Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

I had no response to that, and even if I had, Dad was already watching a technician aim something at the portal. “Anyone there?”

“No, Doctor.” Like everyone else except Dad, the technician was wearing a blue jumpsuit. Dad looked normal: slacks and a burgundy sweater. “Mr. Katz will arrive in 81 seconds.”

Dad nodded. “Come on, Eleanora. It’s almost time.”

I slung the cloth to the floor. Somehow I was dry, and though it was still chilly in the lab or hangar or whatever this place was, I could handle it for another minute. Besides, I didn’t care. I had to ask before it was too late.

“Why didn’t you come back, Dad?”

He didn’t answer; he just pulled me into a hug.

“Sixty seconds.” It was the person on the P.A.

“Dad, please! Why didn’t you come back?”

He was smiling again. I wanted to wipe it off his face, but I couldn’t. Not when I saw tears in his eyes. “I’m a scientist, Elle. How could I turn down an opportunity like this?”

My fists balled and I wrenched away. I wanted to hit him. Hard. “How dare you! How dare you leave us for that?”

“Forty-five seconds.”

“How could I not? It was the chance of a lifetime! The chance to study history by actually being there. Things you only know in books… I’ve seen them!” His bright blue eyes were wide.

“Then let me stay with you,” I pleaded. “I’ve got nothing back home! Please, Dad, let me stay!”

But he shook his head. “I can’t, Elle. Things have changed these past few years. We have to be careful, or…” He cleared his throat. “I’m breaking all kinds of rules by even talking to you, and when you get there, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Twenty seconds.”

I stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not keeping this a secret.”

“Fifteen seconds.” Red lights began to glow around the portal.

“Come on, Elle.” He reached out as if to hug me again, but I moved closer to the portal. “Promise me!”

“Ten seconds.”

I shook my head. The technicians were already well back. Dad took a couple of steps away, his eyes sad. I could barely bear to look at him.

“Five seconds.”

“Good-bye Eleanora. I love you.”

“Fuck you, Dad.”

A sharp beep. I took a deep breath and jumped through the portal.

I’m warm.

I’m warm, and I’m on my back.

I’m warm, and I’m on my back, and I’m laying on something hard.

I open my eyes, blinking against the harsh brightness of the sun.

“You made it.”

Barry’s voice.

I wheeze, then start coughing. He cradles my head in his arm, brings a bottle of water to my lips. I sip some of it. “Barry?”

My vision starts to clear. His hair is as wild as mine is after a dive. He smiles. “Glad you’re back.”

“Wh…”

“Couple of minutes after you left, Al helped me get my stuff on. I followed you.”

“Why?”

The smile goes away. “I couldn’t leave you alone down there. Not after… not after Phil…”

I feel my eyes well up with tears, but I fight them down. I have to know. “How long until the storm ended?”

“About an hour after I got to you. Why?”

“No reason.”

A category-one hurricane blew through two weeks later. I spent the day at Mom’s. When I got back to my apartment that night, I found an envelope on my pillow. My name was on it. The handwriting was my father’s.

I threw it away unopened.

Mark’s living in Virginia now. It takes me almost a whole day to drive to his house.

“Hi, Elle.”

I slide past him, into the living room, and drop onto the couch. He sits in a chair beside me.

“I’m not diving. Ever again.”

He leans forward, touches my knee. I cover his hand with mine. I know my face is blank.

“I found him.”

Mark blinks. “You…”

I nod. “I found my father.” A pause. “He’s not dead.”

“Wh… what?”

I meet Mark’s eyes. “He left me. Me, and Jason, and Mom. I’m done with him.”

“But where is he?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. And I don’t care.”

Mark pushes me for more, but I don’t tell him. To the rest of the world, my father’s been dead for seven years.

Time for me to join the rest of the world.

Although “113 Feet” was my third professionally-published story, it was actually the first that I submitted to Asimov’s . Ms Williams rejected it, but included extremely detailed notes and invited me to re-submit. I made the changes, sent the story back, and got a second personal rejection. I was very grateful for both, and they eventually led to the version of the story you just read, which was published by Escape Pod back when Mur Lafferty was the editor. She got me to trim it to under 8000 words, which is quite a feat given that the original version ran almost 12,000.

The first draft of the story didn’t show what happened when Elle went through the portal. It also had additional scenes, including another appearance of my grandfather’s boat and some actual communication between Elle and her father prior to her trip through. But in the end I had to trim a lot, including some of the details in the scuba scenes — most of them drawn from my own experiences diving with my dad, and all of them vetted by a dive master who turned out to be one of the coroners working at the Cobb County, Georgia, medical examiner’s office. Those edits let me show what Elle’s father was up to — which, to be honest, I actually didn’t know when I finished my first draft. I guess at the time I didn’t need to know so I just didn’t think about it.

I consider this story my lesson in not giving up; it took more than four years for it to go from my brain to a published final product. It’s also one of my personal favorites.

“Dad, someone broke the computer again.”

I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and leaned back in my chair. There was a lull in the noise, and I took advantage of it. “What do you mean, ‘someone’?”

Sam sighed. At twelve, it was little more than theatrical, but I was glad he’d called me and not his mother. “Ash sent me a file for a report we’re doing—”

“Oh, well, see, there’s your problem.” I waved to Jo, who was heading out for the day. She gave me a small smile. “The last time I fixed your computer, it was because Ashleigh gave you a virus. I told you not to accept files from her.”

“Da-ad!” Now he was whining. “I gotta do the project, and her computer sucks!”

I shook my head. Ashleigh was Sam’s first “girlfriend”, if a twelve-year-old could have that sort of thing. She was leading him around on a leash, too. I knew girls matured faster than boys, but this was ridiculous. “I get out of here at seven,” I said. “If you can get your brother to bring you and Ashleigh to the apartment, I’ll make dinner and you guys can work on the project on my computer. Just check with your mom first.”

Sam huffed at me. “You know what she’ll say.” The boy had alarming insight into the way things were between me and my ex.

“It’s homework. You have to do it, and I’m sure it’s due tomorrow.”

“Hang on, Dad, I’ll check.”

“I’m sure ,” I said again, stressing that part, “that it’s due tomorrow .” Stressed that last word too.

It still took Sam a second. Not the quickest on the uptake, that boy. “You’re right, Dad. It’s due tomorrow. Can I come over and use your computer?”

“Sure thing. What do you want for dinner?”