Paul Jones - Towards Yesterday

Jim tilted his head to the right. A doctor in a white coat stood fiddling with the feed to his drip.

“The pain might seem a little more pronounced,” he said, “as I’ve reduced the amount of pain-killer but it should make you a little sharper.” The man smiled showing a set of ivory white teeth. “I’ll leave you alone,” he continued, making his way to the door of the hospital room. “I’m sure you have much to talk about.”

When the door closed quietly behind the doctor Jim returned his attention to his ex-wife and child sitting next to his bed.

“Hello Lark,” he said. His voice was still little more than a weak croak.

The little girl looked up expectantly at her mother. Simone smiled and nodded a silent okay to her daughter’s unspoken request. Lark hopped off her lap and trotted to the bedside cabinet, filled a paper cup from a pitcher of water and took it to her father, careful not to spill a drop.

“Hello Daddy,” Lark had said, as she raised the cup of water to his lips. “I missed you very much.”

An autumn mist shrouded the ground and a light breeze whistled between the headstones. It whipped up a flurry of dust and leaves that rustled and tumbled through the grass before blowing into the black hole that was to be Mitchell Lorentz’s final resting place.

The priest, his white robes fluttering, spoke his final words as the deceased scientist’s casket, its gold handles glinting in the sunlight, lowered slowly into the waiting ground. The sibilant HISSSSS! of the pneumatic lowering device barely audible over the priest’s voice.

Lark stood with Simone across the divide of the grave, her hand interlaced tightly with that of her mother’s. His little girl gave him a lopsided smile as she caught him staring at her. Jim felt pressure on his own hand and he turned sideways to look at Rebecca as she gently squeezed his hand. She looked so beautiful in the early morning light, but tears glistened at the corners of her eyes and he was unsure if it was the sad task of laying their friend in the ground or the chill breeze that whipped through the graveyard which put them there.

This was the third burial they had attended in as many days. First was Horatio ‘Henry’ Mabry; the big man’s remains incongruously fitted into an urn until his cremated ashes could be sprinkled off the California coast as per his final wish. Mina Belkov lay in her grave less than fifty feet away from the man she had dedicated her life too, the man who’s own body now lay in the slowly descending casket before them.

Edward Pike had reclaimed the remains of Justin Beaumont, the soundman with the Church’s team, soon after the explosion, despite protests by the coroner. The Church had cited religious grounds and insisted his body be released without an autopsy being conducted. Pressure had been brought to bear by the government and the charred remains of the unfortunate young man had been moved back to the Church of Second Redemption’s headquarters in California for burial.

Within hours of news of the explosion reaching the outside world, Father Pike issued a statement distancing himself and the Church from the attack, blaming it on: elements within the organization who were bent on blemishing the name of the organization and advancing the goals of non-believers . The faithful were called together and asked to pray for the poor unfortunates who had lost their lives in the explosion.

Jim wasn’t buying anything the Pike was selling. His excuses were too convenient and appeared on the networks only hours after the news of the explosion was announced, raising suspicion and causing wide spread debate as to just how deeply the organization had been involved. Father Pike had refused all interviews since the attack, which only fueled critics of the new religion’s involvement.

The body of Byron Portia, linked posthumously to a rapidly growing number of previous and future murders, had not been claimed. His remains were cremated and his ashes dumped into the local landfill without any kind of ceremony.

But the true mystery that perplexed Jim and the remainder of the Tach-Comm team was just why the second S lip had not occurred. The explosion had stopped the vital signal from being broadcast; that was a certainty. The bomb carried in the assassin’s camera had destroyed the transmission equipment and its operators minutes before the signal was supposed to be activated. It left only one obvious conclusion in Jim’s mind: they had been wrong. Their calculations had been off in some way or they had missed some subtle aspect of the event.

That observation led to an even more disturbing conclusion amongst the remaining scientists: were they free of the possibility of a second event occurring? Or should they expect at any moment to be plunged back to some point on the timeline where they all would cease to exist?

It’s enough to make you paranoid , Jim thought morosely.

The sound of earth hitting the lid of Lorentz’s coffin broke Jim from his thoughts. He knelt and took a handful of the damp soil, tossed it down into the open grave and said a silent farewell to the man who had changed the lives of so many people.

The service over, mourners began walking slowly back to their waiting cars. Jim and Becky made their way over to the concrete path running beneath a copse of trees. Simone stood with Lark, waiting patiently beneath the tree’s leafless branches.

“Hello Daddy,” said Lark, as she ran full force into his legs, throwing her arms around his knees.

Picking the little girl up Jim planted a kiss on her forehead. “Hey there baby girl.”

“Mommy said that I could come stay with you,” she blurted out excitedly. “Can we go to the lake, daddy? Can we?”

Jim’s heart skipped a beat as his little girl let slip the answer to a question he had asked his ex-wife while still in hospital. The chance to spend time with his child would be a gift that he could never repay.

“Can we go this weekend, Daddy? Please?” pleaded Lark, as Jim set his child back down onto the ground.

Jim looked up at Simone who smiled back before saying “If that’s okay with your Father—”

“Yes, of course. Definitely. This weekend would be fine,” said Jim, the words racing from his mouth as if he was afraid the offer would be retracted.

That elicited a whooping cry of delight from the child as she launched herself at her father’s legs again.

“I have your cell number,” Jim said. “I’ll give you a call with a time I’ll be able to pick her up.”

Simone looked tired. She had endured much in the time since the explosion. Her involvement with the Church had immediately drawn suspicion from government sources. Questioned about her involvement with Gallagher and his plot to sabotage the experiment, she had pleaded her ignorance of any involvement. And, when finally the identity of Gallagher and his link to the murders of so many women had been revealed, Simone had been released.

Jim thought the government’s part in allowing the killer access to the Tach-Comm project may have contributed to her halfhearted interrogation and quick release.

Leaning in close, Jim kissed his ex-wife gently on the cheek and whispered “Thank you.” Then, with a final hug for his kid and a “See you this weekend, sweetheart,” he took Becky’s hand in his own and started down the concrete path toward the parking lot.

A black Lincoln sedan with government plates was idling next to Jim’s car in the parking lot of the cemetery.

Jim recognized Colonel Geoffrey DeWitt leaning against the hood of the vehicle, blowing gray clouds of cigarette smoke into the air.