Henry
Autoexreginated
3rd June 1998 10:15 a.m.
I sure hope my 10:15 client was running late, Richard added as an absurd thought.
Richard stalked down the hall carefully, led by Roger in his immaculate suit, Richard looking by contrast like he had been butchering swine. They crept down hallways, following some odd plan of Roger’s that involved doubling back, stopping and starting when he signaled, and following steps that reminded him of the games young children would play when having grand adventures in a back yard. Great. I’m being led by a goofball in a child’s tag game, in my place of work that is shot to hell. I’m probably the one who’s gone crazy, and all this is in my head.
Roger’s abrupt stop snapped him to attention, though. Roger mouthed two words: “Stay Here.” He then crept off as silently as death around the corner before them. Four seconds later, a series of suppressed shots rang out, followed by the sound of a body on carpet. Before Richard could react, Roger reappeared.
Looking younger. Wearing a black skin-tight infiltration outfit. Possessing a silenced pistol.
“It’s safe now. All clear.”
Riiight.
Curiously, despite the New Roger’s caution, they encountered nothing else the entire way out of the office complex. They finally skulked out a back exit, and into the waiting caress of a Mazda RX7 coupe. Roger offered Richard a ride; at first, he declined, but overwhelming curiosity got the better of him. All discussion of police response, dead coworkers, and the absolute sweeping away of his life were somewhat moot to Richard at this point.
A half-hour later (and riding uncomfortably on the plastic sheeting that Roger made him sit on during the drive) Richard found himself at a stylish apartment in the Lincoln Park neighborhood – a place where he aspired to live one day, but not for some time to come. Roger had expensive tastes, to be sure – assuming this was his place – but some sights baffled him. Post-modernistic metal sculpture stood adjacent to Monet Prints; pottery that looked as if fashioned by a 3rd-grade child stood proudly displayed beside a small delicate cobalt-flowered vase that looked very Ming, and very expensive.
When Richard focused on Roger again, he found himself being handed a small tumbler of club soda. “Nothing alcoholic, but I thought something to drink might help.” Roger had changed clothes again – and bodies too, apparently, being a little older looking now – and was back in his sharp grey suit.
Richard put the drink down slowly, dumping himself into the nearest sofa and screwing his palms into his eyes until his vision went white. “I wish it was alcoholic - I could definitely use a shot of something right now.”
Sorry, champ. Maybe later. You need a clear head right now.”
Richard’s curiosity, already in overdrive, promptly went through the roof. When his sight returned, he was still right where he was, so he sighed, and decided to get some answers. “All right, Roger. First of all, thank you for rescuing me, from WHATEVER the hell that was. But I really need some help here.
“WHO the heck are you? And more importantly, who the hell was that headcase trying to kill me? I don’t know him, and no offense, but I don’t know YOU, either. But I’m getting the feeling I’m supposed to.”
Roger neatly deposited himself in the opposite sofa. “I have answers for you. But they aren’t ones that will make your life any easier. In fact, they might make things a lot more complicated.
“More complicated than WHAT?”
Roger again smirked. “Let me take this from the top.” He leaned forward, his hands steepling as he spoke, his concentration fully focused on the young lawyer.
“I am part of an organization. A community, if you will. We have the gift to travel through time, to roam all of space and time. We fix the things that should be fixed, and leave the rest alone. We are scattered throughout history, in locales all over the world, and we ensure that the universe is. More importantly, we are extending an invitation to you, to become one of us.”
At first, Richard’s mind blanked as he considered Roger’s words. The story was pure and utter garbage. The man was either insane, or covering up some kind of government consipiracy, or both. However, he then stopped a second, and thought for another second, recalling something very vague from before.
“How do I get proof of this?”
“Care for a dollar?” Roger asked quite innocently. In his hand, extended to Richard, was a one-dollar bill. Carefully, Richard checked the minting date, which was from the year 2002. He slowly lowered the bills. “Cute trick. How about, oh, say, December’s Newspaper?” he asked wryly.
“Check under the couch cushion,” was Roger’s reply between sips of his beverage. Damned if there wasn’t a Monday edition of the December 1998 Chicago Tribune. Too damned freaky, Richard thought.
“Hey, you want a really good one? Take a dollar from your wallet.”
Richard did as instructed.
“Now, tear it in two. You can afford it,” Roger joked.
Richard blanched. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna try the old magician’s trick.”
“Nope – one better. Just do it.” Richard tore the bill.
Roger’s form shimmered, just ever so imperceptibly, and then jumped back into clarity, like a hologram that was out of focus.
“Hey! You’re some kind of hologram, aren’t you?” Richard started.
“No – and quit reading all those ‘Trek books. I was just taking care of some business.” Roger handed him a dollar bill. “Here.”
Richard held HIS OWN dollar bill in his hands. More correctly, he held them both – in one hand, his ripped bill, in the other, the same bill, serial number and all – whole. He stared for the longest time.
“OK, let’s say... I believe you. What if I say yes? What if I say no?”
Roger returned to his chair, swirling his drink with a stick. “If you say no, then tomorrow, everything goes back to the way it is. I remove everything that you know from about 10:00 today onward, you go back to work tomorrow morning, Alice, is there, David, the Haslin and Dustin duo, all of them. Blood’s gone, no shots fired, it’s all back to normal – and you never met me.”
“If you say yes... then you become one of us. You begin the journey to being far more important than you’ve ever been in your life. You will learn to be a guardian, and a citizen of the world in a way you never knew possible. But, and I stress this, it’s your choice. You can go back to the life you knew, and be perfectly comfortable and happy.”
“What do you say?”
Richard thought about it for a few moments. He could do that? Change everything back? Yes, I suppose he could. But do I pass this up? Do I leave everything I have now, and change my whole life?
He stared at Roger long and hard.
To Be Continued...
I sure hope my 10:15 client was running late, Richard added as an absurd thought.
Richard stalked down the hall carefully, led by Roger in his immaculate suit, Richard looking by contrast like he had been butchering swine. They crept down hallways, following some odd plan of Roger’s that involved doubling back, stopping and starting when he signaled, and following steps that reminded him of the games young children would play when having grand adventures in a back yard. Great. I’m being led by a goofball in a child’s tag game, in my place of work that is shot to hell. I’m probably the one who’s gone crazy, and all this is in my head.
Roger’s abrupt stop snapped him to attention, though. Roger mouthed two words: “Stay Here.” He then crept off as silently as death around the corner before them. Four seconds later, a series of suppressed shots rang out, followed by the sound of a body on carpet. Before Richard could react, Roger reappeared.
Looking younger. Wearing a black skin-tight infiltration outfit. Possessing a silenced pistol.
“It’s safe now. All clear.”
Riiight.
Curiously, despite the New Roger’s caution, they encountered nothing else the entire way out of the office complex. They finally skulked out a back exit, and into the waiting caress of a Mazda RX7 coupe. Roger offered Richard a ride; at first, he declined, but overwhelming curiosity got the better of him. All discussion of police response, dead coworkers, and the absolute sweeping away of his life were somewhat moot to Richard at this point.
A half-hour later (and riding uncomfortably on the plastic sheeting that Roger made him sit on during the drive) Richard found himself at a stylish apartment in the Lincoln Park neighborhood – a place where he aspired to live one day, but not for some time to come. Roger had expensive tastes, to be sure – assuming this was his place – but some sights baffled him. Post-modernistic metal sculpture stood adjacent to Monet Prints; pottery that looked as if fashioned by a 3rd-grade child stood proudly displayed beside a small delicate cobalt-flowered vase that looked very Ming, and very expensive.
When Richard focused on Roger again, he found himself being handed a small tumbler of club soda. “Nothing alcoholic, but I thought something to drink might help.” Roger had changed clothes again – and bodies too, apparently, being a little older looking now – and was back in his sharp grey suit.
Richard put the drink down slowly, dumping himself into the nearest sofa and screwing his palms into his eyes until his vision went white. “I wish it was alcoholic - I could definitely use a shot of something right now.”
Sorry, champ. Maybe later. You need a clear head right now.”
Richard’s curiosity, already in overdrive, promptly went through the roof. When his sight returned, he was still right where he was, so he sighed, and decided to get some answers. “All right, Roger. First of all, thank you for rescuing me, from WHATEVER the hell that was. But I really need some help here.
“WHO the heck are you? And more importantly, who the hell was that headcase trying to kill me? I don’t know him, and no offense, but I don’t know YOU, either. But I’m getting the feeling I’m supposed to.”
Roger neatly deposited himself in the opposite sofa. “I have answers for you. But they aren’t ones that will make your life any easier. In fact, they might make things a lot more complicated.
“More complicated than WHAT?”
Roger again smirked. “Let me take this from the top.” He leaned forward, his hands steepling as he spoke, his concentration fully focused on the young lawyer.
“I am part of an organization. A community, if you will. We have the gift to travel through time, to roam all of space and time. We fix the things that should be fixed, and leave the rest alone. We are scattered throughout history, in locales all over the world, and we ensure that the universe is. More importantly, we are extending an invitation to you, to become one of us.”
At first, Richard’s mind blanked as he considered Roger’s words. The story was pure and utter garbage. The man was either insane, or covering up some kind of government consipiracy, or both. However, he then stopped a second, and thought for another second, recalling something very vague from before.
“How do I get proof of this?”
“Care for a dollar?” Roger asked quite innocently. In his hand, extended to Richard, was a one-dollar bill. Carefully, Richard checked the minting date, which was from the year 2002. He slowly lowered the bills. “Cute trick. How about, oh, say, December’s Newspaper?” he asked wryly.
“Check under the couch cushion,” was Roger’s reply between sips of his beverage. Damned if there wasn’t a Monday edition of the December 1998 Chicago Tribune. Too damned freaky, Richard thought.
“Hey, you want a really good one? Take a dollar from your wallet.”
Richard did as instructed.
“Now, tear it in two. You can afford it,” Roger joked.
Richard blanched. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna try the old magician’s trick.”
“Nope – one better. Just do it.” Richard tore the bill.
Roger’s form shimmered, just ever so imperceptibly, and then jumped back into clarity, like a hologram that was out of focus.
“Hey! You’re some kind of hologram, aren’t you?” Richard started.
“No – and quit reading all those ‘Trek books. I was just taking care of some business.” Roger handed him a dollar bill. “Here.”
Richard held HIS OWN dollar bill in his hands. More correctly, he held them both – in one hand, his ripped bill, in the other, the same bill, serial number and all – whole. He stared for the longest time.
“OK, let’s say... I believe you. What if I say yes? What if I say no?”
Roger returned to his chair, swirling his drink with a stick. “If you say no, then tomorrow, everything goes back to the way it is. I remove everything that you know from about 10:00 today onward, you go back to work tomorrow morning, Alice, is there, David, the Haslin and Dustin duo, all of them. Blood’s gone, no shots fired, it’s all back to normal – and you never met me.”
“If you say yes... then you become one of us. You begin the journey to being far more important than you’ve ever been in your life. You will learn to be a guardian, and a citizen of the world in a way you never knew possible. But, and I stress this, it’s your choice. You can go back to the life you knew, and be perfectly comfortable and happy.”
“What do you say?”
Richard thought about it for a few moments. He could do that? Change everything back? Yes, I suppose he could. But do I pass this up? Do I leave everything I have now, and change my whole life?
He stared at Roger long and hard.
To Be Continued...
