espionage and combat, easily dodged my clumsy lunge. He stood up and calmly grabbed my arm, twisting it. I was forced down to the carpet. He put one hand in my armpit while the other bent my wrist, and I found that I couldn't go anywhere.

"If I push a little harder, this could hurt a lot more. If I push a LOT harder, I can break your arm. I suggest you stop struggling."

I groaned and went limp. He gave me a little pressure anyway.

"OW!"

"Now, let's start over. I ask the questions, and you give me the answers, okay?"

I nodded.

"Good. We understand each other. Now, I want to know where you went today. Our man was supposed to keep you in sight, but the crowd blocked his sightline. We spotted you jogging towards the park, but then there was an unexpected rainstorm, and we lost track. Care to fill in the blanks?"

"Zebediah was there!" I almost growled. "That asshole admitted to killing my father! I want to know just what the fuck is going on!"

Johnson twisted again, just a little. "Calm down, Mr. Franklin. You're getting yourself over-excited. Believe me, I share your enthusiasm for apprehending this threat to national security. However, emotion should play no part in our dealings. You're taking this very personally."

"My father is pretty personal, jackass!"

Johnson exerted more pressure. I gritted my jaw and my eyes blinked rapidly. I relaxed, and he eased up.

"Are you usually this slow to learn? I understand that you're upset. Venting on me is a little unproductive, don't you think?"

I nodded, taking a relaxing breath. I sure wasn't getting anywhere restrained against the floor.

"Now, tell me exactly what he said."

Chapter 17: Beer and Plans

After recounting my meeting with Zebediah to his satisfaction, Agent Johnson let me up off the floor. I rubbed feeling back into my arm while he went to my fridge. He got out two bottles of beer and then went directly to the right drawer for the opener. Popping the caps with practiced ease, Johnson slid one down the counter towards me. Smiling, he sat down casually.

"No hard feelings? It'll wear off soon."

"I know," I said, taking a seat at one of the stools against the counter. "I used the same manuver on Friday. I put Ford Jones against a wall."

"I know. We have you under surveillance, remember?" Johnson sipped his beer.

"You don't seem too worried about what he said."

"Zebediah? He said everyone is lying to you. Dude, I'm a spy. It's my job to be deceptive!"

I almost laughed.

He took another swig. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about what he knows that you don't. He said that everyone in your life is lying."

I took a thoughtful sip. "So you believe him?"

Johnson laughed. "He's a terrorist! He's probably trying to get inside your head."

"Great."

"We can actually use this to our advantage. Call your buddy at the Bureau, and tell him to meet you somewhere private. Tell him you have new information."

"What's that going to accomplish?"

"Well, if there's a mole, we might flush it out. Better to do that sooner than later, and this might be an opportunity." Johnson shrugged.

"We could go to the factory I've had set up as our temporary offices. No one will be there until tomorrow."

"Great. Call him and set it up. We'll be in the background to see if the Bureau's mole makes their move." Johnson sat idly, drinking more.

"Um, do you really think the agent I talked to is out to get me?"

"Maybe not him," the big man shrugged again. "He's got a team, same as I do. But he has to share information with them, so they'll be watching you during your meeting. Any one of them could be the double agent."

"I really love being the bait," I said.

"Sorry. But we don't really have a better option."

There was a knock on the door, and we both looked towards it as the handle began to turn.

Chapter 18: Let the Games Begin

Agent Johnson reached into his suit jacket, as we watched the door swing open. I tensed, slowly lifting my beer bottle. It wasn't a great weapon, but I'm not a gun-carrying C.I.A. agent.

"Digger?" A familiar voice called out as the door opened.

"Hey, Matt," I said, waving Johnson off. He slid his hand back out of his coat and resumed his relaxed posture.

Matt entered my apartment, smiling as he saw me. "Hey, bud, feeling any better since Friday?"

He cut himself off there, seeing that I wasn't alone in the kitchen.

"Matt, this is..." I paused, realizing I didn't really know how to introduce Johnson.

"James Johnson. I'm heading up the new security team," He smiled, standing and shaking hands with Matt.

"Oh! You hired new staff?" Matt nodded. "After the explosion, that's probably a good idea. Hey, I'm Matt, Digger's best friend."

He eyed the beers on the counter.

"Yeah, uh, we're having a bit of an informal Sunday meeting before work starts tomorrow," I offered as an explanation.

"Is this a bad time? I just thought I'd drop by."

"Oh, don't worry, I was on my way out." Johnson stood up and finished his beer. He straightened his jacket. "Four o'clock, for that other meeting, Mr. Franklin?"

"Four sounds great, thanks, James." I smiled. We shook hands. He left with a nod.

Matt watched him go and then turned to me. "Yeah, so, I just figured I'd drop by and invite you to lunch and see how you were dealing with Friday..."

"Friday... Wow. By now that's kind of ancient history," I shrugged, sitting down at the counter and finishing my beer. A lot had happened in a short amount of time. Zebediah and my father suddenly seemed a lot more important than illegal fight clubs.

"So... Lunch?" Matt smiled.

"I don't really feel like going anywhere." I picked up the phone, "Let's just order pizza and hang out, like back in school. I need some downtime."

"Works for me," Matt grinned, grabbing a new pair of beers from the fridge.

We spent the next couple of hours hanging out as if it were simpler times. Funnily enough, those times were only about a week and a half before. Pizza, beer, chatting and video games. No time travelling Calla, no exploding buildings, no dead parents, no terrorists or spies. It was an amazing, albeit momentary, respite.

However, in the back of my mind I couldn't ignore the past few days' events. Too much had happened, after all. I wanted to know if Zebediah was right, when he said everyone in my life was trying to deceive me. Did he know something I didn't? Who could I trust?

I worried about my C.I.A. contact. He seemed a little too willing to put me in harm's way. However, if he wanted me dead, he'd had ample opportunity. After all, he could sneak into my home without being noticed. So did that mean he was on my side, and the F.B.I. were the ones to be leery of? The chess game analogy I had thought of with Hank came back to me: everyone had mysterious strategies, and now I had to be just as sneaky. I wondered how James Bond would handle this.

That reminded me of something too: James. Johnson had said his first name was James, when he met Matt. Was that made up? It just seemed funny. James Johnson of the C.I.A. and Agent Jameson of the F.B.I.

“So,” Matt said after awhile, “How do you want to handle things tomorrow?”

“Huh? Oh! You mean the money?” I asked. He nodded. “We’ll head over to the bank in the morning. You can make contact yourself, I’m sure?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I hate to ask you to leave, but I have to make a call and get ready for that four o’clock appointment. Come by tomorrow and we’ll leave together, okay?”

Matt took his leave, and I got out Agent Jameson’s card, which he’d given me on my way out of the police precinct. I called him.

“Agent Jameson? I have some very important information for you. Can you meet me at four o’clock today?”

Chapter 19: Shoot-out at the OK Corral

I stood in the doorway of the warehouse that would be the temporary headquarters of Franklin Investments. I had my hands deep in my coat pockets as I watched light rain drizzle down outside. It was just before four o’clock.

A taxi pulled up a few moments later, and the lanky form of Agent Jameson emerged. He smiled pleasantly and waved. I nodded back.

“Hi there, Mr. Franklin!” He said, in his eternally cheerful voice. “So, it’s still raining, huh?”

I agreed that yes, it was still raining, and led him further into the warehouse. I rolled my eyes behind his back at his constant friendly demeanour. I wanted to know how he got recruited to the Bureau, he seemed better suited for kindergarten.

“So, Mr. Franklin, what brings us here?” He asked.

We wandered through the pillared floor space, in between desks and computers. I shrugged.

“I felt this was more private, and less conspicuous, than inviting you over to my place. After all, you said I was being watched. I figured a little razze-dazzle might confuse whomever might be watching.”

“Good plan. So what did you want to tell me?”

“I was contacted by Zebediah today, in the park. He told me he killed my father.”

“Whoa!” Jameson looked startled. “Are you serious? I didn’t expect that so soon. Did he tell you anything else? Do you have a way to contact him?”

Jameson spoke with all the enthusiasm of a teenager who has just heard a friend say they met someone famous. I raised an eyebrow.

“He killed my father, Jameson. Why would I want to contact him? I want to rip his heart out.”

“Mr. Franklin, I understand your feelings, believe me. But Zebediah is very devious. If he’s telling the truth, he told you to further some plan or agenda. If he’s lying, again it’s part of a plan. Unfortunately, our only means of discovering his agenda is to dangle you as bait and hope he gives you more information.”

“Why would he lie about killing him? What agenda could that serve?”

Jameson shrugged. “This whole thing could be a diversion, to distract us from his real strategy. We have no way of knowing.”

“So we’re dangling me as bait and there might not be any fish in the pond?” I asked, stretching the analogy. I was irked. “Are you kidding?”

“This isn’t our only operation. However, yours is the most promising. He did indeed contact you today. Did he say anything else?”

I shrugged, frustrated. “Only that everyone in my life is lying to me, and if I can figure it out, I’ll become useful to him.”

Jameson stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Cryptic. That’s his style. Unfortunately, it doesn’t tell us much.”

“You’re helpful,” I scoffed, kicking a pillar like a disgruntled child. I was so tired of all this.

There was an echoing sound in the distance, like a shoe scuffing on the floor. Jameson perked up.

“Get down,” he said, gesturing. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. I ducked beneath a desk.

Jameson crouched, angling himself against a pillar so he could watch the entrance to the vast room. His eyes swivelled from side to side, trying to watch everything in the shadowy space. I tried to even breathe quietly, just in case it would help us hide better.

“When I say ‘run,’ you run, got it?” Jameson whispered. Even his sneaky whispers sounded pleasant. I nodded. He seemed like a big kid playing Nerf or Laser Tag or something. “I’ll cover you!”

Suddenly the desk beside him was hit, smashing a computer. There was another shot, and another. I realized that the eerie quiet meant they were using silencers to shoot at us, whoever “they” were. I ducked lower.

“They’re shooting at us!” Jameson said in his over-exaggerated and enthusiastic whisper. “Oh my gosh, they’re really shooting at us!”

“So shoot back!” I yelled.

Chapter 20: Let's Get Out of Here!

“Oh yeah! Okay!” Agent Jameson said. He raised his gun and started firing randomly. Every time it went off he blinked, as if the noise and flash were unsettling. He moved his hand spasmodically, as if hoping to get lucky without actually aiming. “Run!”

I bolted towards the side wall, where there was a stairwell. The mysterious silent gunmen seemed to be near the other entrance, so this was our best bet for escape. Desk chairs and computer monitors around me blew up with bullets, as they tried to prevent my escape. Agent Jameson wasn’t far behind, still squeezing off his unusual cover fire.

I kicked the door open and scurried down the first few steps, and then leaped the last five to drop to the landing below. Jameson came after, firing wildly out the door at our pursuers. I tried not to laugh at his disgruntled facial expressions, as if his gun might bite him.

“Come on!” I hollered, gesturing for him to follow me.

“Oh, right!” He said, still seeming like a big dumb kid. Jameson followed me with a smile, as if glad someone else had a plan. I wanted to wring his neck at this point.

We bolted down the stairs to the ground floor, and out the fire escape door to the alley beside the building. I looked in both directions to make sure the path was clear. I turned to run for the street, when a big black van pulled up to the sidewalk there.

I held back Jameson with one hand. “Friends of yours?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then, run!” I sprinted the opposite way down the alley, stealing a look over my shoulder. Jameson wasn’t far behind, but what worried me more was the van. The side door slid open and out came masked men with small automatic weapons. And they were starting to chase us.

I felt my lungs burn as I took my speed up a notch, pushing myself. I bolted around the corner and down a narrow alley between warehouses, my feet kicking aside old garbage. Jameson was off behind me, puffing along. He was already breathing hard, so he wasn’t going to last much longer.

I held up and let him reach me.

“Give me your gun!” I said, pulling it away from him before he could protest. I fired two shots into the door of the nearest warehouse, blasting the lock, so I could kick it open. I pulled Jameson inside.

“Oh, if Calla hadn’t told me I was living longer than this, I’d be pissed!”
Jameson looked at me funny.

“Sorry, did I say that out loud?” I asked. I realized I’d already said it once before, to Matt, and he’d given me the same look. Like I was crazy or something. “Don’t just stand there, Jameson, call for help!”

“Oh, right!” Jameson said. I pulled us further into the dark building, towards the front. Hopefully our hunters would be a little confused as to where we’d gone. I heard Jameson talking into his radio, which apparently was built into his chunky watch.

“I have an Einstein situation here, repeat, an Einstein. Requesting immediate extraction, as we are being pursued. Emergency, HQ, emergency!”

I led us up a flight of stairs and we jogged across a warehouse floor, then down the next set of stairs towards the front door. We just had to make the street: I harboured a suspicion that masked gunmen might be unwilling to shoot up a busy city block out in the open. And, if they did, it would attract police. We could use some help.

“Time is currently sixteen hundred hours, twenty-three minutes, on September the twenty-first, 2008 Gregorian calendar,” Jameson was telling his watch.

I looked at him over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. I was fairly certain my face had the same expression as his had, just a moment ago.

“What are you telling them that for?”

“Just establishing the time tick, for analysis purposes.”

“What does that mean?”

I asked the question as I spotted the front hallway and the door outside. I tugged Jameson’s arm and pulled him towards it. Freedom awaited.

“You guys can count me out of further spy games, Jameson, I’ve had enough of this for a lifetime,” I said.

I went for the handle of the door, glad that this was all about to be over.

And then everything went black.

Chapter 21: The Morning After?

I rolled out of bed on Monday morning, shaking cobwebs from my head. I rubbed my face vigorously and then headed for the shower.

As I soaped, I went over my plans for the day: Matt was going to go to the bank with me, then I had to hold the first meeting in our temporary “offices,” before a meeting with Old Man White. I had to be on my game today, as the new head of Franklin Investments. I didn’t look forward to it.

I was dressed just in time to meet Matt, who came through my front door as I hustled into the living room, still putting on my last sock. He said good morning as I rushed to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and an apple, and followed him out the door, grabbing a briefcase from the closet on the way.

“You all set?” He asked in the elevator.

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe,” I shrugged, “It’s my first meeting in charge. No big deal, right?”

“Yeah, just play it cool.”

I nodded and watched the numbers go by as we headed for the lobby. I tapped my feet.

“Nervous?” Matt asked.

“Uh, a little. I think I slept funny. Weird dreams.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, people chasing me, dark corridors, paranoid stuff. Just nerves, I guess. Anxiety about taking over the company, you know?”

“For sure.”

We jogged across the lobby and got into his flashy car for the drive to the bank. I rubbed my fingers through my hair, trying to clear my head. Something seemed out of place.

“Did we hang out yesterday?” I asked.

“Yeah, we had lunch. Why?”

“I dunno. I’m just thinking so much this morning, yesterday’s kind of a blur.”

We pulled up to the bank a moment later. I told Matt to wait while I went inside. I spoke to a clerk and got access to the back section, where I used my key to open a specific safety deposit box. I counted out the three million dollars necessary and put the bills in my briefcase, which was now fairly heavy. I had never bothered to carry this much before, it was a little intimidating.

I’d never really emotionally grasped how wealthy my father was until I filled a briefcase with thousand dollar bills, and realized that it was chump change compared to all his accounts and safes.

I exited the bank, walking as casually as anyone can when they’re carrying a few million bucks, and got back into Matt’s car. We headed off.

“So you’ll be able to make the delivery no problem?” I asked.

“Yes, I’ll head straight there, even if it means being late for your meeting.”

“You’ll have some time. I’m going for coffee first, to see Calla before she heads to class. It’s only a short walk from there to the warehouse.”

“I’ll let you out up here,” Matt said, gesturing for the corner up the block. “Good luck with it.”

“What, Calla?”

“Yeah. You seem to really like her.” Matt smiled.

“I do,” I agreed, “Thanks.”

He let me out and I stepped to the sidewalk, straightening out my suit and buttoning it up. I wanted to look good. I walked towards the coffee shop and then stopped short.

“Oh, shit!” I hit myself on the forehead with the heel of my palm. “How could I forget?”

I’d stood Calla up the night before! All I could remember was hanging out with Matt, and then I guess I had an early night. I’d completely skipped our dinner date! I hoped she’d understand, with everything happening at work lately. There was a lot of pressure with these new responsibilities.

I must have slept pretty deeply, because I hadn’t heard the phone ring. Surely she’d have called to see if I was okay? Maybe the new job was affecting me more than I’d thought.

I entered the coffee place with a hesitant step, and saw Calla at a table. She smiled as I entered.

“Good morning!”

“I’m sorry!” I said, as she said “Thanks again for last night!”

Bonus Chapter: Matt the Pimp

Monday, September 22, 2008

“So you’ll be able to make the delivery no problem?” Digger asked.

“Yes, I’ll head straight there, even if it means being late for your meeting,” I told him.

“You’ll have some time. I’m going for coffee first, to see Calla before she heads to class. It’s only a short walk from there to the warehouse.”

“I’ll let you out up here.” I pointed at the corner up the block. “Good luck with it.”

“What, Calla?”

“Yeah. You seem to really like her.” I smiled.

“I do,” Digger nodded. “Thanks.”

I dropped him at the corner, and then directed my Porsche back into traffic and down the street. I snagged a parking spot on a side street and grabbed the briefcase. Three million dollars was heavy, but not as heavy as I had expected.

I locked my car and strolled up the sidewalk, heading into my favourite restaurant, Soprafino’s. Digger and I had been coming here since we were kids.

“Can I help you, sir?” The hostess asked.

“I’m meeting someone,” I said.

“Can I check for you?”

“Sure. He’ll have made the reservation under the name ‘Mr. Calamari.’ He’s Italian,” I smiled.

“Right this way, sir.”

The hostess led me back towards the private rooms, swishing her tight little ass in her black skirt. I stared for about fifteen seconds before I shrugged. I’d tapped better.

She knocked on the private door and then gestured for me to go in. I slipped inside to see the Squid drinking cappuccino over his breakfast while reading the paper.

“Good morning, Matthew.”

“Morning, sir.”

“Did you bring the money?”

I lifted up the case. “You know it.”

“Well done.” The Squid sipped his cappuccino. “Count out my share.”

I sat down at the table and lined up the bills. A cool two million dollars, all in a row. The Squid smiled for the first time.

“He doesn’t suspect?”

I shrugged. “Why would he?”

He shrugged back. “Our business is concluded. Will you humour an old man and join me for breakfast?”

I groaned inwardly, but made sure to smile. “When the Don asks, who can refuse? I am honoured.”

He snapped his fingers and another girl brought in dishes. I winked at this one, prettier than the hostess. The Squid waited for her to exit before continuing.

“I know how much you like the restaurant,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a family favourite. I think Digger would shit if he knew our parents started bringing us here because you owned it.”

“A lot of tradition in these walls,” the Squid nodded. Then he looked at me straight. “Let me give you some advice, Matthew.”

I took a bite of my breakfast and looked up at him. “Yes, sir? To what do I owe the honour…”

“Stow that horseshit. You’re not Italian, and this isn’t a Coppola movie. You are playing a dangerous game. You need to stop the gambling, and watch your back. Your friend isn’t going to be stupid for long.”

“You let me worry about Digger,” I said. “And about myself.”

“I’m only giving you a warning out of respect for your father. He saved my life once, I figure I owe him this much. Most people run up a two million dollar debt with me, they get their balls handed to them. Then I kill their wives and mothers in front of them, before torturing them to death.”

I watched him with a blank face, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Gambling is your problem, and you need to watch your back,” the Squid went on. “I won’t be this patient a second time. But the Franklin kid is the other problem. You can’t fuck over your friends without it coming back on you down the road, son. It’s bad for business, bad all around.”

“Like I said, I’ll handle Digger. I got the money, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. It was a beautiful con. But that doesn’t mean it will work again, if you keep digging yourself newer and bigger holes. Sooner or later, he’ll catch on. You got lucky this time.” The Squid punctuated this comment by pointing at me.

“I have to admit, you improvised beautifully. I thought you were just going to intimidate him into handing you money, like blackmail or something. Using the fighter’s contract was a great follow-up, after his surprising performance in the ring. What did you do, tell your big guy to throw the fight? I understand men such as yourself leave little to chance.”

The Squid sat back in his chair with a mild smile. “I don’t own that fighter’s contract at all, so you’re right. It was a beautiful improvisation. At the same time, however, that’s the reason I’m warning you. Franklin isn’t as mild a sheep as you believe him to be. He won that fight fair and square.”

I blinked a few times, trying to grasp this. The Squid just continued to smile.

Chapter 22: The Mystery Deepens

“You… had a good time?” I asked, sliding into the seat across from Calla.

“Of course I did! It was amazing. Thank you so much!” She grinned.

“Anytime?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Calla giggled. I’d never seen her so enthused, she usually seemed a lot cooler than this. She was almost giddy, like a kid at Christmas. Whatever I did, it seemed like it had been awesome. The problem was, I couldn’t remember most of yesterday at all.

“I don’t know how you thought of it, but I’m still excited!” Calla held out her hands, and they were quivering a little. “No one has ever done anything that nice for me. Not for a long time, anyway.”

I blushed, feeling the heat in my face. Whatever it was I’d done, I was touched that it affected her so strongly. I scratched my head.

“Well, I hope you can see how much you’ve come to mean to me, in such a short time,” I managed to say, feeling my heart pound.

Calla took my hand in hers. “I know that sometimes I’m not the most open person. But you took a big step towards earning my trust. I hope you don’t mind being patient with me,” she squeezed my fingers, “I promise it will be worth it.”

This time the heat filled my whole head and then went rushing down my spine to my toes. I gulped audibly, and Calla giggled. I rubbed the back of my neck and then took a deep breath.

“I, uh, have to get to work soon. I’m holding my first meeting as the boss. But, I’d like to see you again, soon.”

“I’d like that too. We can have coffee every morning, here. Let me know what your schedule is like this week, and I’ll find a way to fit you into mine. Okay?”

I smiled at her and squeezed her hand this time. I pushed back from the table and waved on my way out the door. I walked down the street, a little weak in the knees. I had no idea why, but Calla and I suddenly had a new level of intimacy. It was touching, but also a little scary.

Because I had no idea why she felt this way, and it felt a little like lying to just go along with it. But I didn’t seem to have any other choice.

In the end, I was almost late for my own meeting. I came in just before the designated hour, to find the entire staff milling about in front of the stairwell. Everyone was waiting for me, apparently. I was greeted by the front line with questions and voices raised in confusion, and had to wave my arms to regain order.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry for the morning’s disorganization. It’s my first day, I hope you can all forgive any rookie mistakes,” I said, and got a mild laugh. “Now, after I’m done speaking, you’ll all find your sections labelled row by row, with your names on your respective desks. Things are a little rough around the edges, but we’re not totally chaotic. Things will get smoother as the week progresses.”

I looked around the room, as everyone listened. “By the time we get it right, I’m sure we’ll be back in our renovated offices, and have to start all over again.” More laughter.

“We face uncertain times, and it’s possible a lot of it’s going to get worse before it gets better,” I said. I reflected privately that this was true of my own life as much as the current economy, but pressed on: “But it is my hope that, with your help, Franklin Investments can play a positive role in the future of our country, and help stabilize the turmoil around us. We all have a part to play, and I thank you for your efforts and patience. Let’s get to work!”

There was applause. I grinned sheepishly under their attention, surprised at the outburst. Maybe I wasn’t going to totally suck at this.

People gradually dispersed around the room, finding their workstations. I got a few pats on the back and handshakes from the remaining legal department. I walked over to their section with them and appointed Fayter as the new head of the team. I had other responsibilities, obviously, but Chris Geertz and Vanessa Brown were still missing. Fayter was the next best choice.

Everyone got back to work. I wandered the rows, speaking quietly with people here and there, but mostly just observing. I was quite pleased to see everyone buckle down, and try to get our company back on its feet. I was proud of them.

I looked around the rows of desks and computers, and something started to bother me. I remembered something from my dream the night before. Aisles like these, just darker. Shots fired, terminals smashed… I walked around, looking for signs of damage. Of course it had been just a dream. But why would I dream about a warehouse I’d never visited until today? Things were set up according to my plans, but I hadn’t actually been on site for the work.

I looked around, seeing nothing out of place. The only discrepancy seemed to be in my own head. But part of me was certain that I’d been here before, all evidence to the contrary.

Was I losing my mind?

Chapter 23: Looking for Answers

After confirming with Matt that he’d had no trouble dropping off the money to the Squid, I hustled downstairs to catch a taxi and head over to Mr. White’s house. I tried to concentrate on the matter at hand, running my father’s business, but I found myself distracted.

Why did that dream bother me so? It wasn’t even totally comprehensible. But I was still certain it had taken place in the warehouse. And Calla clearly remembered events from last night that I couldn’t recollect. Something was wrong. But what?

The cab pulled up to the White house, and I exited. I waited at the door and Greta let me in with a smile.

“Mr. Frankin, you should hire a car service. A big, important man like you shouldn’t be in cabs,” she said.

“I’m not my father, Greta, but thank you.” I let her take my coat and headed into the study.

Old Man White was in the same chair, wearing the same blanket. He smiled as I approached.

“Good to see you, lad.”

“And you, sir.”

“So, what can I do for you today? It sounded like a matter of some importance when you called the other day.”

“A few matters, really.” I took a seat across from him. “Shall I ask them all, or one at a time?”

“Well, what’s the most pressing?”

I considered his question for a moment. All of the weekend’s events seemed important. But what was immediately relevant? What might White even be able to help with?

“They’re all a bit connected. I’m really far too inexperienced to do this job, or at least as well as I’d like to. I need advice on how to handle it. I’m not my father.”

“That’s true. But don’t underestimate yourself.”

“Thanks. So, I need to know who I can hire as a V.P., maybe, and who else might be available just to answer questions. Some of my father’s friends, perhaps. Furthermore, I want to know what you know about his investment pattern. It might give me some sense of what to do for the future. And, there’s another thing.”

“Oh?”

“Was my father involved in organized crime? And is that going to impact the business?”

Old Man White stared at me in silence. He didn’t even move. It took an enormous amount of will power for me to just sit there and stare back, waiting for an answer.

“So, I see you had a busy weekend,” he said after several moments.

“You could say that. I met a man called the Squid.”

Mr. White nodded. “You don’t have to worry about blackmail or any such dirty business, if that’s what worries you. His connection to your father was more informal than direct business. More like an agreement to stay out of each other’s way, and a respect for each other’s ability to build an empire.”

“He made it sound like my father’s death was bad for business.”

“It is. It’s bad for the whole city, and beyond. The market is already in turmoil, and jobs are going to be affected. Your father generated income, not just for himself, but all around. With him gone, if things fall apart, there will be less for everyone.”

I nodded. “So what about the investment pattern? My father seems to have had an uncanny ability to guess at trends, and then get out before bubbles burst.”

“I told you, it was his great gift. I’ve never seen a more accurate investor.” White shrugged. “It’s what made his fortune. I don’t think he had any particular secret. He just knew the value of a thing.”

“That’s a little too simple. It seemed like foreknowledge.”

“What, like insider trading? To what end? Why would someone help your father with key information, and yet not get rich themselves? Once, perhaps, but over and over?”

“He never made a mistake. Not one stock ever dropped in value, so long as he owned it. They all went up. That’s more than a coincidence, or a skill.”

“You sound like a conspiracy theorist, my boy,” White laughed.

Chapter 24: Late Night

I sat back in my chair and blew air from my mouth in frustration. Old Man White stared back at me, grinning.

“I know it sounds ludicrous,” I said, “But it’s so deliberate. With uncanny timing, my father rode waves of profits until just before the bubbles burst, and then pulled out. Every time. Not one risky investment, one loss, over the last year. Why do I get the feeling that I’d see the same thing if I looked over last year’s books, or the year before?”

White shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Diggory. Your father was a financial genius. I’ve never seen anyone generate profits the way he did. Why, when I first met him, he came to me for an intern position in my office. Volunteer, no pay. At the same time, he worked in a mailroom down the block, on a different shift. Within a year, he had his first million dollars. He did it by making contacts, asking the right questions, investing his wages, making the right guesses… His whole career was like that.”

I shook my head. “The entire stock market is in free fall right now, and my father’s company is perfectly insulated. If there’s anyone in a position to help rebuild, it’s us. Tell me that’s a coincidence.”

“Prudent planning, perhaps.”

“The FBI came to me and said that a terrorist blew up the building. That he’d targeted my father specifically.”

“It would certainly deliver a horrific blow to a vulnerable economy, if your father’s business closed.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and grunted. “So, if we can stay open, America has a chance at rebuilding. If we go under, so goes the USA? It would make sense, then, that we were a target. It just feels like my father, I don’t know, arranged it that way.”

“I think you are under an enormous amount of pressure, and it must feel like the weight of the country is on your shoulders. But you’re not alone, my boy. I am always here to advise you, and I can contact some of your father’s associates from over the years. I’m sure Mr. Buffet and Mr. Gates will have some salient advice.”

I laughed, forgetting how many contacts my father had made over the years. “That would certainly help.”

“For now, I recommend going home, having a nice cup of tea, and sleeping. Tomorrow will dawn brighter.”

So that’s just what I did.

Going to bed early didn’t help that much, in the end. I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling unsettled and frustrated. Johnson had said that White’s answers would help me put things together. All he’d done, though, was insist nothing was unusual. My father was good at spotting trends, plain and simple.

Only it didn’t seem so simple. Franklin Investments had the capital to really help with the ongoing financial meltdown: preserve and create jobs, shore up companies, help with infrastructure, build homes… It made sense for a terrorist to attack us, we were obviously a major player. Crippling the company could stall the economy even further.

Johnson wanted me to think about this. That my father was a target for a reason. Perhaps someone else had noticed his investment pattern, and didn’t like it. Maybe Zebediah wanted to crush the economy, and saw my father as a means to that end. I didn’t know.

That reminded me of Agent Johnson, however. I had seen him on Sunday. What had he said? He was going to meet me somewhere… to flush out Zebediah’s mole? Was that it? Why couldn’t I remember properly? What had happened that afternoon?

I went out to the living room in my boxers, scratching my head. I needed a drink of water, or something. Maybe a snack. Then I could go back to sleep, and forget about all this garbage.

What had happened? Johnson told me to call Jameson…

I opened the fridge door and peeked inside. I grabbed a water bottle and unscrewed the cap, closing the refrigerator door with my elbow.

“We’ve got incoming on the scope, get moving!” Johnson hissed at me. He had been standing behind the refrigerator door, though how he got inside was beyond me.

I yelped and dropped the water bottle. The plastic bounced and then toppled, spilling in quiet gurgles on the floor. Johnson grabbed my elbow and turned me around, pushing me towards the bedroom as he covered my retreat.

“Get back there and stay down!” He hissed. He drew a gun from his coat. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

I nodded, and he threw it to me. Johnson knelt behind a chair, so he faced the door. There was an odd sound coming from the lock. I wondered, if the door was locked, how did he get in?

I moved to go to the bedroom, keeping low.

Then the door exploded and we were under attack.

Chapter 25: Let the Force Be With You

I had barely a second to unlock the safety and check the chamber, before I was pointing the gun at the door. Armed men spilled into my apartment, firing towards us with silenced pistols.

“Get out of here, NOW!” Johnson snarled at me. He waved for me to retreat into my bedroom, and then turned his attention towards the door.

Johnson was outnumbered. He had no weapon. I wondered what he thought he was going to do to stop them.

“I’m staying to help!” I started to return fire, peeling off a few rounds at the men shooting at us from behind my couch and in my doorway. I forced them to duck for cover, and managed to obliterate my own lamp.

“What is WITH your learning curve?” Johnson snapped. He waved his hand, and suddenly the couch slammed forward, crushing one of the men into my kitchen cupboards.

“Holy shit!” I said, my eyes widening.

Johnson turned to me with his eyes half closed, obviously concentrating. He opened his hand in my direction, and I felt myself flung backwards into my darkened bedroom. The door closed itself a heartbeat later.

I pulled myself up with a groan, having landed on my back. I could feel rug burn on my elbows from the impact. I shook my head.

“What the HELL was that?” I asked the darkness. I had no real frame of reference for what I’d seen, beyond the Star Wars films. And that was sci-fi nonsense, right?

I could still hear gunplay outside the door. I scrambled to my feet and looked around the room. Should I find a way to barricade the door? Go back out and help? Johnson seemed to want to keep me out of the way, probably for my own good.

Not knowing what else to do, I pulled on a pair of jeans. Running around in my boxers during a gunfight seemed a little uncouth. I checked my gun, making sure there were still bullets in the clip, and then lined myself up so that I had a clear shot at the door, but from cover. I crouched in the corner behind my dresser, shielded as much as possible. I clutched the handgrip of the gun tight, feeling my palms sweat. I wanted to be ready for anything.

The last thing I expected was to see a bright nimbus of light on the opposite wall. It swirled in blues and violets, with bright sparks in the middle. The spiralling colours coalesced as a circle, a bright tunnel of light. Jameson stepped through, wearing a strange device. It seemed to be attached to his watch, and had wires spreading over each finger. Each fingertip had a small light, in the same indigo shades as the tunnel, and so did a larger circle in the centre of his palm.

Jameson was wearing a pair of chunky glasses, and the frames glowed in the same colour. He looked around the room in confusion until he spotted me.

“I’ve got him, HQ. ETA in less than one minute, retrieval operation is underway.”

“Agent Jameson?” I said in surprise.

“Come with me if you want to live,” Jameson said. He held out his other hand, the one without any funky techno gear.

Jameson stepped towards me. I took a few steps back, wary of his bizarre means of arrival. I didn’t have much time to think on it, though, as the wall behind my bed exploded. I dove to the ground as drywall and wood flew around the room, and my bed flipped over, missing me by inches.

The masked men from my living room had found their way past Johnson, apparently. They fired at us, shooting chunks out of my carpet, my dresser, and my walls. I covered my head instinctively, and rolled.

Jameson tugged me to my feet by the elbow, and pushed me towards the wall by the door. He held out his glowing hand and the wall sparkled. We stepped through the bright lights into the apartment beyond my own. The Roths, if I remembered correctly. They were away on vacation.

“We have to get out of here,” Jameson said.

Agent Johnson of the CIA blinked into existence beside us, out of nowhere.

“He’s not going with you, Johnny. You blew your chance.”

“Awww, James, you ruin all my fun!” Agent Jameson of the FBI stomped his foot.

I looked from one to the other, trying to understand.

“Just what the FUCK is this?”

Chapter 26: This is Heavy!

I took a big step back from both Jameson and Johnson, raising the gun. I pointed it at one and then the other, trying to watch both at the same time.

“Somebody better answer me!”

Jameson pushed his weird goggles up onto his head, and he looked confused underneath. Johnson just stood there with a wry grin, shaking his head. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at the FBI agent.

“You opened this can of worms, buddy.”

Jameson stuck out his lip and stomped his foot again. “You are in grave danger, Diggory Franklin. We don’t have time for this.”

“Make time!”

Jameson looked at Johnson, his eyes imploring. Johnson shook his head.

“I don’t have the authority!” Jameson complained.

“So take him to someone who does.” Johnson shrugged. “I’ll get him later.”

Jameson nodded, and clicked a button on his amazing watch.

“Agent Jameson, requesting immediate extraction.”

An indigo blur appeared a few feet away, and rippled to form another one of those weird tunnels of blue and purple light. Jameson looked at me.

“You want answers? You come with me.”

I looked at Johnson, who was still smiling. He just shrugged again. “You’ll be safer than here. You don’t have a lot of other options.”

I grimaced. I pointed the gun at Jameson. “Any funny business, and you’ll pay.”

Jameson shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him. He took my arm, and led me to the tunnel. I could feel it pulling at me, like a suctioning wind rippling through my hair and over my skin.

“Whooooooooooooooooooooooooah!” I called out as we spiralled through the light.

It felt like someone had grabbed hold of me by the belly button, and pulled forward. We zoomed and then, all of a sudden, popped back into existence. We stood on a platform, surrounded by glowing rods and metal bars. I blinked, disoriented.

Jameson stepped off the platform, and pressed a button. The glowing rods dimmed. I looked around and saw a white room with edges, like we were inside a soccer ball. Up near the top I could see a window, where some sort of technician was presiding. They pushed a button and one of the wall sections opened, a doorway.

“You coming?”

I nodded, following. “Where are we?”

“That’s not the right question,” Jameson said. “It’s more like, ‘when are we.’ You’re in the future.”

“So you’re not really an FBI agent, then?”

“Yes, I am. Agent John Jameson, of the Federal Bureau of time Investigations. The ‘t’ is silent.”

“What? Why?” It was an inane question, but it was the first to occur to me.

“Well, it saved changing all the letterheads.” Jameson shrugged.

I followed him out of the soccer ball and found myself in a white hallway, with smooth walls. He started walking, so I followed. There were no obvious lights, it was more like the wall panels themselves provided the illumination.

“So where are we going?”

“You wanted answers. I’m not authorized to give any. I shouldn’t even be bringing you here.”

Jameson started walking, as if he was done saying anything.

“Then why did you?” I asked, following the big man down the corridor.

“Because I can always erase your memory again, if they decide you’re not supposed to remember. That’s what we did the other day.”

“Excuse me?”

I raised my gun, pointing it at him.

Chapter 27: Great Scott!

I stood in a white corridor of self-illuminating panels, breathing perfectly filtered air, pointing a gun at a man from the future. The long white hallway stretched in both directions, seemingly endless. The moment itself stretched endlessly as I put a slight amount of pressure on the trigger.

“You have about three seconds to explain that,” I said through gritted teeth. “Before I erase your memory by putting a bullet through your brain.”

Jameson turned to look at me. He had that same damn expression on his face as always, that stupid pleasant smile.

“Mr. Franklin, please. This way. We don’t have time for this.”

“Make time!”

“Everything will be explained…”

I fired the gun, putting a hole into the light panel to the left of his head. Jameson fell over backwards in surprise.

“You tried to shoot me!” He said, holding up his hands.

“That was a warning. Now start talking!”

Jameson made a face, like a stubborn child who didn’t want to listen. “I hate guns! I told you, I’m taking you to someone with answers!”

He held out his left hand, the one with the watch and its strange protrusions. The fingertips glowed, and then the gun vanished from my hand. I stared at my empty fingers, mouth open. Jameson got to his feet.

“Now, this way.”

He walked on. I squeezed my hands into fists, and followed. We walked down the featureless corridor, and I wondered how he knew where he was going. The wall panels were indistinguishable from each other. Any or all of them could have been doors like the one we’d come through. After a few moments I couldn’t even have guessed how to find that original door, the place was so nondescript.

“Here,” he said. A panel opened, and he stepped through.

I followed, and found myself in a white room with two sumptuous chairs. I couldn’t begin to compare them to anything I’ve ever seen before. “Ergonomically perfect” strikes me as the best description. Jameson sat in one, and I took the other when he gestured for me to sit. The cushions supported all my muscles perfectly. I don’t think I’ve ever been so comfortable sitting up.

The room had a slight curve, orienting us towards glass windows. On the other side, in a dimly lit control booth, there was another technician. I couldn’t make out features, as he was wearing goggles similar to those on top of Jameson’s head. His voice came through an unseen speaker system.

“You speak English?” The amplified voice asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“For the record, state your name, country of origin, and year of birth. If you are aware of the date you were last in your own era, please include this information.”

“Look, what is this?” I demanded. “What’s going on?”

The technician turned his empty gaze towards Jameson, and stood in silence behind his glass. I looked at the agent.

“There is a protocol to follow, Mr. Franklin. Please cooperate. It will only take a moment.”

I glared at him, and then stared at the tech. “Fine. My name is Diggory Franklin, I’m an American. I was born on March twenty-first in 1980 A.D. Last I checked, it was Monday night, or Tuesday morning. September the twenty-second, maybe, of 2008.”

The tech stared again at Jameson. “Is this correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Jameson nodded.

The technician stared at Jameson for a long, quiet moment. Then he looked at me again. I squirmed in my perfectly comfortable seat. There was something unsettling about this, I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. I really wished that I still had that gun.

The technician looked down, and moved his hands over something out of my line of sight. I would have to guess a control panel of some kind. Perhaps he was taking notes, or turning on recording equipment. The silence went on.

“Um,” I started to say, but Jameson shook his head.

A few moments later, the technician looked up from what he was doing.

“Welcome to the year 2119, Mr. Franklin.”

Chapter 28: Debriefing

I glared at Jameson, and sat up in my seat. “We’re more than a century in the future?”

“That is correct,” the technician answered. “Our sensors have verified that your chronometric readings come from the early twenty-first century. You are, for the moment, apparently who you say you are.”

He turned his attention to Jameson. “Agent John Jameson, of the Federal Bureau of time Investigation, please state for the record your purpose in bringing Subject: Diggory Franklin to headquarters.”

Jameson straightened up and smoothed out his suit. With a very careful, monotonous tone, he recited “I, John Jameson, duly appointed agent of the Federal Bureau of time Investigation, have extracted Subject: Diggory Franklin from his era for three purposes. First, to determine his status on the chronological risk factor scale. Second, to answer his questions and resolve anachronisms he detected during my mission. Third, to save his life from the Sons of Thunder.”

Jameson orated his way through this spiel as if he were a kindergarten student who had painstakingly memorized a speech for show and tell. The technician paid little attention to it, until the end.

“You can confirm a Sons of Thunder sighting?”

Jameson blinked and gulped. “Subject: Diggory Franklin reported an encounter with Subject: Zebediah. Immediately following this meeting, unknown assailants attempted to end his life on two separate occasions. I believe that the events are connected.”

I looked from one to the other. Why were cops from the future interested in me and a terrorist from their distant past?

“After your analysis in the field, time stamped for Sunday, September twenty-first, in the year two thousand and eight, A.D., you claimed Subject: Diggory Franklin had a threat assessment of ‘Einstein’ level. Please elaborate.”

“As I submitted in my earlier report, the subject made a statement to the effect that he ‘knew’ he was going to live through the attack. Foreknowledge of future events led me to the general theory that he had either been exposed to temporal travellers, or travelled himself. Thus, during the first attack by the suspected Sons of Thunder, I extracted the subject to headquarters for chronometric readings to confirm this theory.”

I struggled to follow this jargon-filled report. My head was swimming. They were time-travellers. They were interested in me because of what I said about Calla and her future? Did they know about her? What did Zebediah have to do with any of this?

“Chronometric analysis suggests that the subject did indeed come in contact with temporal energies not of his own year,” the technician told Jameson. “However, analysis suggests only trace amounts. His exposure was minimal. He has not experienced temporal displacement, other than that forced upon him by the Bureau. Subject: Diggory Franklin is confirmed at level ‘Einstein,’ but poses no further risk to the space-time continuum as of this date.”

Jameson nodded and smiled at me, giving a thumbs-up. I grinned back at him just as idiotically, and then rolled my eyes. He seemed to think we’d just heard good news, but I really didn’t care.

“Look, I just want some answers, and then I’ll go home quietly. What does any of this have to do with me?” I shouted at the man behind the glass.

The tech stared at me. His vacant expression behind those goofy goggles was really starting to piss me off. I stood up, and gestured angrily.

“Why are you guys messing with my life?”

He stared at me some more. Then his voice came through the speaker system.

“The man you know as ‘Zebediah’ has the ability to travel through time. He has used this ability to commit crimes against humanity. He is the most dangerous man in the history of the world. He has targeted you, Diggory Franklin, and your company. To what end, we can only speculate. Our field agent has brought you here for your own safety. Some cooperation would be appreciated.”

He stared at me in silence again. I felt like a bit of a loser, standing around in just my jeans, trying to act all pissed off while everyone else sat there smiling pleasantly. I took my seat, and tried not to feel like I was five years old.

“In order to save your life, Agent Jameson had to reveal his status as a visitor from a future era. He introduced anachronisms into your worldview. If you wish, we can disrupt your neural pathways and erase your short-term memory, so you will not recall any of this. You can go back to your normal life, oblivious of the future.”

I looked up at this. “Uh, he said you guys already did that. That’s what I want to know about. I want to know what you already made me forget! I don’t need to be more clueless. How would that help? Zebediah would still be after me. I need my memories back!”

“I am afraid that we do not have the technology to do that, Mr. Franklin. I cannot help you in that regard.”

Chapter 29: Fight the Future

I groaned and slammed my fists against my armrests. Jameson and the tech stared at me pleasantly.

“Mr. Franklin, there is no need for hostility. The chair certainly isn’t at fault!” Jameson scolded.

“Shut up, Johnny,” I snapped. Jameson looked hurt. I turned to the tech.

“I need to know what happened on Sunday. You need to tell me, since you can’t give my memories back. You want my help with Zebediah? That’s what I want in return. To be filled in. No more being in the dark.”

“You are hardly in a position to demand anything, Mr. Franklin. However, your request suits our overall purposes. Agent Jameson suggested two courses of action: disrupting your neural pathways to erase all memory of your visit here, or answering your questions. You, yourself, raised the salient point that Zebediah is still targeting you, regardless of your memories. In order to be of use in the operation against him, you should indeed be briefed. Not because you want it, but because it helps us.”

“So I get screwed,” I observed. “Nice. If I don’t cooperate, you guys can keep me here, or erase my brain, or drop me into the Stone Age. Awesome.”

“Mr. Franklin, the FBI has gone to considerable trouble to keep you alive. We would never be so reckless with our technology, history, or a person’s well-being.”

Well, that was telling me. I rubbed my face.

“So, I guess that means we’re cooperating? What happened on Sunday?”

“I brought you here,” Jameson said. “They studied your chronometric energy levels, to determine if you had experienced temporal displacement. Apparently, you’ve been near someone else who has travelled through time. I’m guessing that would be Zebediah. We erased your memory of the testing, and then returned you home in time for work on Monday morning. We had a crew repair the damage to your warehouse, so you wouldn’t notice a difference and ask questions.”

“Well, someone screwed up.” I pointed a finger at Jameson. “Because I did have questions. I spent time with Calla on Sunday night, but I can’t remember what we did. But she does!”

Jameson stared at me, blinking. He looked at the technician. Poor Johnny looked really upset. I had to struggle not to laugh.

“What did you do?” The technician said. “If you’ve created a paradox, Jameson…”

“I followed orders! I followed orders!” Jameson started shrieking, over and over. I actually had to cover my ears.

The technician pushed buttons out of my sight. The wall opened and Jameson’s chair wheeled out of the room, taking him and his noise away. I looked at the tech and smiled with relief.

“What was that all about?”

“Our field agents experience a high level of stress. Visiting other eras is difficult because of cultural differences. Please forgive Agent Jameson for his lack of professionalism.”

I shrugged. “So, what now? What am I supposed to do? Are you keeping me locked up?”

“I am going to refer this to a higher authority. It might take some time. You will have to remain in quarantine until we reach a decision.”

“Quarantine?”

The tech tapped the glass. “Time displacement exposes travellers to different bacteria and viruses than what their immune systems are used to. This protects us as well as you. We will provide a living space and food allowance while you are our guest. Please forgive the inconvenience.”

“I just want to go home,” I said.

“As soon as we find out what happened on Sunday, September the twentieth, of your year. Please be patient.”

The technician receded into the dim interior of his booth. The door behind me opened, and, having no other options, I exited to the white corridor. I looked one way, then the other. Every direction looked the same.

“Which way do I go?”

As if in answer, a wall panel further down the corridor lit up. I walked towards it. The panel slid open as soon as I got there, revealing a large white room with furniture.

“Welcome, Diggory Franklin,” an automated voice greeted me. “Would you like some refreshment?”

“Hi, Annoying Computer Voice. Do you have any beer?”

Chapter 30: Hello, Dave...

Apparently, the future doesn’t have any beer. Or, at least not FBI headquarters in the year 2119. Well, at least not in their quarantined guest quarters. Either that, or their computer doesn’t understand the English word for beer. In any event, whatever the reason, it wasn’t going to let me get drunk.

I looked around my temporary quarters. It didn’t take long for me to explore. There was only the one room, the same plain white as the hallway. It was oval shaped, and the only piece of furniture was one of those fancy chairs.

I sat down in it, crossing my arms. The seat shifted under me to be more comfortable. I leaned back, and it leaned with me, supporting each motion perfectly. Whatever I wanted to do, whether it be sit on my knees or lounge on my side, that chair could adjust to fit. Trouble was, I didn’t want to be comfortable. I was bored, and tired of being dragged along from one crisis to another. Sitting in a meditatively quiet, heavenly white room actually made this mood worse.

“All right, ACV, what kind of refreshments do you have?” I asked. No one answered. “Hey, computer! I’m talking to you!”

“How may I be of service?” The disembodied voice answered.

“From now on, you answer to either ACV or Annoying Computer Voice, okay? That’s what I’m calling you.”

The computer didn’t answer. I wondered what I was doing wrong. On Star Trek the computer just did whatever someone told it.

“Hello? Computer?”

“How may I be of service?” The voice repeated. Apparently, it was a very limited program. It seemed to only respond to specific prompts. So far, the future wasn’t that impressive.

“What do you have to drink?”

Apparently, this fit the machine’s parameters. “May I offer you water?”

I shrugged. “Sure.” Nothing. “Um, yes, water please.”

A wall panel slid open, and there was a glass of water. I walked over and picked it up. I noticed that the cup had a cap, but I couldn’t see how to pull it off. It seemed fused to the rest of the glass. I wasn’t even sure the material was glass, exactly.

“Uh, computer? How do I get the lid off?”

No answer was forthcoming. I swore loudly and threw the glass across the room, where it bounced off the wall and rolled onto the floor. It didn’t break, nor spill, so I guess it was more durable than traditional glass.

I slumped into my chair and curled up. The adrenalin of the gunfight earlier had worn off a while ago, and I had stayed awake by focusing on my anger and frustration. Now I was just plain worn out. I’d woken up in the middle of the night, no matter what time it was here. I needed sleep.

“Computer, can you dim the lights? I need to sleep.”

The wall panels went dim. This was apparently a command it understood. I settled into my perfectly comfortable chair to sleep. I hoped that tomorrow would be a much better day.

I woke up and stretched, yawning. As I opened my eyes, the lights slowly came back on, at the perfect pace to let my eyes adjust. Some of this technology was pretty smart.

“Diggory Franklin, there is someone waiting at your door. Are you available for visitors?” My “ACV” asked.

“Uh, sure. Let them in.”

The wall panel slid open. Jameson stood there, looking a little embarrassed.

“Good morning, Mr. Franklin. Please forgive me for my rude behaviour yesterday, I am sorry if I was inappropriate.”

I shrugged. “Hey, Jameson. It’s not a big deal.”

I had been terminally bored the night before. Having company, even if it was the infantile Jameson, was better than being alone. He stood in the doorway awkwardly.

“Hey, you can come in.”

“Thank you.” He stepped forward.

“Uh, hey, do you know how to get water out of this cup?”

Chapter 31: The Future for Dummies

Jameson explained that the lid was designed to keep water in, unless someone wanted to drink. Suction made the lid porous, and then the rest of the time it was an unspillable, unbreakable glass.

“My era is a lot less confusing than yours,” Jameson told me. “Cups don’t break. Drinks don’t burn your tongue. Food doesn’t make you sick.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“When I first visited your era, a lot of things were surprising. Coffee burned my mouth the first time I drank it. I got heartburn and bowel problems.”

“You never drank coffee before?”

“We don’t have it here.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

Jameson shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I looked around the room. “I’d offer you a chair, but there’s only one.”

“Just ask for more,” Jameson said. “Computer, chair please.”

The wall panel he’d come through opened a few moments later. A chair wheeled into the room and sat itself down facing mine, at a comfortable conversation distance.

“I couldn’t get it to answer me, most of the time.”

“You have to say ‘computer’ to get its attention. And then use an imperative. If it knows what you’re asking, it will do it.”

“Sounds simple enough. Do you want some food? I need breakfast.”

“I would enjoy a meal, thank you.”

“Uh, Computer, serve breakfast!”

Nothing happened.

“What did I do wrong?” I asked.

“You didn’t tell it anything it understands. You can’t think in terms of your era. For one thing, English isn’t the main language here. The computer speaks it because you do, but it only has so many phrases. A lot has changed.”

“What do you speak here?”

“American.”

I blinked again. “How is that different?”

Jameson shrugged. “The century between your time and mine saw a lot of change. I understand that language evolved slowly over centuries, before. But societal and technological changes made the pace of the twenty-first century that much faster. The American language is shorter, less descriptive, and more rigid in meaning.”

“Rigid?”

“For instance, you say ‘high’ to indicate height, and ‘hi’ to say hello. They are homonyms. There are no homonyms anymore. It made spelling difficult.”

“So spelling is easier now?”

“Yes. We changed the alphabet, so everything is spelled exactly the way it sounds.”

“So no one can make a mistake?”

“Correct.”

“Just like no one can spill their water?”

Jameson nodded.

“That’s weird,” I said. “So, how do I get breakfast?”

“Computer, is food available?” Jameson asked the air.

“Affirmative.”

“Computer, please provide food for two adults.”

The wall panel that I thought of as “the kitchen” opened. Two dishes sat within. Jameson stood and went to go get them.

Chapter 32: I should have taken the blue pill...

I opened the dish and found what looked like a lump of bread. It was dark brown in colour, like a rye loaf.

“What is it?”

“Food,” Jameson said. He took a bite of his.

“But what kind of food?” I was extremely hungry, and it didn’t look that appetizing.

“Food food,” Jameson said, shrugging. He chewed with relish. “It’s good.”

I wrinkled my nose, and then took a bite. The “bread” was surprisingly spongy, since it looked so thick. It tasted good, but not like anything in particular. You know how chicken tastes like chicken, and turkey tastes like dry chicken, and duck tastes like oily chicken? This didn’t have a “this tastes like…” kind of flavour. It just tasted generically good, without being something to write home about.

Unless you wanted to waste a paragraph on how a food didn’t taste like anything in particular, like I just did.

“Not bad,” I said to Jameson. He grinned like a kid. “But what is it?”

“Food.”

I wrinkled my forehead, wondering why he seemed so weird sometimes. “Yeah, but is it bread? Like, the wheat group? Is there more for breakfast?”

Jameson shook his head. “This will provide all your nutritional sustenance until the next meal.”

“All of it?”

“It is specifically designed to provide the necessary energy, protein and vitamins.”

I tilted my head. “So, what, you just eat this one thing for breakfast, and you’re good to go?”

“Oh, no. We eat this at every meal. And we don’t call meals ‘breakfast’ or ‘lunch.’ They’re just meals.”

Jameson went back to enjoying his “food.” He seemed pretty happy about it.

“Doesn’t that get boring?” I asked. He looked at me, his face scrunched like he didn’t understand. “Uh, the lack of variety?”

“No! It’s reassuring. Your era is way too chaotic. Too many choices.” He shook his head and turned back to his meal, finishing the last few bites.

“Yeah, but choice is fun. It makes for variety in experience, and it teaches you things… Different foods for different moods, cravings…” I tried to prod him into agreeing with me. Jameson just stared like I was insane. “Don’t you like trying new things? Didn’t you enjoy food in my time?”

“I gained thirty unnecessary pounds!” Jameson demonstrated by slapping his belly. It jiggled a little under his shirt. “It’s unhealthy! I might have cholesterol. I could get diseases!”

“Okay, okay!” I held up my hands, not wanting him to get upset like the day before. “I was just asking.”

I turned back to my breakfast. Or meal, whatever. I shrugged and finished it off. It wasn’t that bad. But, if it was my only food, I think I’d want to kill myself.

“Is everything in the future like this?” I asked.

“Like what?” Jameson said.

I gestured at the white walls. “Plain. Boring. Unchanging. You have cups that don’t spill, an alphabet that prevents mistakes, food that replaces choices… It’s a little weird.”

“No, your way is weird,” Jameson said, his voice insistent. “You have random chaos all over, and misuse of resources. Some people starve, while others waste food. Many are obese, and eat unhealthy junk. It’s insane! How can you live like that?”

“I… Look, at least we have the freedom to choose! You make it sound like this is your only option here.”

“What is freedom?” Jameson asked, staring at me. “The freedom to gorge yourself, while children die hungry? The freedom to live in a fancy apartment, while others live in the street? If that’s freedom, I’ll take my boring future over your stupid past.”

He turned away from me, crossing his arms. I could almost picture him in kindergarten, doing the same thing. A big, dumb, pouty kid that someone should have slapped. I really didn’t feel like talking to him anymore, anyway. I sat in my own chair, reclining and staring at the ceiling.

I wanted to go home.

Chapter 33: Your Mission, should you choose to accept it...

I don’t know how long Agent Jameson and I sat in silence. I don’t really know why he stayed, either. Maybe he hated being in quarantine as much as I did, and appreciated the company. Even if we weren’t speaking.

I would have started another conversation, just for something to do in that dreary place, but I couldn’t imagine it going any better than our last attempt. Jameson was weird. He had this unsophisticated naiveté, like a big child. It was difficult to reason with someone like that. His society seemed to have built him this way, making him a permanent infant. That is, if I understood what I was hearing from him.

He might not be able to grasp it himself, but the pieces fit. A language designed to prevent error, machinery doing all the work around here, cups that couldn’t be spilled: it all added up to the theory that whoever was in charge didn’t want the citizens of this future to think too much for themselves. That was my take, anyway.

Of course, it might be unfair to jump to any conclusions. I mean, I hadn’t seen the society at large, nor met anyone from it. The theory made sense of Jameson’s behaviour, but that’s all it was. Conjecture. I wouldn’t learn more unless they let me out of quarantine, which seemed unlikely. Even if they decided to help me, they’d be sending me back to my time period. They weren’t asking me to stay.

I didn’t want to, anyhow, if what I’d seen was the norm here.

I must have dozed off, staring at the white ceiling, because the next thing I knew there was a dinging sound, and the door panel opened up onto the corridor.

“This way,” the Annoying Computer Voice announced.

Jameson got up immediately and left the room. I stood up and followed, glad that we were going somewhere. They could feed me to Sarlaac, and at this point I’d be grateful. I followed the big guy down the hallway, until we reached a lit panel. It opened up, and Jameson entered the room beyond.

It was the same room as the debriefing from the day before. Either that, or a room just like it. There was no way to tell when everything looked the same out in the corridor. The same tech was behind the glass, in any event. More interesting to me was the fact that Agent Johnson of the CIA was on our side, lounging comfortably in a chair.

“Howdy, boys!” He grinned at us.

“Hello, Agent Johnson,” Jameson said pleasantly.

There were two empty chairs. Jameson took one. I stood. I didn’t feel like getting comfortable.

“Welcome back, Mr. Franklin. Please, be seated.” The tech stood waiting.

“No.”

Johnson smiled smugly, in that charming way of his. Like I was the class clown. Jameson looked like I peed in his cereal. The tech, with his goggles, was impossible to read.

“Mr. Franklin, think of the protocol!” Agent Jameson stage-whispered.

“Shut up, Johnny,” Agent Johnson told him, not unkindly. “Let the man talk.”

I stood by the glass. “I’m not sitting. I’m not getting comfortable. I hate it here! I want to go home. Tell me what you’re doing, and when I can leave. That’s it. No more. I’m done playing games.”

“Mr. Franklin, you requested that we return your missing memories. You claimed that you needed them intact in order to help us achieve our goal of apprehending Zebediah. We agreed that it would serve our mutual purposes, and aid in your survival. I stated earlier that we did not have the technology to help you. I have gone to considerable trouble to find someone who can help you. A little cooperation would be appreciated.”

I blinked. Was he saying they wanted to help me now?

“Who’s going to do what now?” I asked.

“Agent Johnson has a proposal for you. I suggest you listen.”

I turned to look at the CIA agent sprawled in his seat. “What’s this about?”

He grinned wider. “I woke up in a good mood this morning, and decided to do you a favour.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Of course, you’ll have to do me a favour in return. That’s fair, right?”

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. “I don’t have much choice, do I? Without someone’s help, I won’t be going home, nor getting my memories back. What do I have to do?”

“We don’t need to discuss that here,” Johnson said. He twiddled his fingers round and round. “The walls have ears.”

Chapter 34: Curiouser and Curiouser

The technician in the control booth decided to speak.

“Mr. Franklin, please allow me to apologize on behalf of the Federal Bureau of time Investigation for any inconvenience we may have caused. It is our sincere hope that you will be able to return to your own era with your memories restored. This is beyond our capability, but we have procured assistance. I turn you over to Agent James Johnson of the CIA, and bid you good day.”

“Let’s go, my man,” Johnson said. He sprung to his feet and waved bye-bye to Jameson, and then strolled out of the room. I followed, relieved to be going.

“So, what’s the deal?”

“Not here,” Johnson said. “I wasn’t kidding about the walls. I’m not sharing information with the FBI, remember? Moles.”

I nodded. “But you can get me out of here?”

“Absolutely. And don’t believe that bullshit about them ‘procuring assistance.’ I pulled rank. I have jurisdiction in this matter.”

“I really want you to explain that, okay? But, if that’s the case, why did I come here at all?”

“Johnny Jameson screwed up. You needed to know the score, and his bosses needed to know he’s messing up their case. Also, it made it easier for me to get you involved in the operation. So, shall we go?”

“Go where?”

Johnson took my arm and closed his eyes. Without feeling any sense of motion, we were suddenly somewhere else. The white walls vanished, and instead we were standing in a green garden, with sunlight all around.

“What the…” I looked about, seeing flowers and vines. “How did you…”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What does, is that the FBI won’t be following us. We should be safe.”

“Please tell me you’re going to fill me in on what the hell is happening,” I said. “Those idiots just made everything a whole lot more confusing, and I’m tired of being dicked around.”

“I can tell you some things, it depends on what you want to know. But, trust me, there’s some stuff you’re better off not knowing.”

I grimaced. “I’ll worry about that when I come to it. Right now, I want to know why everyone keeps sucking me into this crap, and what your role is in all of this.”

“We’re talking to you because Zebediah is showing an interest. I think the dweebs at the FBI made that clear? As for me, I’m CIA.”

“Last I checked, the CIA wasn’t involved with time travel.”

“Do you think they’d tell you, if they were? But you’re right, if you mean the Central Intelligence Agency. I’m with a different CIA. The Continuity Integrity Agency.”

“Continuity? What on earth is that about?” I flapped my arms. “Fuck, nothing is simple!”

“Whoa, there, cowboy! Easy. I’m telling you. The FBI exists in a time period of advanced technology, and, what some might think of as ass-backwards societal growth. If there’s time, I’ll explain that later. What matters is that they have access to time travel through technology, and are using it to investigate history. Their culture lost touch with a lot of it, and they’re trying to rebuild. They’re also fighting for their survival, in a war that’s lasted a good fifty years.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, remind me to fill in those gaps, if it becomes necessary.”

“So where does the CIA fit in?”

“My era is significantly more advanced than theirs. The FBI is a funny episode in our history. They might be investigating time, my people are protecting it.”

“Wait a second!” I held up my hands. Something he said was off. “The FBI is in your past?”

“Oh yeah. They’re like cavemen. I’m a good two hundred years in their future, dude.”

Johnson grinned smugly. I stared at him. “What?”

Chapter 35: Back to the Past

I rubbed my hands vigorously through my hair and hollered for a full minute. Agent Johnson of the Continuity Integrity Agency waited patiently beside me, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“Feel better?” He asked when I finished.

“No,” I rasped. My throat felt sore.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. You’ve been in three different time periods in less than twenty-four hours. Give yourself a minute.”

I glared at him. “A minute? It’s going to take a while to adjust to any of this lunacy. In a very short amount of time, I’ve been exposed to terrorism, attempts on my life, explosions, time travel, double agents from the future, and computers who don’t provide beer. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“It’s simple. Forget about most of it. Right now, the terrorist can’t get you. I’m going to take you somewhere safe, out of reach. I’m going to arrange for you to have your memories from Sunday returned. Then, after you’re all fixed up, you’ll be returned to your own time frame, with the paradox resolved. You’ll know why your girlfriend Calla saw you on Sunday, even though you were missing until Monday. Okay?”

“You can do all that?”

“Dude!” Johnson held out his hands directing the fingers towards himself. It seemed like he was trying to say “Come on, this is me you’re talking about!” However, I had no experience of him that would say he was competent or otherwise. Belief, faith, those were a little far off until he proved himself.

I shrugged, however, realizing that I had few options. “So, wait, you’re going to fix all that for me? What do you get out of it?”

“That’s the million dollar question, my friend. You’re doing me a favour, while I keep you out of harm’s way.”

I stared at him. “What favour?”

Johnson smiled.

Less than an hour later, Johnson and I were standing in a cornfield. He had explained my mission, and then vanished away for a few moments. He came back with a new shirt and socks and shoes for me, and a knapsack with more clothes. Then, grabbing my shoulder, he whisked us away to this field.

“Now, repeat it back to me,” Johnson was saying.

“You’re going to walk up to the house first. I’m to cut across the field to the road, over there. I’ll walk up, and knock on the door. You’re going to introduce me as your cousin, Jack. You called me to help with the harvest.”

“Right. Where’d we grow up?”

“Outside of Boston, in Franklin Massachusetts. Big farming family. I’ve never been to Kansas.” I paused. “Can I ask one question?”

“Sure.”

“How in the hell did you find time to plant yourself in their household, and still monitor my life?”

Johnson smiled like I was simple in the head. “Jack, my boy, the beauty of time travel is that you can be almost any-when and it doesn’t affect the last place you were. I could check in on you, pop over here at the exact second I left, go home, eat lunch, and then see what you were doing five minutes or five hours later. Stop thinking so linear.”

I shrugged. He headed towards the farmhouse on the other side of the field, while I cut towards the road. It was weird seeing him in blue jeans and a plaid shirt instead of his usual suit.

I strolled down a dusty country road, and then turned onto the lane that led to the farm. I jogged the last little bit, and headed up the rickety wooden porch to the front door. I knocked on the edge of the screen door, as the main door was open.

“Daddy, visitor!” A girl’s voice rang out from within. I peered into the dim interior, seeing past the living room to a kitchen. Someone was peeling vegetables at the sink. “Daddy?”

It was a girl, about twelve or thirteen years old. She had tousled blond hair and had her sleeves rolled up. She bounced over towards the door when she realized no one else was coming.

“Afternoon, Mister. What can I do for you?”

I looked at those grey eyes and I knew. It was a young Calla Wiley.

Chapter 36: We're not in Kansas anymore

Agent James Johnson of the Continuity Integrity Agency (CIA) of the year 2300, or thereabouts, had recruited me from my own year of 2008 to stop a murder. Or, at least, that’s what he told me while we stood in a garden in that far off future.

“We’ve been tracking Zebediah for quite some time. We’ve gathered intelligence that suggests he means to kill someone from your era. We’re not entirely sure why, but just the fact that he’s involved means that we’re interested in foiling the plot.”

“Won’t that cause a paradox?” I asked. I really wasn’t sure that it would, but it seemed like the kind of question that was relevant to a time traveller.

“Yes and no. My agency acts to prevent the misuse of time travel, and protect history. We’ve searched the history books, and all evidence suggests that this person died. There’s nothing about them afterwards. However, there’s a loophole: what if they came to the future instead? Their life wouldn’t impact the past any more or less than if they died, but then Zebediah wouldn’t win.”

“That’s a hell of a theory. Steal someone from their home and hope they don’t mind, just to piss off the bad guy. The space-time continuum remains unaffected, but their life as they know it is over.”

Johnson shrugged. “Unless you’d prefer that someone was murdered, you know, that’s cool.”

I grimaced. “Of course not. Why do you need me?”

“Well, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed with our buddy Jameson, time travel stresses people out. Travelling to an unfamiliar era is unsettling. There are a million customs, big and little, that can totally mess you up and make it obvious that you’re out of place. It takes years of training to be ready for an operation. It takes years of commitment, sometimes, to pull one off.”

“Right. None of which I actually possess.”

Johnson laughed. “Not in any era but your own. But that’s where I’m sending you.”

“To my own time?”

“Well, close enough. You’ll be in an area where no one will know you, and a year that no one will expect you. Even though Zebediah is involved, I kind of doubt he’ll be after you the way he is back in your specific time. He’s got other fish to fry, you know?”

“So what do I do?”

“Here’s the situation: there’s a family with a farmhouse in Kansas. They have twin daughters. Zebediah intends to kill one of them. It’s your job to get her out. Simple, right?”

“Um, not really. How do I get close enough to the family to get them to trust me with their daughter? How do I get the girl out? What do I do if Zebediah attacks?”

“Hang on there, cowboy! One at a time. First, I’ve already got your cover story. We’ll go over that in a minute. Second, you don’t get the girl out until Zebediah makes his move. Until. Not before. There’s no ‘if.’ He’s going to attack. But you can’t take the bait out of the trap.”

“So how do I get her out?” I didn’t like the sound of this.

“With this.” Johnson held up one of those funky watches like the one Jameson had been wearing. “I’ll set the chronometer so all you have to do is push this button,” he demonstrated. “It’ll take you back here.”

He handed me the watch and I put it on. “You really think this is going to work?”

Johnson grinned. “Trust me.”

I wanted to punch that son of a bitch in the face. He had neglected to mention that we were visiting the home of Calla Wiley, perhaps fifteen years in my past. She hadn’t met me yet, and in fact was an adolescent girl, but that didn’t make it feel like less of a set-up.

“Uh, hi… I’m looking for Jimmy Johnson?” I said, giving the girl my best confused look. It wasn’t hard, as I was really perplexed. What was Johnson’s game?

He had told me I was travelling back in time to save a girl, one Dahlia Sorley. No Wiley had been mentioned. Yet, here was Calla. I’d know those eyes anywhere.

“Oh, sure, he works for my dad. Come on in, I’ll go find them.”

Calla opened the screen door and ushered me inside. I followed her to the kitchen where she bid me sit on one of the stools by the wooden table. It was laden with dishes for supper, some in the middle of their preparation.

“Mom’s in the washroom, she’ll be down in a sec,” Calla said. “Dad’s probably out back. Can I get you something to drink, Mister?”

“Uh, Johnson. Jack Johnson. I’m Jimmy’s cousin.”

Chapter 37: So Now What?

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson. Hang on a sec.” A young Calla went to the back door of her Kansas farmhouse, in the corner of the kitchen, and hollered. “DAD! JIMMY! Come HERE!”

I stared at the back of her head. I was completely befuddled. It was so weird, to see the love of my life as a pre-teen, and know what she would become. I began to understand what Johnson had meant about time travel stressing people out. It was uncanny.

“They’ll be here in a moment,” Calla said, smiling as she turned back to me. “Would you like a glass of water or something?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

Calla shrugged and went back to chopping vegetables. “I guess you’re the cousin Jimmy said would come help with the harvest?”

“Yep. It’s been awhile since I worked a farm, but Jimmy said your folks could use the extra help this year,” I told her, sticking to Johnson’s cover story.

“What did you do after you left the farm?” Calla asked, looking up. Her eyes seemed to brighten a little.

“Uh, I went to school for a bit, and learned book-keeping. The company I worked for did some layoffs this summer, so I was looking for work anyway.”

“College?” Calla asked.

“Yep.”

Agent Johnson had concocted this convoluted back-story because Mr. Sorley would be sure to notice my “city-boy” hands, unused to farming’s hardships. I had to give “Jimmy” credit, he thought of all the little details.

“What’s all the yelling about?” A man said, coming through the back door.

He was hefty, and shorter than I was. Not fat, just the beefy, strong look I’d expect in a painting of a farmer. I didn’t know enough of them in real life to compare. Calla gestured towards me.

“He’s Jimmy’s cousin, Jack.”

“Well, good day to you, then!” Mr. Sorley said with a grin, clasping hands with me. He had a firm, meaty shake.

“And you, sir.”

Johnson came in the door a moment later. “Something up? Why, Jack! You made it!”

He grinned even bigger than Sorley, and came forward to clap hands on my shoulders. “Good to see you, cousin.”

“You, too.”

A few moments later Calla’s mother joined us, and introductions were made again. She was thinner than her daughter would grow up to be, but was the obvious source of blond hair in the family.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Johnson said, “Dinner’s shortly?”

“Yes, Jimmy, ten minutes to wash up,” Calla’s mother told him.

“This way, Jack.”

We dumped my backpack in a small room with two beds, and I made sure to shut the door before I turned on Johnson.

“What the hell are you playing at?” I hissed through clenched teeth, raising my fists.

“Whoa,” Johnson took a step back, “Whoa, whoa! What?”

“You said we were here for Dahlia Sorley. So why is Calla Wiley cutting vegetables in the kitchen?”

Johnson looked at me like I was crazy. “Look, all I know about Calla Wiley is that the two of you have been out a few times, and the FBI said you told them she’d seen you on Sunday, when they were supposed to have you in the future. She’s not part of this mission. Cally Sorley is in the kitchen, she’s Dahlia’s sister.”

“And what is ‘Cally’ short for?” I asked, grinding my teeth. “Dumbass.”

He blinked. “I don’t know. I never asked.” Johnson scratched his head. “But that still doesn’t explain the Sorley and Wiley confusion.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.”

Chapter 38: Twins

Agent Johnson and I headed down to join the Sorleys for dinner. We had been unable to come up with an explanation for Calla Wiley’s presence in their house, and, so far, I believed “cousin Jimmy” when he said that he didn’t know that she was also Calla Sorley. It still felt like a set-up, I just wasn’t sure who had done the setting.

We sat down at the big dining room table, with Mr. Sorley at one end and his wife at the other. Jimmy and I sat across from Calla, who had been joined by her sister. The resemblance between the two was striking. I guess I hadn’t given much thought to Johnson’s words when he said “twins,” because the girls were identical and I hadn’t prepared myself for that.

It was a little unnerving. The day I’d met Calla (twice) I had asked her if she’d had a sister. She had assumed my question was just flirting, but here was evidence that my intuition had been correct. If I hadn’t known that real time travellers existed, I’d be certain that the two girls had been trading places to mess with my head.

It was weirder that I knew that, in my time, Calla thought Dahlia was dead. Johnson and I were here to prevent her murder at Zebediah’s hands, but I couldn’t tell Calla about it. She was going to go forward from here in grief. Could I do that to the woman I loved?

Did I have a choice?

Everyone made chitchat with me, trying to make me feel welcome. I gave quiet answers, feeling nervous and out of place.

“I imagine it’s been a long day for Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Sorley said, “So I want you girls to be quiet in the morning, so he can sleep in. There’ll be plenty of time to show him around the farm later in the day.”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I appreciate that. It’s been a long trip, that’s for sure,” I said, once I saw that she meant me. James Johnson kicking my ankle under the table helped me to grasp the concept.

“Jimmy, the girls can show Jack here around tomorrow. I’m going to need you to run the truck down to the hardware store. The parts I need for the tractor came in.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Sorley.” James nodded.

Johnson and I headed off to our shared room as soon as the meal was over. He locked the door behind us.

“Okay, I did not anticipate this, but it looks like you’re going to be alone here tomorrow. Get the lay of the land, figure out your way around the farm. The better you know your terrain, the more prepared you’ll be to defend it.”

“Um, yeah, I’m not defending it. You told me to grab her if Zebediah shows up, and get the hell out.”

“Right, that’s what I meant. You still need to know your way around, to keep an eye on the girls.”

“Good point. What about you?”

“I’m going to use being away from the farm as an opportunity to bounce back to my time, see if I can figure out your Sunday paradox. Then I’ll bounce back here and finish my errands. Hopefully you’ll be safe until I get back.”

“Yeah, it’s the ‘hopefully’ that makes it less than reassuring,” I told him, before hopping into bed.

“Dude, the chronometer will get you out,” Johnson said.

“Don’t care.” I buried my head under my pillow.

“It’s perfectly safe…”

“Really don’t care.”

“I really think…”

“Johnson, seriously. Shut up so I can sleep. I’ve travelled three hundred years into the future, and then back again, minus fifteen years, and last night I slept in a chair. I just want some peace and quiet.”

I heard the creak as Johnson sat down on his own bed.

“Sorry, Diggory,” he said quietly.

I rolled my eyes. Then, I rolled over.

“Goodnight, James.”

He nodded and got under the covers. “Night.”

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. What was tomorrow going to be like? Was Zebediah even going to show? Would I save Dahlia?

How could I not tell Calla about this, when I got back home?

Chapter 39: We're in Big, Big Trouble

Despite my complaints of being tired, I slept fitfully. I had a lot on my mind, after all: meeting Calla as a teenager, and a Sorley, instead of an adult Wiley. Time travel. Zebediah, and his murderous plans. I would punch my pillow and roll over, in futile attempts to get comfortable.

I didn’t bother to sleep in, despite Mrs. Sorley’s advice. I didn’t see the point. I woke up when everyone else got up to start their chores, and helped make breakfast. There was light chitchat again at the table, and then everyone dispersed to do their work.

I went with the twins to feed the chickens, in a coop beside the barn. I felt a little creepy walking through the coop, with the chickens staring at me and making furtive movements with their heads. They had these weird, glassy eyes that just glared at me, and sent shivers through my skin. I breathed easier when we got outside, and the girls laughed at me.

“Sorry,” I said, blushing. “I’ve never liked chickens.”

The girls showed me around from there. The farm’s primary crop was corn, but they had a few animals just because they liked them. Mrs. Sorley also had a vegetable garden behind the house. After a brief tour of the garden, we waved to Johnson as he went to town for Mr. Sorley.

I hoped he’d be back before Zebediah showed up.

Once he was gone, the twins led me to the barn. Here they had a pig and a few cows.

“If your dad is a corn farmer, why keep the animals?” I asked.

“Mom says a proper farm has animals to take care of,” Dahlia shrugged. “We like taking care of Milk and Cheese and Bacon.”

I laughed. “That’s their names?”

“No, it’s Maggie, Betsy and Wilbur.” Calla disagreed.

“Is not,” Dahlia stuck out her tongue. “My names are better.”

“Want to see the best part of the barn?” Calla asked.

“Sure,” I shrugged.

She headed over to a wooden ladder built into the wall, leading up into the second story of the barn. Dahlia went up next, so I followed. They led me up to a loft, with doors opening above the yard below. There was an old couch, a small bookshelf, and a telescope over by the doors.

“It’s our hang-out,” Dahlia said. “I’ll sit and read while Cally stares at the sky for hours.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Yeah, I think it’s fascinating. Constellations, and planets… Did you know starlight comes to us from years and years in the past? Sometimes the light is thousands or millions of years old.” Calla’s eyes sparkled as she told me this.

“Sounds like a fun hobby.”

Dahlia snorted. “Books are better.”

I walked over to the doors and looked out. There was a fantastic view of the cornfields, with the horizon miles and miles away. The blue sky was bright and cheerful. I leaned against the doorframe and just took it in.

“Lovely day,” I said, for no reason in particular.

“Looks like a storm brewing over that-way,” Dahlia said, pointing to the west. Clouds seemed to be boiling at the horizon-line, churning dark grey.

“Where’d that come from?” I wondered aloud. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when we were in the yard.

The wind started to pick up, and you could see it ruffling through the fronds of corn in the field, making them wave. It started to blow harder and harder, and you could see them practically bending over.

The clouds spread from the western horizon, spilling over the sky with uncanny speed. It seemed like a really nasty storm was about to start. I could feel the wind ruffling my hair, cold against my skin.

Looking down at the field, the cornstalks were bowed low, whipped about by the powerful winds. The gusts seemed to almost carve a path towards the house and the barn, as if a giant were walking through the fields. I shivered.

There was bolt of lightning, followed by a fierce clap of thunder. Suddenly it was raining.

“Lovely weather, huh?” Dahlia hollered. She reached for the open door, hoping to pull it shut.

“Who’s that?” said Calla, pointing before her sister could do anything.

Chapter 40: Perfect Storm

I leaned over, grabbing the doorframe with one hand for balance. I looked out through the storm and down into the yard. A man was standing at the edge of the cornfield, looking at the house. It was hard to make anything out. The storm clouds had darkened the sky, and the rain was falling in torrents. I was immediately soaked to the skin, just for leaning out.

“Who is that?” Dahlia echoed her sister.

“Get back from the door,” I said, using my other hand to push Calla behind me and then to tug Dahlia back. “Get back, further into the loft.”

The girls looked at each other, and then at me. “Go!” I commanded. They withdrew while I ducked down at the edge of the door, looking out again. I hoped that I’d be less conspicuous that way, but I had to see what was going on in the yard.

The man walked towards the house, undeterred by the roaring wind. He didn’t seem to care about the rain, either. His dark silhouette just marched forward. He was wearing some kind of coat, but I couldn’t make out any other details.

Was this Zebediah? It seemed likely. Where was Johnson when I needed him?

I wiped rain off my face as I peered into the darkness, trying to see more. There was a sudden flash of lightning, and it lit up the yard. The man was standing closer to the house, staring at it with his head tilted up. Like he was measuring it, or something. I couldn’t see his face, but his long hair was blowing in the wind, despite the rain.

I blinked, rubbing water from my eyes. There was another blast of lightning, and this one knocked me back on my ass. It was blinding, it was so close, and the thunder was like a cannon going off. The house lit up and I saw that it was on fire.

“Holy shit!”

Calla screamed from behind me, or maybe it was Dahlia. Their home was burning. I looked into the yard, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

The wind, however, seemed to be even stronger than before. One of the doors came loose and started flapping and banging with every gust. I had to roll out of the way to avoid getting hit. Calla and Dahlia both rushed forward to help me to my feet. The telescope fell over with a clatter as the wind continued to build. We turned to run back to the ladder, and get lower to the ground.

There was another lightning strike, and this time it was Dahlia’s turn to scream. There was a man standing between us and the ladder. He stood in shadow, his long coat dripping water onto the wood floor. His dishevelled hair was like a sea of reeds around his face. His beard was an untidy mess.

“Zebediah,” I almost snarled.

He looked up at me with a smile. “Hello, Diggory.”

I pushed the girls behind me, as if I could stand between them and danger. The wind blew at our backs, while we faced this murderer from the future. “Stay back,” I growled.

Zebediah took a step forward. Instinctively, we all took a step back. He took another step, and so did we.

Calla, standing on my right, gave a little shriek as she lost her footing, going over the edge of the open doorway. I spun around, grabbing for her. I caught her arm as she slipped, so that she was hanging over the yard. I fell against the floor, which knocked the wind out of me. I grabbed at the doorframe of the open door, trying to keep myself from going over with her.

Wind and rain pelted us, and I felt my fingers slipping. Fortunately, because I’d caught her, the fall would only be about a metre or so. Without my intervention, she could have been seriously hurt. Calla looked up at me, her eyes wide with fright.

“I’m going to let you go,” I called down to her. “Run for help!”

She nodded, and we both let go at the same time. She dropped the last three feet and rolled with it, getting muddy but preventing a broken ankle. Calla clambered to her feet and ran.

I stood up, rubbing my sore ribs, and looked at Zebediah. He hadn’t moved throughout the preceding events, but simply stood there, staring at Dahlia and me.

“What do you want?” I asked.

He ignored me. Zebediah looked at the girl, and held out his hand.

“Come here, Dahlia.”

“How do you know my name?”

While he was distracted, I ran at Zebediah. He looked at me barely a split second before I would have tackled him. His eyes, a sharp blue, seemed to blaze like the lightning outside. I felt a wind pick me up and slam me into the couch, which fell over backwards.

“Mr. Johnson!” Dahlia cried out. She rushed to help me.

Chapter 41: The Great Escape

I lay sprawled on the wooden floor of the barn loft, trying to catch my breath. Dahlia Sorley came over the upturned couch and was reaching down to help me up. I could feel a fierce wind blowing into the room from the open doorway. There was a crackling, electrical feeling to the air, like a huge build-up of static.

I leaned against Dahlia for support, grunting as I got up. Zebediah stood in the middle of the room, glaring at me. His eyes blazed, and the wind was tossing his hair about like the tentacles of an octopus. It seemed almost as if the wind was coming from him. He raised his hands.

“Get down!” I said, hauling Dahlia by the arm. Lightning flashed, and the thunder was almost deafening. I could smell smoke.

I looked up from the floor and saw that the side of the barn had been blown in, and the shattered edges of the wood were smouldering. Rain and wind poured through the hole. The building had been hit by lightning! I looked at Zebediah, and he smiled down at me.

I rolled to my knees, helping Dahlia up. Zebediah stepped towards us. I glowered at him. I didn’t know how he was doing it, but the storm seemed to be under his control. I wondered how that was possible. Johnson had displayed strange powers in my apartment, also: moving the couch with his mind, and throwing me through the air. I made a mental note to ask him about it.

If I survived this.

“What do you want from us?” I screamed at Zebediah, the wind roaring around us.

Dahlia held onto me for balance, the gusting air almost knocking us over. We swayed, struggling to stay up. My ribs hurt from my fall, and I knew I couldn’t keep this up much longer. Zebediah stood calmly unaffected, staring at us. He didn’t speak. He just held out his hand.

“You can’t have her!” I hollered, manoeuvring so I stood between the two of them. “You’ll have to go through me!”

I felt like a bad actor in a cheesy movie, but I was doing my best to sound heroic. It was probably futile, I didn’t have any weapons or a way to withstand Zebediah’s strange power. But, if I was going out, I wasn’t going out a coward.

The villain in our scene didn’t seem to care about my speech, one way or another. Zebediah simply held up his hand, and I could feel the static gathering in the air. He was going to create another lightning blast, I was sure of it. Right now, it didn’t really matter how he did it. What mattered was living through it.

“Fuck you!” I said. I jabbed the button Johnson had showed me on the watch on my wrist. What he had called the “chronometer” flared to life, blazing with violet and blue light. The metal circle of the watch spun and rotated as the machine activated.

Zebediah’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to scream in rage. But it was too late for him to do anything about it: the small time machine strapped to my wrist opened a portal and sucked us through.

I knew the moment we were in it that something had gone wrong. The first time, with Jameson, it had felt like something was pulling me forward, and then I popped out into the future. The light had been a blue and purple spiral. This time, the colours were flashing spastically and the pull felt more like riding tidal waves, splashing us around and around. It hurt. Every cell of my body felt like it was being pulled in multiple directions at once. I couldn’t hear anything but I was sure that I was screaming, as I felt myself being torn apart atom by atom.

We rolled and zoomed and bucked like the worst, fastest roller coaster in history, until words like “dizzy” and “vertigo” lost all meaning. Existence was a mess of pain and speed, hurtling into oblivion.

Finally, it stopped. We re-entered the world and fell on our hands and knees. I vomited. I was really too busy throwing up to notice if Dahlia did the same. Breakfast came up until I was just dry heaving, my body wracked with spasms.

After an endless, miserably gut-wrenching time, I rolled to a sitting position and looked around. My head was spinning and my muscles ached. I coughed a few times and wiped my mouth, spitting to try to clear out the nasty flavour of bile.

“Crap. Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Dahlia said quietly.

A vast plain spilled before us, wild grass waving in a gentle wind. In the distance there were trees, but there were no signs of human habitation on any horizon.

The house was gone, the barn was gone, the farm itself was gone. There was no Zebediah, no road, and no sign of where we were, nor where to go next.

“Crap,” I said again.

Chapter 42: A Clockwork Orange (minus the orange)

I stood on a grassy plain with Calla Wiley’s twin sister, Dahlia Sorley. We had been some fifteen years in my past, where I’d been visiting their family farm with the intention of rescuing Dahlia from the murderous time-terrorist, Zebediah. I’d succeeded in my goal; we’d lived through his attack.

However, Agent Johnson of the Continuity Integrity Agency had equipped me with a chronometer that was supposed to have taken us three hundred years into the future. He’d told me that we’d arrive in the same garden he’d shown me while explaining my mission. Well, we certainly weren’t there now. We were somewhere else entirely.

I looked from one horizon to the other, running my hand through my hair in frustration as I tried to think. Dahlia stood there quietly. She looked more than a little disoriented, and just stared blankly.

“What… what was that?” She said finally, her voice very quiet.

“Which? The terrorist throwing lightning bolts, or the time machine that malfunctioned?” I said, not knowing what else to tell her.

Dahlia blinked a few times. Her eyes lost some of that vacant stare. She looked at me directly, like someone coming out of a long sleep.

“What?”

“Look, I really don’t know how to explain this so you’ll believe me, but we just travelled through time.”

“I thought that’s what you were saying,” she said. Dahlia took a step towards me, and then wobbled. She fell to a sitting position.

“Still feeling the effects of the displacement?” I asked. “Shit, listen to me. Like I know what I’m talking about.”

I bent down to her level. Dahlia shook her head a few times.

“I still feel woozy.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Me too. Something went wrong in transition. We were supposed to go into the future, and away from that guy. His name is Zebediah.”

“Was he… was he controlling the storm?” Dahlia asked. She said it like it seemed impossible and she didn’t want to be made fun of, but still had to say it because it was the only explanation.

“I think so. It seemed like it. He’s a very dangerous man. For some reason he was after you. I’d say you were safe now, except that I don’t know where we are. Or when we are, for that matter.”

I sat down in the grass with her and examined the chronometer on my wrist. It looked like a fancy watch, at first glance. But there was a lot more to it than that. I just had to figure out how to make it work.

“What is that?” Dahlia asked.

“It’s the time machine. I guess. The guy from the future told me it’s a chronometer. Johnson.”

“Your cousin?”

“No.” I shook my head. “That was a story to get me in the house so I could protect you from Zebediah. It’s confusing even to me. But Johnson is from like three hundred years in the future, and it’s his job to stop Zebediah as he travels in the past. I’m from closer to your time, I’m only ten or fifteen years in your future. He picked me to help you because I’d understand your era of history. Most people from the future find our time confusing.”

Dahlia nodded, but she still seemed a little spaced out. I didn’t really expect most of that to sink in, especially when I still found most of it pretty crazy myself.

“So what’s your name?” Dahlia asked after a minute or two.

“I’m Diggory. Hi.”

She tried to smile, but still seemed out of it. “Hi.”

“Listen, why don’t you lie down for a bit? That time trip seemed to take a lot out of you. I’ll try and figure out if I can get this thing to work, and you can rest. I’ll watch out for you.”

“Thanks,” she said. Dahlia sort of curled up on the ground and she was sleeping in no time.

I turned back to the chronometer. It had a digital face, like most watches, and it showed the time. Maybe not the time right now, because we were somewhen else, but in any case, it showed the time like any other watch. If I clicked buttons, it flashed through the settings: time, date, stopwatch… I stopped at the date. It was still set for the past we’d visited, which was apparently 1993.

I clicked the button to set the date, and it flashed at me + 334. So did that mean we were supposed to travel to 2327? Well, did we? It didn’t look like it. What had gone wrong?

Chapter 43: Here Comes the Cavalry

I fiddled with the chronometer for a long time, trying to figure out the different settings. I avoided the button I thought of as the activation switch, the one I had pressed to turn the machine on and bring us here. I didn’t want to get us even more lost than we already were.

I found that by checking the date, I could see the year and click to set it, but I had to actually physically spin the metal circle around the face of the watch to make the numbers go up or down. It seemed like I could set the time machine for the future or the past, by going plus or minus from the current year. Well, I didn’t know what the current year was, so I didn’t really think that I should be trying that yet.

It might work, on a trial and error basis, but only as a last resort. I knew that the chronometer had different functions, though. Jameson from the FBI had used the machine to walk through walls and vanish guns. To do that, he’d made the machine extend finger-like metal protrusions.

I stumbled on it almost by accident, rotating the metal circle and playing with the setting buttons. When I clicked from “stopwatch” to “time” on settings, and rotated the disc counter-clockwise, “time” switched to “space” and the machine hummed to life. The metal fingers extended onto mine, with glowing orbs in the palm and at each fingertip.

“Cool!” I said to myself, examining the weird glove.

I pointed a finger at a blade of grass, and it moved towards me like it was being pushed by a small wind. I pointed a second finger and it tore loose and hovered in the air. I watched, spellbound, as it danced wherever I moved my two fingers, spiralling around. I pointed a third finger and it held totally still, hovering. Four fingers made the glove’s lights brighter, and the machine hummed. Five fingers, and the grass blade blinked out of existence.

“Whoa!”

Dahlia stirred in her sleep on the ground beside me. I quieted, not wanting to wake her. I looked back at the chronometer, wondering what else I could make it do.

I vanished a few rocks and a few blades of grass, wondering what else I could test it on. I wanted to figure out the walking through walls trick that Jameson had done. We were in the middle of grassy plain, so there were no walls handy.

Out of ideas, I turned the circle of the watch clockwise, and clicked the setting button again. The chronometer switched from “space” to “time” again, and the wires disappeared back inside the machine.

I was no closer to figuring out where we were, but at least I knew a little about how to use the machine, in case I needed it. It could come in handy defending us against attack.

I sat down next to Dahlia, and tried to relax. The adrenaline from my confrontation with Zebediah had worn off, and I could now feel how sore I was. Our bumpy ride through time and space had left me aching all over. No wonder the poor kid was so sleepy. I felt like I’d run a marathon. I yawned.

I stretched, wiggling my arms and fingers, trying to stay awake. I needed to watch over the kid, Johnson had sent me to protect her. But I don’t think he knew how heavy eyelids could get after a malfunctioning time machine sent you to the wrong place.

I yawned some more, smacking my lips. Had… to… stay… awake. Yawn.

A blue and violet light started to glow a few feet away. I tilted my head and stared at it dreamily, wondering if I was already asleep. It seemed kind of familiar, though. Where had I seen that before?

I knew the answer as an indigo and purple spiralling portal opened up in the air, like a doorway from nowhere. A man in goggles peeked out, looked at me, and then went back in. I stood up, a little wobbly and groggy, but on my guard.

I clicked my chronometer into place, opening up the wiry glove. I held it out in front of me, five fingers ready to do some vanishing, if necessary. The goggled man peeked back out, with another one. The first pointed at me, and said something to his companion. The second looked at me, nodded, and then vanished back into the portal.

“What the fuck?” I yelled at them.

The two heads came back through the portal, and this time there was a third.

“Hi, Mr. Franklin!”

“Oh,” I said. “Crap.”

The smiling face was joined by a waving hand. I looked up at the portal and saw probably the last person I wanted to see, this side of Zebediah. And being murdered might not be that bad, by comparison.

“Good to see you!” Agent Jameson said, with his big dumb cheerful grin.

Some days, it was better to just stay in bed. If I’d slept in at the Sorley farm, like I was supposed to, the whole day might have turned out better.

Chapter 44: Back to the Future

I looked at Agent Jameson of the Federal Bureau of time Investigation as he popped out of a time portal and down to the grassy field I was sitting in. I gently shook Dahlia Sorley’s leg to wake her.

“Whazzu… huh?” She said blearily.

“Wake up, kiddo, it’s our ride. We’re getting out of here… I think.”

Jameson walked over, so I stood up to greet him. We shook hands.

“Brilliant work, Mr. Franklin! Quite the innovative method of calling for help.”

“Pardon? Who did what now?” I asked, taking his compliment with my usual grace.

“I never would have thought to use the chronometer for a ‘Mayday’ or an ‘SOS’ in such an inventive manner. Well done!” Jameson continued.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Using the chronometer to send the grass and rocks to our time. We found them in one of the displacement rooms, and no one could account for them. So we analyzed their time signature, and pinpointed the ‘when’ that they came from. Poke our heads out, and there you are!”

I looked at him funny. “You thought I sent the grass and stuff on purpose?”

“Yes! Very good idea. I will say, however, that I’m a little disappointed in you. Stealing a chronometer.”

“I didn’t steal anything. Agent Johnson gave it to me.”

“Oh! My apologies. I never did trust him very much,” Jameson said in a whisper, nodding at me. “In any case, we’re here to take you back.”

“Just so I know, when is this, or where are we… whatever. What year did we end up in?” I asked.

“Uh, 1669. Quite the jump. You’re lucky this area was mostly uninhabited, or you’d have some explaining to do. It took us three days to sort out the chronometric readings. Sorry about the wait.”

“Dude, I flashed that stuff like five minutes ago.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a wait.”

“Did he just say ‘1669’? As in, before the American Revolution? The past?” Dahlia said as she rubbed her tired eyes.

“That’s right, miss.” Jameson nodded cheerfully.

“How is that possible?”

“I’m more interested in why we went to the past instead of the future,” I said.

Dahlia looked at me, waking up a bit more. “You don’t want to know how it works?”

“I think most of it will go over my head, other than the part about it being ‘science.’ Do you think you’ll understand how it works?” I asked. “Do you have a PhD in physics?”

She stared at me blankly. “No.”

“Then let’s get moving.” I nudged Dahlia towards the portal, and sort of pushed past Jameson.

I realized after I snapped at the kid that I was being rude. I didn’t much care, however. Ever since I met Jameson and Johnson, I’d been having the week from hell. I really didn’t have patience for more talk, or things that couldn’t be solved right now. Right in that moment, I just wanted to get somewhere safe, rest, and then worry about getting home. Understanding how time travel worked, and the feelings of a twelve year-old girl about it, were pretty low on my priority list.

The portal stood open before us. Dahlia looked at me, her eyes showing her feelings about it as she hesitated.

“I know this is confusing,” I said, trying to soften my tone from before, “But this portal won’t be like the last one. The other one didn’t work properly.”

I held out my hand, and she took it. We stepped forward together. The time portal pulled us smoothly into the same white-roomed future as my earlier journey to FBI headquarters. Jameson took us to a white room like my earlier temporary quarters. The only difference was that, this time, there were two chairs to sleep in instead of one.

“We’ll debrief you in the morning,” Jameson said. “I think you both could use a rest.”

“Thanks, John,” I said. For a moment, I didn’t detest him.

I curled up in my futuristic lazy-boy and stared at the ceiling, wondering what would happen next.

Chapter 45: Deja Vu

I woke up the next morning with Dahlia gently shaking my shoulder.

“Diggory, pssst, Diggory, wake up!” She whispered.

“Dahlia? What is it?” I answered, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“I woke up and looked around, and we’re in the weirdest place…” she said, her eyes wide.

I sat up in my crazy chair and looked around, seeing the white walls of the FBI’s temporary quarters. I rubbed my face.

“I get that this is a weird place, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re safe. These are the good guys.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that Johnson had claimed that the FBI had a mole for the Sons of Thunder, nor that Jameson and his buddies seemed to be lacking in the brain cells department. I certainly didn’t mention the total lack of human freedom. I didn’t want to freak her out, after all.

“So what exactly is going on? I’m freaking out here!” Dahlia said, her fingers digging into my shoulder a little.

“Easy, kiddo. Okay, okay. You need to sit down for this.”

I spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes walking her through the facts. I was from 2008. She was from 1993. I’d been approached by the Federal Bureau of time Investigation and the Continuity Integrity Agency, both from different futures, because of a time-travelling terrorist named Zebediah, who had murdered my father and targeted Dahlia. I’d been sent to save her life, and in return the CIA was going to figure out why Zebediah was interested in me.

Then I showed her how to get breakfast.

While we ate, I tried not to feel bad about not telling Dahlia that I was sort of dating her sister in my time, and that her sister had travelled back in time from another future to tell me my life was in danger. It didn’t seem entirely relevant, and it would have probably freaked her out even more. Her sister was still a teenager, in Dahlia’s mind anyway. Me dating her would no doubt sound creepy.

It still kind of blew my mind that I’d seen her as a teenager. That had been weird.

Almost as if he’d been waiting, Jameson came in as we finished breakfast. I’m almost certain he was waiting outside, and the computer had told him we were finished. It seemed like the way this place worked.

“Good morning, Diggory. Miss. Please follow me for a debriefing.”

We went to the same room with the same glass window and the same technician wearing the goofy goggles as the last debriefing I’d been to. I was getting pretty sick of the déjà vu, but didn’t see how I had much choice. The three of us took chairs while the technician began to speak.

“Good morning, Mr. Franklin. It’s nice to see you again. We’ve anticipated that you probably have a few questions, so please allow me to tell you what we know. If I miss anything, you can save your questions for the end.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“We rescued you from the year 1669, A.D. From what we gathered from your stolen chronometer’s settings and files, it appears that you attempted to travel to 2327. You went back in time 334 years instead of forward from the 1993 you started at. We traced the chronometric energy for the day you started on, and discovered a tremendous amount of energy in the system. It appears that this abnormality caused your chronometer to malfunction and reverse its course.”

The technician was reading from his control panels. He paused, and then continued.

“As you have been recruited for an operation with the CIA, we have contacted our liaison with that organization. Your handler should arrive momentarily, and will hopefully be able to take you where you need to go next. We were glad to be of service in rescuing you from the past, and thank you for the return of the chronometer. Agent Jameson tells me that it was the CIA who borrowed it from our supplies, and not yourself. This matter is of no further relevance to the Bureau, so we hope you have a good day.”

He finished.

I started: “Why did it send us back in time exactly the same amount, only in the opposite direction? That’s a pretty orderly malfunction. And you guys are just going to leave me with the CIA? They almost got us killed. Are they entirely trustworthy?”

“Why don’t you ask your handler yourself?” The tech asked. He gestured.

The door opened, and in walked Agent Johnson.

“Morning, everybody!”

Chapter 46: Ready to Rumble

I leapt for Agent Johnson, ready to pummel him into the ground. Zebediah had almost vaporized us with lightning, and Johnson had let us dangle as bait for that fiend. His chronometer had almost stranded us in the distant past, and only luck had brought us to safety. He had walked in with his usual cocky smile, and all I wanted to do was knock it off his face.

I got hold of Johnson’s suit jacket, and then Jameson was trying to tug me away from the other agent. I held tight to his jacket, tugging him along with me, kicking and rolling. All three of us went down on the floor, and Dahlia let out a bit of a shriek.

There was a flurry of voices:

“You son of a bitch!” That one was mine, but almost unrecognizable, as I was growling and spitting.

“What the…? What did I do?” Johnson yelped.

“Mr. Franklin!” Jameson said, aghast.

“Get off him!” Dahlia cried out.

“Gentlemen, PLEASE!” The technician said over the intercom. There was more of the same type of commentary from everyone involved, but I’m sure I get the point of it across.

It went on while we rolled on the floor, kicking and squirming. I kept trying to throw punches, and Jameson or Johnson would roll or tug in one direction or another, so everyone got bruised and elbowed, but no one got any major blows. I struggled to get loose, and they struggled to contain me.

“OW!” Jameson shrieked, and I glimpsed Dahlia pulling his hair, trying to make him let go of me. I had to give the girl credit; she had guts.

“ENOUGH!” The tech bellowed, somehow amplifying his voice through the speaker system.

We all rolled away from each other, clutching our ears. The sound had been painfully loud, and I could feel my ears ringing from the effect. There were several moments of silence as we all tried to regain our hearing.

“Owww!” Jameson squalled like a little girl.

“Now that you’ve all had the chance to calm down, I suggest you take a seat and discuss the matter like adults,” the technician summoned a fourth chair, for Johnson, and waited.

We all slowly settled into our seats, mostly because we knew he could burst our eardrums with the push of a button. I sat furthest away from Johnson, glaring at the bastard. Dahlia sat next to me, and Jameson on the other side of her. She glared at both of them.

“Now, Agent Johnson, I believe Mr. Franklin was trying to express his frustration with the present situation. Perhaps you can explain it to him?” The tech said.

“I can totally understand his frustration,” Johnson said. He was rubbing his jaw, so I guess I landed at least one good shot. “Mr. Franklin has been exposed to a lot of stress the past few days. His life has been in danger. I’m certain he felt abandoned when I didn’t show up sooner to help him.”

“Damn straight,” I scoffed.

Jameson’s eyes widened at that, but Dahlia grunted her agreement. Johnson looked directly at me.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. A tornado over-turned the truck, and I bounced to the future. It took me three tries, because of the energy of the storm. Someone was throwing around temporal energies; it wasn’t natural. By the time I got back to the house, everything was destroyed.”

Dahlia sat up straight, looking from Johnson to me and back again.

“I’m sorry,” Johnson said. “The house and barn were burned to the ground. Your parents…”

Dahlia looked like someone had slapped her. Her face wriggled up and then she buried it in her hands. I could tell she was crying by the way her shoulders shook, but she did it silently.

I stood up and put my arms around her, staring at Johnson with murder in my heart.

“You couldn’t have been a little more sensitive, could you? Bastard.”

It was more than a little satisfying to see him hang his head, his cheeks flushed with shame or embarrassment. I might be completely vulnerable to the technology and power of these people from the future, and might never get home without their help. But it felt good to know that I could hurt them, even in a small way.

With all the shit that had happened to us, someone deserved to hurt for it.

Chapter 47: The Man with the Plan

There were several moments of silence from everyone in the room as I tried to comfort Dahlia. I tried putting myself in her shoes and couldn’t do it. Yesterday she was a teenager on a farm with a family and a normal life. Today she was in the future, and her family had been dead for probably a century or more. She was surrounded by strangers, and had no home to go back to.

“So what happens next?” I asked, when I realized no one else was going to start talking.

“We are very sorry for the young lady’s loss. But this is well outside FBI jurisdiction,” the technician said. “The CIA has primacy.”

Johnson tried to look at me, but the best he could do was a furtive glance in my general direction. He hung his head again. I couldn’t help but smile, but I wanted him to talk.

“What?”

“The plan… The plan was to take her with me, to CIA headquarters. She’ll be safe from Zebediah, and have all the resources in the world to find out why he attacked her. More than that I can’t say, not here.”

“Because the walls have ears,” I said, quoting him. “Bullshit. Why should we trust you, let alone go anywhere with you?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t make you trust me. But I didn’t betray you. Without the chronometer I gave you, you’d be dead. Zebediah would have killed the girl if you hadn’t been there, so I helped you save her life. If I wanted her dead, too, wouldn’t I have just left her there?” Johnson said.

I shrugged. I had no idea what motivated these people. I cared even less. I just wanted to go home.

“I don’t care what your plan was. You’re going to do what I say, or I’m going to stop helping you. And you must need me, in some weird way, or you wouldn’t have recruited me. Zebediah’s just as interested in me as he was in Dahlia. I’m the only bait you have left.”

“What are you saying?” Johnson asked, finally looking at me.

“I’m in charge. You do what I say, or I’m done. I don’t care if you leave me here, or send me to the Stone Age. You’re going to take Dahlia to your time. You’re going to make sure she’s safe. You’re going to give her a chronometer so she can come visit me any time she wants, so that I know she’s safe. If anything happens to her…”

Johnson nodded. “I get it. I do. It sounds fair to me.”

I blinked, having expected more resistance. I helped Dahlia out of her chair to a standing position.

“That okay with you, kid?”

“I can’t stay with you?” she asked, wiping a tear away.

“Afraid not. For one thing, it’s too close to your own time, people might recognize you and that would create all kinds of problems,” I said, thinking of Calla. “And Zebediah is after me. I really couldn’t keep you safe. But these guys can. Right?”

I directed this last at Johnson. He nodded, his face solemn.

“If I don’t, I get the feeling you’ll find a way to pay me back.” He tried to smile. “I would have laughed at such a concept a few days ago, but you’re giving me reasons to change that assumption.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’ve shown surprising courage and dedication in the past few days, Diggory Franklin. I have no doubt about you keeping your word. You’d find a way.”

I stared at him for a moment, not wanting to be lured in by Johnson’s considerable charm. He sure knew how to play people. But I knew his game by now.

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here, and get this kid someplace to relax.”

Johnson led us out into the hallway, and then put his hand on my shoulder. I held onto Dahlia’s arm. He blinked, and suddenly we were back in that garden, the one he claimed was a further two hundred or so years in the future.

Dahlia clung to me, surprised by the sudden transition. It raised a few questions for me as well.

“How do you do that? You’re not using a chronometer. For that matter, how’d you throw my couch? And…”

“Easy, cowboy! I realize you have questions, but one at a time! You’re always rushing.”

“Okay… Start with how you do the impossible without machinery.”

“It’s not impossible. I’m from three hundred years in the future. We’ve advanced quite a bit from your era. We’ve discovered the secret to telekinesis and some other abilities.”

“Tele-what-sis?”

Chapter 48: Against the Current

Dahlia leaned against my arm, still dazed by the news that her family was dead. I held her up, and faced Agent Johnson.

“Telekinesis? Like, moving stuff with your mind?” Dahlia said, coming out of her grief at the use of this unfamiliar (to me, anyway) word.

“Yes, exactly.” Johnson nodded. “People have talked of the possibility for centuries, and we tapped into how to do it. It has to do with quantum mechanics and the intrinsic nature of reality…”

We both stared blankly at him. He grinned. “Maybe that can wait. Yeah, anyway, I can travel through time without a chronometer.”

“Weird,” I said. “It sounds like the Force. What about Zebediah?”

“What do you mean?”

“What can he do?”

Johnson stared at me blankly. “Do?”

“Yeah…” I started, thinking to explain about the lightning. I changed my mind. “Um, does he have tele-what-sis?”

“Not to my knowledge. But then, I’ve never faced him myself. You probably know more about him in person than I do.”

“Okay, never mind. So what caused the problem with the chronometer? Why was there so much energy in the system?”

“That depends,” Johnson shrugged. “There are different ways to time travel. The FBI uses tesseracts, or wormholes, through temporal space. They’re stable and fairly safe. I transition through space-time mentally, which is easier and, at the same time, more difficult. Then there’s the old method, which was acceleration.”

I recognized that word. Well, it’s opposite: Calla had talked about decelerating before she disappeared from my arms, not so long ago. Or really long ago, if one looked at the current calendar. My personal experience was another matter.

“What’s acceleration like?” I asked.

“Okay, well, the best way to put it in layman’s terms… The theory of relativity basically showed that time slowed down the faster you