Entry 1: Return to the Lab

The Surprising Life and Death of Diggory Franklin

The police had investigated my lab in September, and the authorities eventually determined that the blood on my machine was in fact Frank’s. It was declared an accident, and as a result I inherited everything that belonged to the Franklin family. I had already been given power of attorney by Frank, so it just made my access to his accounts more permanently mine. I had yet to spend any of his money, save for automatic payments that were handled by computers and accountants.

However, his bodyguards had become my bodyguards because of the media and the police investigation. They went everywhere with me. It would have been awkward except that I had established early on that they stayed out of my lab. They would be on-site and in touch via cellular phones as necessary, but I could work in peace and quiet.

So it wasn’t too hard to just go to my lab as usual and lock myself in. I walked over to the WHEN and pulled off the drop-cloth covering it. It had been cleaned after the DNA tests and forensics experts had gone over it. I began the laborious task of taking apart the panels, reconnecting wires and accessing the hard-drive so I could put back the components I had taken out and then boot up the computer to reprogram the machine for time travel.

No one suspected what the machine was capable of. The university had assisted the NYPD with their investigation, and their best physicists all said the same thing: it was a new, efficient type of particle accelerator. What no one knew was that the right frequencies of acceleration, combined with my WAS for protection, allowed atoms to attain a higher energy state and move backwards along the entropy plane. In other words, go backwards in time.

I hadn’t seen Frank since September. I missed my husband with an ache so deep it went beyond flesh, blood or bone. I felt numb as I worked on my thesis, visited lawyers, and made arrangements with the board of directors for Franklin Investments. Nothing seemed real. I wanted to see Frank again, and nothing else mattered.

So I was going to do it. I turned the machine back on and set about programming for a trip. The last one, given that his journal didn’t indicate anything else outside my memory. I beefed up the WAS protection, and increased the duration of the trip to the longest it had ever been: I set it for twenty-four hours. I needed to make allowances for aiming, in case I picked the wrong time setting, and I couldn’t play around for hours while losing my memory like back in September. I needed to be as focused as possible to get it right.

I started the program and listened to the familiar harmonics of the machine as it powered up. I got inside and stood on the platform and closed my eyes.

“Here I come, Frank.”

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I know better, but there's a

I know better, but there's a part of me that still hopes she'll find a way to change things.

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