Firestorm: Orson Olsen (Part V)

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Two years ago, I witnessed a miracle. Well, there were actually three miracles in one day. I watched a girl appear out of nowhere, standing on a stump in my yard. Her arms were stretched wide, and a halo shined from above her head. Hours later, I ran into that girl again, though she did not seem to know who I was. I watched her disappear again, and realized she was a time traveler, who needed my help to save her friends. I saw my angel a third time later that day, and before she disappeared one last time, she gave me a mandate. I am to worship time. That is the one true God, and I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize it before. I used to follow an imaginary flying spaghetti monster, because I was indoctrinated into it from birth. But now I see the truth. Time is real; it’s abstract, and impossible to hold in your hand, which makes it magnificent, but it undeniably exists. If that’s not God, then God cannot exist.

I realized I had to spread the word. Most of my brothers and sisters in the church would not be swayed. They did not witness the Trinity Miracle, like I did. There were others, however, that I knew I would be able to convince. My mother was always worried people would leave the church, and she taught me to spot these people, so I could help bring them back from the brink of damnation. No matter what I did, though, they retained their doubts; they just learned to hide it better. Fortunately, my memory is totally fine, so I had this excellent list of people who would be willing to hear the true word. I started out slowly—very slowly. I knew that my best friend would believe me without question. It was he who discovered a magician in the area who might be what we were looking for. He was right. This guy had real powers to move things from one hand to the other. They weren’t very impressive, but they were enough to convince my church’s doubters. I brought them to the shows one by one, never giving away that we knew each other. They saw for themselves that time travel was real, and our movement grew. This was not the magician’s only purpose. I knew he would know others like him, so we watched him for weeks, like secret agents. He ate at the same restaurant almost every single day, and every time he showed up, he was surprised, as if the restaurant was attracting him against his will.

My friend and I realized the restaurant was more special than the man, so we switched gears, and started to investigate them instead. Through a complex series of timing the employees, and watching certain customers being led through the kitchen, we determined there was a whole world in the back we couldn’t see from here. We started watching the whole building, and could tell that there were some strange goingson that people like us weren’t allowed to see. We have to see the miracles, though. My people deserve the truth, and I am the only one who can show it to them. I’ve been coming here ever since, waiting for someone in there to notice, and here he comes. My plan has worked. I’m about to be read in.

“Detective Bran,” the man says, showing me his badge. It’s not the first FBI agent I’ve met, but that’s a different story. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, have I been loitering?”

“What are you writing in there, your manifesto?” he asks me.

My notebook. “Oh, heavens no. This is the good book.”

“You’re rewriting the bible?”

“I’m writing the real bible.”

“Hmm,” is all he can say.

“What are your abilities?” I’m pretty good at playing it cool, but I can tell there’s something different about this guy. Security has been coming by nearly every day to get me to leave, but they’re just regular people. I can smell the power coming off of him. Perhaps I’m one of them. Perhaps my ability is to sense other abilities.

“Well, I’m a good marksman, and a halfway decent investigator. My true strength lies in getting people to leave.”

“Please. You don’t have to lie to me. I don’t know exactly what you are, but I know that you’re special. I’m not going to hurt you. Just...read me in. Show me the light. I am..open.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Agent Bran says. “This is private property, and it is time for you to leave.”

“I’ll leave, if you let me in...just once. Let me see what’s really in there—no illusions—and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Sir, this is a secure facility. I cannot let you in.”

“You think I’m going to believe that this is nothing more than a CIA blacksite? I’m not stupid. I saw through the windows. Dozens of people ran into that unit, right there.” I point to some kind of club. I never got a good look at the sign, so that’s the only word I could make out. “A minute later, they all came out. They looked different. I have a really good memory, and an eye for faces. People were wearing different clothes, and none of them looked like they had just ran inside, and came back out. Something happened in there, and I demand to know what it was.”

“It’s all right, Agent.” She’s come. She’s come to show me the light again.

“Paige, get back inside,” Agent Bran orders. “Who is he to talk to an angel like that?”

“Angel Paige,” I utter. “You’ve returned.”

“I have,” she says to me. “You wanna see the light. Then let’s go take a look. Let’s go back to the beginning, or near it, anyway.” She takes out her phone. “You ever been to New York?”

“Paige, don’t do this,” Bran pleads.

“The cat’s out of the bag,” she explains to him. “We can’t put it back, but we can domesticate it.” She shows me a picture of a house on a hill. It’s black and white and yellow, but I think the yellow is probably just because it’s really old. The edges are damaged, as if melted, but again, that’s probably due to the ravages of time. This is a very old photograph. “How about New York 1848?”

“Paige, no!” cries another voice, but I never get a chance to see who it is.

She takes me by the arm, and whisks me away. In seconds, we’re standing at the bottom of the hill in the photograph. For a second, a part of me wonders why it’s not still in black and white, but of course, that would be stupid. We’ve just traveled into the past. The angel has given me such an amazing gift. “Let’s take a walk.”

We walk along the fence for a few minutes as I patiently wait for her to say something else. I am in the presence of divinity, but I know she will be turned off if I act too enthusiastic about it. I just keep thinking about how incredible it is to be here, and how much she must trust me to show me this.

“Orson—can I call you Orson?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Angel Paige.”

“I’ll call you Orson, and you can just call me Paige, because I’m not an angel, and I think you know that.”

“Anything you want...Paige.”

“When we met, I was young, and still getting a handle on my abilities. I was desperate to help my friends, and that made me reckless. I showed you something that you were never meant to see. There are people in this world, and other worlds, with time powers. It’s not illegal for us to tell one or two people what we can do. We have to be able to trust our families, and our closest friends. It is a problem, however, if word spreads. So my question to you is, who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you need me to repeat myself? You’re just some random mormon who got a peek at something that wasn’t for him. What gives you the right to run around, showing a bunch of people magic tricks, and telling them what to worship? Do you think we want that? Do you think we want you exposing us? Do you think, maybe, there are consequences to this sort of thing? Do you think it’s possible that somebody built a prison, stuffed my best friend in it, and left her there to rot for a year? You can’t just go upending everything we’ve done to protect ourselves from the general public. Because you don’t matter, and it isn’t fair for you to assume all this responsibility.”

“I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect. You told me to worship time.”

“That was an off-handed comment. It wasn’t a real command. Jesus Christ.”

I don’t know what to say.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. “This prison isn’t designed for criminals. It’s only there to house those who risk outting us to the world. If you don’t stop what you’re doing, we’ll all go there, including you. You’re human, which affords you some special consideration, but that will only take you so far. If your cult gets any bigger, they’re gonna step in. I’m surprised they let it get this big.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” I say to her honestly. “It’s grown beyond my control. People saw the truth. They saw that magician.”

“People see magicians all the time, they don’t start worshiping them.”

“We don’t worship Delmar Dupont. He’s a lesser god, at best.”

“You need to explain to your flock that you were wrong. You need to get them to believe that...they shouldn’t believe.”

“That sounds impossible. I mean, I already pulled them from a church. Now you want me to tell them to go back? They would see right through that.”

“You’re the only one who saw what I could do, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the only one who saw people run into Salmonday Club too.”

“Is that what it’s called? Yes, I was the only one there at the time. Like I was saying, though, the magician was enough. They watched carefully, and they listen to me.”

“They listen to you?”

“That’s not really what I mean,” I start to clarify. “They listened in the beginning, because they saw proof, and they needed an excuse to leave the church. That’s not gonna work a second time. I can reinforce what I’ve already told them, and they’ll still listen, but I can’t contradict myself.”

We keep walking as she thinks this over. “Why do they listen to you? Why did they agree to go to the magic show?”

“Magic doesn’t go against the church, because most of it is just sleight of hand and misdirection. They only started believing after what they saw, and because I told them it was real. We can’t undo that.”

“That’s the key, though. You told them it was real. They could have just as easily happened upon the venue, watched it on their own, and assumed it was an illusion, just like most people do.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

“If they stop believing in you, then they’ll stop believing in him, and if they don’t believe in him, then they don’t believe in time magic at all.”

“How would they stop believing in me?” I question.

“We have to discredit you.”

“What are you gonna do, like, doctor photos of me in bed with a man, or something? It’s 2027, they won’t like that, but it’s not enough anymore. I mean, it would be one thing if I preached sexual purity, but I don’t even mention that in my sermons. Their hang-ups would all be carryovers from their old lives.”

“No, I wouldn’t wanna do that anyway.”

Now I’m scared. I wouldn’t love that idea, but I would do it for her, even though I’m not gay. I’m afraid she’s about to suggest something really bad. “So...”

“It’s really bad, you’re not gonna like it.”

I suck it up in my own head, and say, “I’ll do anything for you.”

“That’s the problem, it can’t be you. At least, I don’t think it can. How long were you a member of that church in Independence?”

“I was part of Independence Temple my whole life, until you. Why?”

“That’s what I was worried about. I need the name of the newest member of your church who is also now a member of your...cult?”

“We don’t like that word, but...”

“But who?”

“But there’s no one. There’s no one like that.”

“Damn. If we had someone like that, we could discredit them instead. Bran could barge into your worshiphouse, and arrest him for fraud in three states, or something like that. Then we could convince them that he was the one in control of everything.”

“That’s terrible, Paige.” I guess she really isn’t an angel.

“I know. It was just my first idea.”

I sigh. “Well, you’re a time traveler, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s undo it. Take me back to 2025. Change the past. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen it done, yes.”

“Okay. I’m ready.”

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Microstory 1350: Advice

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College Student: Thank you for meeting me. My name is College Student, and I’m interested in your program.

College Advisor: All right. Well, how many film classes have you already taken?

College Student: I took a screenwriting class, does that count?

College Advisor: That could count towards credit. You’re a junior, though?

College Student: Yes.

College Advisor: Well, let me take a look at your transcript.

College Student: Sure, here it is.

College Advisor: [...] Okay, so you have all of your core classes, so you’re well on track. It looks like you are a writing major now, is that correct?

College Student: Yes, I thought I liked it, and I do, but I’m having doubts about leaving school with that as my degree. I mean, I don’t feel like I wasted my time with all those courses, but when I’m applying for work, is that what I want them to see?

College Advisor: Well, what kind of work are you looking to apply for? This ain’t California.

College Student: I plan to move to California.

College Advisor: Well, Hollywood job hunting is a lot different than regular jobs. What did you want to actually do in the industry? Write?

College Student: Yes, I would still write, but I feel like I’ve gotten too much experience in other areas, like literature, and creative writing. I just want to look as good as I possibly can. So the classes will help. It’s just the major that I’m worried about. I’m really hoping to graduate in a year and a half, since I already have a place to live in L.A. lined up.

College Advisor: Okay, well Film Studies is not a blow-off program. It requires a minimum of sixty credit hours. Of course, that’s on top of the general education requirements, which it seems you already have. I don’t know them all by heart, so it’s possible you’re still missing one or two of those. Let’s do a little bit of math, and see if we can get this done in a year and a half. You would definitely need to take summer classes, and either way, your workload would be huge.

College Student: Okay, cool.

[transcript cut for relevance]

College Advisor: Okay, thanks, bye. [Hangs up phone.] Yeah, it looks like that history class doesn’t count for us, so with that included, you’ll need to take eighteen hours for three semesters, and three summer classes. We got lucky on those ones; they’re not offered every summer. And this is all assuming we can get you into a couple different classes this semester. I would have rather you asked me about this a few weeks ago. No matter what, we’re talking about a huge workload, and you can’t fail a single one. It’s technically feasible, but it leaves one major question.

College Student: Am I willing to commit to this change?

College Advisor: That’s right. Are you? You could graduate this coming summer with your current major, and all you would need to do is take one summer class.

College Student: That certainly sounds like the most rational choice. What would you do? I don’t know your personal history, but if you wanted to make it big in Hollywood, does all this matter?

College Advisor: Honestly, no. The degree, that is, doesn’t matter. The classes definitely do. It would still be tremendously helpful to your education to learn some of this stuff. When you go to Hollywood—and I’m not going to be one of those people who tells you that you probably won’t make it; your family can do that—they don’t care what your major was, or even if you have a degree. What I recommend you do is hold off on graduation, and take as many of these classes as you can, within reason. I wouldn’t bog yourself down with them; we can go over the most helpful ones. That way, you can stick to your current major, and be fine. How does that sound?

College Student: That’s not a bad idea. I suppose the education is more important than the diploma.

College Advisor: I would agree with that. Now, let’s talk about which classes someone in your position should take, and when.

Microstory 1349: Citizenship

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Father Garcia: He’s coming here now. He skipped the Martins, just like he did the Wilsons. He was at the Washington’s, though.

Mother Garcia: That doesn’t mean anything, dear. Perhaps they filled out the Census online. That’s how it’s done these days. He has a satchel, he could be legit.

Father Garcia: How do you know he’s from the Census? He’s not wearing a uniform, or anything.

Mother Garcia: It’s hot, he’s probably allowed to wear whatever he wants.

Census Taker: Good afternoon, folks. My name is Census Taker, and I’m conducting census surveys for the 2020 census.

Father Garcia: Uhuh.

Census Taker: Are you, by any chance, Father Garcia?

Father Garcia: Maybe.

Mother Garcia: Don’t be rude. Yes, he is, and I’m Mother Garcia.

Census Taker: What are your ages?

Mother Garcia: I’m fifty-four, and my husband is thirty-eight.

Census Taker: Oh, that’s...

Father Garcia: That’s what?

Census Taker: Never mind. How many children do you have?

Father Garcia: We took the 2010 census. You should already know that we have more than zero, if you really are who you say you are.

Census Taker: We’ve been trained not to ask any leading questions. If I could just get a number, that would be great.

Father Garcia: Three; all over ten.

Census Taker: Great. And how many people are living in your household total, including yourselves?

Mother Garcia: Five.

Census Taker: Do you rent, or own, this property?

Father Garcia: We own it.

Census Taker: What are the genders of your children?

Father Garcia: What does that matter?

Census Taker: I don’t decide which questions go on the survey, sir. I’m just doing my job.

Mother Garcia: It’s okay. One boy, one girl, and one nonbinary.

Census Taker: Umm, what was your third child’s sex at birth.

Mother Garcia: I’m not answering that.

Census Taker: All right, fine. Their ages, in the same order, please.

Mother Garcia: Fifteen, seventeen, and twelve.

Census Taker: Are you of Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish origin?

Father Garcia: Yes, all of those things.

Census Taker: Okay...

Father Garcia: Are we almost done here?

Census Taker: Almost, sir. How long have you lived in this country?

Father Garcia: We already gave you our ages.

Census Taker: That’s not what I asked.

Mother Garcia: Don’t get mad.

Father Garcia: Don’t get mad? Don’t get mad! I am mad. I need to see some official identification.

Census Taker: Sure, here ya go.

Father Garcia: No, don’t just flash it in my face. Hold still, so I can actually look at it.

Census Taker: Are you a legal citizen of the United States of America?

Mother Garcia: Get out, get off of our property right now!

Father Garcia: We read the news; you’re not allowed to ask us that question. Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?

Fake Census Taker: You come over to our country—I don’t give a crap if you’re second generation, or dreamers, of whatever—you come over here, and you take our jobs, and you live off of welfare and social security, which we pay into, and you don’t contribute anything!

Mother Garcia: Hey, idiot. Undocumented citizens with jobs do pay social security. The government takes it out of their paycheck every period. But since they don’t have real social security numbers, they don’t get any payments out when they come of age. So actually, undocumented people contribute more than you do!

Fake Census Taker: You need to get out of my country!

Father Garcia: I’m calling the police.

Fake Census Taker: Build the wall! Build the wall!

Father Garcia: [slams door]

Fake Census Taker: (Build the wall.)

Microstory 1348: Flush With Cash

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Department Manager: So, how’s the job hunt going?

Trust Fund Kid: It’s absolutely dreadful. No one wants to hire someone with no experience in the workforce. I sometimes tell them why, and that never goes over well.

Department Manager: Oh yeah? None at all? Why’s that? Can I be one of the people you tell?

Trust Fund Kid: I don’t know that I should care anymore. I mean, if no one’s gonna hire me anyway, then I might as well be honest, right? I’m what one might call a trust fund kid. My maternal great grandfather was the real estate king in this area, so we come from old money. My paternal grandfather was a jingle writer, and you know those people can make bank if they book the right gig. Then my biological dad was a professional athlete, got killed in a train derailment, and left me his fortune, I guess to make up for not being in my life much. Well, anyway, my mother never cared if I had a job or not, so I never learned any work ethic. Furthermore, I invested in burcoin early on a lark, and made millions of dollars. Then—get this—I win the lottery. At that point, I’m just like, someone is watching over me from above, and they really shouldn’t be.

Department Manager: Why did you play the lottery?

Trust Fund Kid: Okay, here’s the story. I was nearing a million social media followers when I got this idea to give them each a reward. I bought a lottery ticket for every single one of them, and hired a team of temps to mail them out to my fans tout suite. One of the temps took it upon herself to go the extra mile, and program a special scanning software that would create a database of every ticket, and its numbers. So, if any of my people won, we would know it. Well, about four thousand people never responded, or refused to give me their address—which is understandable—so I still had some of the tickets, and one of them was the lucky winner. I tried to give all the money to those temps, particularly the one who built that scanning software, but now she’s my fiancée, so what’s left is kind of mine again.

Department Manager: You have led a very auspicious life.

Trust Fund Kid: Right? Well, I’m trying to make up for it by getting a job, but no one thinks I deserve it. I can’t really blame them for that, and I realize my situation is not as dire as it is for others.

Department Manager: Why don’t you just give the money to charity? Getting a job is still really only gonna help you.

Trust Fund Kid: Oh, most of the money is gone. I do donate it to various charities, but that’s just money; not my time. I want to give my time now.

Department Manager: Hm.

Trust Fund Kid: So, am I hired?

Department Manager: We haven’t even talked about what the job would entail.

Trust Fund Kid: I don’t have any experience, but I do have a lot of education.

Department Manager: Yes, this résumé is just your entire school history. You have an MBA from Hillside University?

Trust Fund Kid: Yeah, I don’t know why. I don’t run a business.

Department Manager: Maybe you should.

Trust Fund Kid: Maybe I should run a business? Which one?

Department Manager: You could start one.

Trust Fund Kid: What would my hypothetical company do?

Department Manager: Just take a look at this list. It itemizes everything you’ve learned since you graduated from high school. You studied computers a little. You could run a tech firm, and hire a bunch of people who are more knowledgeable than you. You could open a gym, because you took all these sports classes. Again, you don’t have to be the smartest in your industry. You just need to find people who can do it for you. You already have capital, so all you need is people. And those people need a place to work. Talk about winning. When the virus hit, so many employers had to let their employees go, because they didn’t budget in catastrophe. They just gave their executives huge bonuses, and wasted money on things we shouldn’t be using anymore, like paper. You could do better.

Trust Fund Kid: Hm.

Department Manager: Yeah.

Trust Fund Kid: What do you do for this company again?

Department Manager: This is the Washroom Department for the Appliance Division.

Trust Fund Kid: Great, let’s do that. Are you in?

Microstory 1347: Ivy Creep

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Ivy Candidate: Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity, sir. I’m very eager to learn from the absolute best of the best.

Ivy Gatekeeper: Well, that’s nice to hear, but you haven’t gotten in yet. I have been looking over your application, and it’s...

Ivy Candidate: What?

Ivy Gatekeeper: It’s not bad. It’s not particularly interesting. I mean, nothing in your essay really stands out. We get a lot of applicants—more and more each year—and there’s a reason for that. Well, there are many reasons. First, the human population is growing. Second, loans are increasingly easy to obtain, giving many students a false sense of security when it comes to paying for school. Third, people are just smarter. As a species, we’re smarter than we were before, and with the advent of the internet, knowledge is more accessible than ever. Suddenly, you don’t have to be born a genius, or come from the best grade school district. It’s leveled a lot of the playing field. Unfortunately, this means that, if you end up with a four-point-oh GPA, you’re not special anymore. Nonetheless, we have to have standards of some kind. We have to have some way of filtering people out. Otherwise, all we could go on is who happened to click the submit button the fastest.

Ivy Candidate: I understand. Is there anything I can do to stand out, or is my fate inevitable?

Ivy Gatekeeper: [...] There would have to be something you tell me in this interview that you didn’t mention before. You would need to give me some reason to advocate for you. Is there anything about your life that you think makes you unique, even if it’s only unique when coupled with something you’ve already told us?

Ivy Candidate: Hm. I guess not really. I know you want me to fight for this, but I don’t have a sappy story. I wasn’t raised by a single mother with a single leg. I didn’t pull my neighbor out of a burning building. I’ve been privileged, and can’t say I had to overcome adversity. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve worked my ass off. I sacrificed a lot of things so I could study, and participate in extracurriculars, but I see your point that there are plenty of people who have done the same thing.

Ivy Gatekeeper: You’re from Hillside, Kansas, right? I hear HillU is a pretty good school. Did you apply there?

Ivy Candidate: I have a few safety schools, but not Hillside. I want to move away from home, so I’m not tempted to rely on my family. The point of college is to prepare for a self-driven life.

Ivy Gatekeeper: I would agree with that. I actually know someone who used to work at Hillside University. He’s here now; teaches philosophy.

Ivy Candidate: I think I know who you’re talking about. Professor Ivy Creep, right?

Ivy Gatekeeper: Yes, you know him?

Ivy Candidate: He’s my uncle. But, ya know, when I say uncle, I mean...

Ivy Gatekeeper: He’s a family friend, not actually a parent’s sibling.

Ivy Candidate: Exactly. We haven’t spoken in a long time. How is he doing?

Ivy Gatekeeper: Oh, he’s...good, I think. He’s enjoying his new job.

Ivy Candidate: Oh, good. I’m happy for him.

Ivy Gatekeeper: Yeah.

Ivy Candidate: Yeah.

Ivy Gatekeeper: [...]

Ivy Candidate: [...]

Ivy Gatekeeper: So, he’s an asshole, right?

Ivy Candidate: Right!? Oh my God,  I’m glad you said something.

Ivy Gatekeeper: He acts like he runs this place.

Ivy Candidate: He’s always been that way. He talks down to people, and when he’s not the smartest person in the room, he literally ignores the person who is.

Ivy Gatekeeper: Yeah, I’ve noticed that.

Ivy Candidate: Yeah.

Ivy Gatekeeper: So, look. Anyone who has survived Professor Ivy Creep deserves a shot at a real life. If that’s not overcoming adversity, I don’t know what is. I’ll put in a good word for you, okay? I can’t make any guarantees, but I won’t let your application be the only thing that defines your college career.

Ivy Candidate: Oh, wow, thank you. That’s so amazing. You want me to be interesting, I promise to go crazy in college.

Microstory 1346: Consumer Protection

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Library-Goer: Hi, I was wondering if you could help me? I’m looking for a book, but I can’t seem to find a computer to search for it, and I have no idea how to use a card catalog.

Library Assistant: Oh yes, we are very old school here. You don’t need the catalog, though. I can help you find anything you’re looking for. Why don’t you have a seat?

Library-Goer: Do I really need to sit? I just need a book.

Library Assistant: Ah, yes, but which book? Do you know the name of it?

Library-Goer: No.

Library Assistant: Then we shall have to do an interview. In order for you to tell me what information you’re looking for, you first need to know precisely what that is. You can’t tell me unless you understand it yourself. I assure you that, by the end of this interview, I will know the exact book you need; maybe two books. I won’t need to give you any more options than that.

Library-Goer: Can’t I check out more than one book anyway?

Library Assistant: Oh, of course. You can check out fifty, if your heart desires! You won’t need to, though; not as long as we find the perfect one. I’m very professional, and I know every single title in this section. I only don’t know fiction; that’s Ted’s job.

Library-Goer: Okay, let’s do this.

Library Assistant: What are you interested in?

Library-Goer: I wouldn’t say that I’m interested, but I need to learn about the law. I’m having some legal issues, but I can’t afford an attorney. I guess you’re right in that I don’t know where to begin.

Library Assistant: Law is in 340, under social sciences.

Library-Goer: Okay.

Library Assistant: Without giving me too much personal information, what kind of law are you looking for? You don’t just want to start with the first textbook they read in law school; most of it would be a waste of time.

Library-Goer: I bought, umm...a product...from a company. I don’t know if they committed a crime, but they need to answer for what they did to me.

Library Assistant: All right. So we’re talking private law. It’ll be in civil court, if you take it that far, but when we’re talking about a library book, that’s in 346.

Library-Goer: Yeah, I don’t want to tell you what it is, but let’s just say I’m on painkillers now. It physically hurt me, so I did what everyone does, which is complain to the seller. They made me jump through all these hoops. They wanted me to take a picture of the product right next to the receipt. Well, it was online, so there’s no receipt, so I printed out my confirmation, and they’re like, ‘that’s not good enough’. I dealt with this for a week, and they won’t even give me a refund, let alone pay for my medical bills. I looked it up online, and I’ve not heard anyone else having these problems, but that doesn’t mean there’s no potential for a class action lawsuit. It could mean that no one wants to say anything, because it’s kind of taboo.

Library Assistant: Ah, okay. So, what you’re looking for is information about consumer protection. Follow me to the 300s. This was an online purchase, so you’ll want a book that’s pretty new. We have stuff from the mid-twentieth century that won’t do you any good. Aaaaaand here. This will help you. It’ll at least help you get started. Maybe, since you can’t afford a lawyer, you can learn some legalese to help you...encourage the company to do the right thing.

Library-Goer: Wow, this...this looks like what I need. Thank you so much.

Library Assistant: No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 19, 1993

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Mateo and Ramses woke up at about the same time the next day. They weren’t a hundred percent sure exactly when that would be, but the powers that be seemed to simply hold the pattern, but in this new time period. It was now April 19, 1993. Little Declan was three years old now, which was probably old enough to start coming up with his own ideas, and operating somewhat independently. He was eating his torus oats, and—why the hell did he just call them torus oats? Was that the shape of the cereal? Yes, it was, but even if he knew that himself, it wasn’t a phrase he would have normally said. He would have just used the brand name, especially since this was all just in his head, and he didn’t have to worry about any legal issues. There was something very strange going on in his brain, but unfortunately, Nerakali wasn’t around to answer any questions. The two of them stood awkwardly in the kitchen entryway, wanting to ask what they could do to help, but not wanting to interrupt Holly Blue’s process.

“Oh, just sit down,” she said. “I made it for all of you.”

“All of us?” Mateo asked.

Holly Blue frowned slightly. “Yes. I built your machine in my lab over the course of the year. There’s not really a way to test it, but it should take you back to the beginning of your pattern. I doubt you’ll need it, though. I had a whole year to think it over, and I’ve decided your relationship with your wife is indeed my business. I’m going to help you to get through whatever went sour, and what better way to do that than with some powdered sugar?” At that very moment, she sprinkled some actual powdered sugar over the pancakes she had just set on the table in front of them. “They must be tired, though.” She lifted her watch, and tapped on the touchscreen, which was not a very 1993 thing to do.

An alarm went off upstairs, followed by a thump.

Holly Blue spoke into her watch, “breakfast is ready. Come as you are.”

Leona appeared from the stairs, followed by Nerakali and Vidar. Mateo couldn’t be mad. He couldn’t hold the high ground here. She had mixed feelings about seeing him. She obviously wanted to see him, or she wouldn’t have chased him back in time, but she was angry about all the effort she had to put into it.

“Now,” Holly Blue began, “my mother...didn’t raise me. I don’t know why I intended to lie to you about that, or why I went back on it in the middle of the sentence. Let’s just call this an original thought. We’re going to hash this out, family therapy style. And we’re gonna do it over a meal.”

“Sweet,” Vidar said, sitting down. “We don’t have to say grace, or anything, though, do we?”

“Dig in.”

That Mateo couldn’t be mad didn’t change the fact that he had no idea what he was going to say to his wife. Holly Blue could have given him a thousand years to think it over, and there still wouldn’t be any words to justify his actions. He didn’t want to defend himself, but he didn’t want to apologize either. Honestly, he just wanted to run away again, perhaps using the new homegrown home stone.

Everyone was really hungry, so they didn’t just sit there in awkward silence, but they didn’t speak either. They just chowed down silently, as if their crazy uncle had just said something ambiguously sexual about his nephew’s fiancée at thanksgiving dinner, but he was helping to pay for the wedding, so no one could argue. This went on for about ten minutes. Holly Blue waited impatiently for someone to break the ice, and then just had to go for it herself. “Let’s just get some background. Mateo, you killed someone?”

“A villain,” Ramses clarified for him. “Two, actually. Erlendr and Arcadia Preston.”

Holly Blue looked over to see Nerakali’s reaction.

Noticing this, Nerakali spoke up, “they had it coming. We all agreed.”

“Yes,” Leona agreed defiantly. “We all did.”

“But you’re not the one who had to do it,” Mateo spat back with rougher turbulence than he had intended.

“I offered!” Leona clapped back.

“This is not going to become a screaming match,” Holly Blue mediated with her inside voice. “We’re talking. If you don’t remain civil, neither of you will get what you want. Whatever it is you want, I’ll keep it away from you. I know that’s vague, but I don’t have a lot of options for punishment here, so please just do the right thing.”

Mateo sighed. “I didn’t want to leave you, Leona. I didn’t plan on it either. I just...watched the life drain out of their eyes, only to be replaced by new bulbs. It was in that moment that I realized I would never be the same. I’ve killed before, but...this was different. This felt...malicious, vindictive. It didn’t feel like me. You married me. I mean, you married the man I was, but I’m worried that he died with the Prestons.”

“You didn’t even try to stay and talk. You just teleported away. I didn’t know where you were going, or when you were coming back, but I was prepared to give you space. Then I noticed your dot on my Cassidy cuff disappear, along with Ramses’. If you were in shock, I would have understood, but you had the wherewithal to shut me out. That was not okay.”

“I know, I’m sor—”

She cut him off, “this is not the first time you’ve run away from me, Mateo. It will either be the last, or the second to last. You understand me?”

He did. He could either never do it again, or if he did, she wouldn’t try to find him. That was supposedly what he wanted, but also, he didn’t.

“Ah,” Holly Blue said. “That smells like a breakthrough. Or it’s the quiche.”

Everyone perked up.

“Settle down,” Holly Blue told them. “Horace Reaver isn’t the only one who’s allowed to make quiche. Jesus Christ.” She stood up to tend to the oven.

“So, are we cool?” Ramses asked.

“The conversation isn’t over,” Leona said, “but I think we can move on from now. I just don’t know where that is. Do we jump to April 20, 1994 after this? Do we return to where we should be, which is December 12, 2280? Do we completely remove ourselves from our pattern?” She started swiping through menus on her cuff. “There’s gotta be a way to do it.”

“Oh, I know what to do,” Mateo claimed. He did?

“You do?” Nerakali questioned.

Mateo started swiping through his own cuff interface screen, which was yet another term he wouldn’t have used himself. He didn’t even realize what he was looking for. He was now in, like, a hidden partition of the memory drive, or something. What? No, that was just technobabble, it was called something else. He was trying desperately to fight against his newfound intelligence with his oldfound stupidity. Oh my God, what a fitting thing to say, a voice in his head muttered. Oldfound? How the hell did you survive grade school? “Who is that?” Mateo cried out loud.

“What?”

“Shut up! Shut! Up!”

“Are you hearing people’s thoughts again?” Leona asked.

They all looked to Vidar. “Don’t look at me,” he defended. “I put up mental wards after the last time.” He tapped his fork against his head. “Nothin’s gettin’ in here.”

Mateo scoffed, completely out of his control. “You sure about that, jackass?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Leona scolded.

“A little bit of perspective, bitch!” Mateo said. But no, that wasn’t him. It couldn’t have. He didn’t use that word, and he sure as shit wouldn’t use it on her. If the shoe fits.—Be nice, honey. That last thing was like a different voice; nondescript, like the first one, but still somehow distinct. It was like there were two other people in his brain, and they were fighting for control of his thoughts and body. This was a psychic attack. “Oh, Sherlock’s got it figured out!” he couldn’t help but say out loud.

“Holly Blue, do you have any idea what’s happening?” Ramses asked.

“I have no clue,” she replied. “But I’m taking my son to the panic room. You all are staying out here. I can’t trust anyone.”

“I’ll find you later, caterpillar!” Mateo shouted to her as she ran off.

“Mateo,” Leona tried to say comfortingly. “Talk to me. What are you trying to do?”

All this time, Mateo’s hand was tapping furiously on his Cassidy cuff. “I’m trying to find something? These things can do virtually anything, but you have to know how to use them.”

Leona looked down at his cuff. “Ramses, get that thing off of him. It’s malfunctioning again.”

Mateo’s hand took a quick break from whatever it was doing to return to the main menu, and send an electrical shock to everyone else’s cuff to stop them from trying to stop him.

“I can’t!” Ramses exclaimed. “He still has the primary!”

“Got it,” Mateo declared in a faux British accent. He finally pressed the execute button. A tiny portal appeared over the dining table. The hundemarke fell right through. Mateo caught it before it landed in the deviled eggs. He triumphantly placed the dogtag around his neck.

They all stood up from the table, and backed away.

“Holy crap,” Nerakali said in fear. “That’s not Mateo anymore.”

“Who is it?” Leona asked.

Mateo grimaced. “Yes, who am I, Wilson?”

“It’s my father,” Nerakali answered. “That’s what he called me. I’m named after a character in a maxiseries called Inspectors. Nerakali Wilson.”

“Wasn’t Makarion in that too?” Vidar asked.

“No,” Mateo’s voice said as Mateo’s legs were standing Mateo’s body up. “He was in Masterminds.” His hand picked up the carving fork from the dishwasher that Holly Blue used for the chicken last night, and threw it straight at Vidar. It stuck in his head, causing him to fall down, presumably dead. “I don’t think I’m gonna paradox his death. I’m just gonna let him lie.”

“Get out!” Nerakali shouted at Mateo’s face. “Get out of his head right now!”

“Oh, I would, darling,” Erlendr responded. “Unfortunately, my body is being used by some asshole in the future who doesn’t even deserve to live.”

“Then at least cede control!” Nerakali ordered.

“No. I had a plan, and you people screwed that up. Well, this is what you get. This is my backup plan. I didn’t see it coming, but here we are. You can have Mateo back whenever Arcadia and I find replacements. Until then, I—what are you doing?” Mateo was struggling to take back control. It wasn’t easy, but it clearly wasn’t impossible either. This was his body, and no matter how strong these psychics were, he would always be able to lay claim to it. Was he strong enough to hold the line, though?

“What’s happening?” Leona asked as Mateo was turning away from them.

“He’s fighting back,” Nerakali explained. “Keep fighting!” she urged him. “They’re stowaways. All you have to do is get back into the pilothouse. You can do this!”

“Then what?” Mateo eked out. “They’ll still be here. I’ll have to fight like this every second of my life unless we can get them out. How do we get them out?”

They all looked to Nerakali, who stood there for a moment. “I don’t know how to get them out. Psychics are generally good people, even Sanaa. They don’t do this; they just don’t.”

Mateo moaned. He could feel Erlendr and Arcadia coming back. He only had one choice. He reached over, and input the exit code on his Cassidy cuff. It dropped to the floor. Now at least when his enemies took back control of his body, they wouldn’t have his friends’ powers. He tore the hundemarke off his neck too. He knew he couldn’t hold on forever, but he only needed a couple more minutes. He forced his legs to keep walking, right towards Holly Blue’s lab. There was a mirror on the other side of the room. Had he been simple ol’ Mateo, he wouldn’t have known what the mirror did, but Erlendr was a genius, and let it slip. This was the home stone she had built for them. She kind of had a thing for mirrors, rather than rocks, so it made perfect sense. With the last bit of strength he could muster, he reached around to the controls on the back, and activated the portal. Then he stepped through.

Leona dropped her own Cassidy cuff, and tried to follow him, but couldn’t.

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Firestorm: Kallias Bran (Part IV)

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I’m not in hiding, but I have been laying low for a while. Back in the year 1990, I started investigating a child’s disappearance. It was my first case as a detective, and the weirdest thing I had ever seen up until that point. Things like it would eventually become commonplace for me, but back then, I couldn’t explain it. Escher Bradley was missing according to his supposed father, but according to the mother, he never existed. I spent years trying to figure what the hell was going on. More children disappeared over the next decade, and I was the one assigned to them all. Other strange things happened in Springfield, Kansas until it all just ended when the entire town itself disappeared. I continued to investigate, though. I traveled to other planets, other points in time, and even other universes. My life was non-stop adventure, so when I was given the opportunity to go back to where it all began, and lead a more normal life, I took it. Sort of.

The first moment I experienced nonlinear time was, as I said, way back in 1990. But since then, I’ve seen all kinds of technological advancements. Living in a time before I could look up literally anything in an online encyclopedia, or navigate to a new location on a little computer phone, was something I didn’t think I could do. I hitched a ride back to the future—the 2020s, to be exact—and I’ve been generally avoiding other time travelers ever since. There are some good people in this underworld, though, and I should have left myself available to them if they ever needed me. I don’t know how he did it, but one of them did finally manage to find me, and he apparently needs my help.

“Where’s your family, Ace?” I ask him.

“They’re still looking for you,” he says. “We got separated, and I found you first.”

“Can’t you call them?”

He pats his pants. “I don’t have a phone.”

“How did you know where I was, but they didn’t? Why were you separated?”

“I was in prison,” he explains. “Don’t worry, I didn’t belong there, and The Warden let me go. I came into possession of some intel while I was on the inside, which led me to you. If you don’t help us with our mission, you’ll still need to bug out. Not everyone who knows your location is on your side.”

“Am I, like, wanted?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “My cell neighbor seemed particularly interested in you, though. You could better understand what it is that makes you special. I just consider you a friend.”

“Okay, I appreciate the warning. And I’ll definitely help with whatever mission you’re talking about. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out lately. I’ve been kind of staying out of the game, but I think I’m ready to be involved again.”

“We appreciate that. Come on. We’re based out of your safehouse.”

The condo I bought a long time ago has been used for many different things by many different people. I probably lived there for the shortest amount of time, but I still technically own it. I’m glad it’s been there to help so many people. It is a joy.

Serkan Demir runs over and tackles his boyfriend when we arrive at the condo. “How did you get out? Did we win? I don’t remember winning.”

“It had nothing to do with this,” Ace explains as he was peeling Serkan off so he could hug their adopted daughter too. “A friend I won’t have until the future broke me out.”

“They broke you out?” Slipstream asks. I’ve never met her, but she’s famous in all of Kansas City, and beyond. It’s an honor just to be in her presence. “So they’re coming for you.”

“Well,” Ace begins, “when I say he broke me out, I mean he literally broke the bars on my cell. I don’t understand who he is, or what our relationship will be in the future, but the Warden basically said he can do whatever the hell he wants, and she has no right to go against him. I’m in the clear.”

“So, is that it?” Paige asks. “Do we not have to do what it is the Warden charged us to do?”

“I still need to,” Alexina McGregor says. She’s one of the Springfield Nine, like me. She got her time powers from another dimension, and while most of them are amoral, at best, she’s recently tried to redeem herself. I hope she makes it. “I still have to get the rabbit dog from the FBI. I can’t ask you to continue if you don’t have to.”

“Of course we will,” Ace assures her. “Now we have some real firepower to back us.”

Is he referring to me? “Are you referring to me?”

“Slipstream has some clout,” Serkan says. “She’s still a civilian, though. We could use a real law enforcement officer on our side. Ace, how did you find him?”

Ace looks like he doesn’t want to explain how it is he found me. He told me it had something to do with other people in the prison, but maybe it’s a lot more complicated than that, or it’s something bad. There’s a phrase I’ve heard before, which serves as what I guess you could call the time traveler’s way of saying shut up. To avoid paradoxes, and other timeline problems, all you have to do is say, “eh. Time, right?”

Serkan still wants answers, but he’s letting it go for now. “Right.”

“What exactly do you need from the FBI?” I ask them.

And so they go about telling me what they’re hunting for. There’s some kind of psychic hybrid creature, and a temporal object that’s so powerful, no one seems to know what it does. They’re both being protected by a federal agent who probably has special time powers, and he may be in possession of other things they don’t know about. What his motivation is, or what his ultimate plan is, they don’t know, but they know they have to get these things back, because he can’t be trusted.

“And what do you need me for?” I go on. “I’m not a detective in this timeline. I don’t have a badge, or even a gun.”

“We can make you a detective again,” Paige says. “We need it to be you, because you know what questions to ask; how to get into people’s heads.”

“Are you planning on taking me to The Forger to get my badge back?”

“That was the idea, yes,” Paige acknowledges. “Do you not think that’s gonna work?”

I sigh. “It probably will, as long as we give his bouncer a thousand dollars. I’m willing to do just about whatever it takes to help you, but I don’t know if I want to go back to that life. I gave up the force a long time ago.”

Paige comes over, and takes my arm in her hand. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We weren’t going to contact you, but Dupont dropped your name, and it made us realize we could do with a little more help.”

“Delmar Dupont? The magician guy? Hm. Weird.” I sigh again, and watch them watching me, wondering what I’m going to do. “Okay. Let’s go make me a cop again.” I start heading towards the other side of the condo, while everyone else heads for the exit. “Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” I ask them. The Forger is this way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ace questions. “He’s downtown.”

I study them a moment, to see if they’re joking. “You’ve been living here the whole time, and you didn’t realize he and The Communicators moved here last year?”

Slipstream and Serkan tilt their lizard brains.

“Yeah,” I go on, “they’re in the closet. Come on.”

I lead them to the closet, which gives us access to another dimension. We step through it to find ourselves in a much nicer facility than the one these people were working out of before. It’s cleaner, brighter, and modern. I was in here once recently, since I’m the one who gave them the money to upgrade, but I haven’t been here since they finished fixing it all up.

“This used to be a clothing warehouse,” Paige notes.

“Yeah, they moved that to The Hub,” I explain, but it’s clear they don’t know what that is yet. That’s okay, I’m sure they’ll see it later in the timeline.

The same bouncer is standing at the entrance. He seems to recognize everyone, except for Alexina. “She’s cool,” I tell him.

The bouncer nods his head towards Ace. “He owes me a thousand dollars.”

I pull two thousand bucks from my back pocket. “I got it covered.” Ace doesn’t look happy, but I shake my head. “I’m rich, and I didn’t even work for it. I don’t want you to bother paying me back. Money isn’t gonna matter much in the future.”

We keep walking down the great hall. A wide-smiling Ennis waves to us through the glass of his new post office. Susan’s office is darkened, with a red light above the door, which indicates that she’s currently napping. Allen and Richard’s restaurant is open to the public on the other side of the kitchen, and it sounds like a lot of people are dining right now. The time traveler side, however, is almost empty. Only one young woman is eating right now, and she looks a little worried about this group of people walking by her. The Salmonday Club isn’t open at all right now, but we see somebody cleaning the entrance. Finally we’re at the Forger’s new den. I open the door, which knocks into a little bell hanging from the ceiling.

The man himself, Duane Blackwood, comes in from the back, and lifts his arms in a welcoming fashion. “All of you together in one place. My heart is warmed. Mr. Reaver, I heard about your jailbreak. How do you know Mateo Matic?”

“I don’t yet,” Ace answers.

“Ain’t that how it always goes?” Duane asks rhetorically. “How can I help you fine folk? I’ve expanded my business. I can now offer direct transport to another time and place, and discount prices on certain living places. I would just generate the cash myself, but that can screw with the local economy too much, so you’ll still need to pay a little yourself. We even house a Nexus replica on the premises, so if you need to get to Tribulation Island, that can be arranged.”

“That’ll be all right,” I say to him. “I just need...I need you to make me a detective again.”

Duane frowns, but not too sadly. “I thought you were done with all that.”

“My friends evidently require access to the FBI building,” I say. “I’m the only one they know with enough experience to help them.”

“You need access to the fed building, then you need to become a fed, not a detective,” Duane suggests.

“You can do that?” Paige asks.

“Hell yeah, I can,” Duane says. “With my new digs, I can make authentic badges, and appropriate firearms, as well as necessary identification papers.”

“I don’t know much about what it takes to be FBI,” I say honestly. “They’re very different professions.”

“You just need to get through security, right?” Duane asks. “That’ll be easy. I do...umm...ask for payment these days? Not money, of course. Like I was saying, I have my own bottomless ATM, but I do need a favor.”

I was worried something like this would happen, but I’m not gonna freak out until I hear what it is he wants from us.

“There’s a guy at the front door,” Duane begins. “He comes every single day. He knows there’s something here. I’m not a hundred percent sure what he wants, but he’s just human. The Salmonday Club has had to let people in the side entrance, so he doesn’t notice them.”

“What’s the Salmonday Club?” Paige asks.

“You know how there are only seven days a week?” I pose to her.

“Yeah.”

“There are eight, as long as you enter the club thirty seconds to midnight at the very end of the week.”

“Everyone rushes in all at once,” Duane continues for me. “This place is a madhouse on Saturday nights. This dude saw the clubgoers coming into this building one time, and I guess he’s been obsessed with us ever since. The power/pattern detector filtered him out, and just showed him a regular abandoned building, but he knows something’s up. Security can’t get him to leave.”

“Is he there right now?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” Duane walks up to the counter, and reaches over to swing the computer monitor around. It’s showing security camera footage from the main entrance of this building. A guy in a button-up shirt and skinny tie is leaning up against a pillar, hastily writing in a journal, or something.

“Oh my God,” Paige says with a bit of disgust. “That’s him. That’s Orson Olsen, the mormon I accidentally inspired to start a religion.”

I sigh one last time. “You make me FBI credentials, and I’ll get him out of here.”

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