Book II - Paul Lander
Memories.
The LA offices of the Lander Institute were located at the top of a high block in the city centre. Two rooms only, one of which led out onto a roof-top terrace.
Paul was sitting at his desk, looking out through the glass doors that led onto the patio, though he was seeing nothing. At least, nothing of LA. The gala had brought it all back; he was in another world, that of his youth -- or more specifically his early twenties.
A local newspaper lay on top of the desk, opened to reveal the glorious picture of Rachel as she ascended the steps at the gala, though for the moment he was oblivious to it being there.
Paul couldn't recall ever feeling so emotional. Or so relieved. He'd managed to achieve the impossible.
He laughed out loud. The impossible? If only people knew.
With some difficulty he forced himself to concentrate on his surroundings, and fumbled for his keys. Then he unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk and extracted a large envelope, placing it beside the newspaper. He smiled. Did he extract the contents? If he did so, without doubt he'd be transported yet again to those early years. He always was.
He reached out and picked the envelope up again, opened the flap and slid out two newspaper cuttings; two from all of the cuttings that had adorned the walls of his study all those years ago, together with a number of posters depicting Rachel's movies, including Honeymoon Alone.
Paul unfolded the first item carefully; his hands were shaking. It was a copy of the picture in the newspaper, or at least looked like that at first glance. Rachel was wearing the same gown and climbing the same steps in an identical pose, but the expression on her face could not have been more different. The captivating smile of the picture in the paper was simply beautiful. In the cutting her face bore a disturbing, haunted smile.
Immediately, Paul was back in his youth, letting his stool swivel slowly, and surveying the walls of his study as they passed before his eyes until they settled on that picture. The one that had started this crazy obsession. Then he would notice the item that hung beside it.
He began to unfold the second cutting, though he was only partly aware of doing so, and lay that beside the two pictures. He didn't need to read it, he'd done that so many times he knew it all by heart. The report of the death of the actress Rachel Starr on 12th November, 2007, aged just twenty six, and of the final note she had written in total desolation before taking the overdose. Whenever he looked at that he felt the familiar surge of anger at the unfairness of it all.
In August 2002, whilst attempting to break into the competitive world of the movies, Rachel had been subjected to a violent rape, and was unable to trust any man thereafter, gradually becoming increasingly confused and lonely. And wracked by guilt. There was no justification whatsoever for the guilt; that was all within her mind, but she'd never been able to reveal what had happened to anyone, until writing that final despairing note. In the end it had killed her.
Paul wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as his thoughts came back to the present. When had all this been? When he was twenty-one, in 2189. The year in which he had fallen in love with Rachel, though how can you love a girl you have never met and who died almost two hundred years ago? He'd asked himself that question on countless occasions. Obsession? What else could it be?
He closed his eyes in thankful prayer. Thank God he'd discovered the connections. Thank God he'd been able to save her.
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By 2189 Paul was already well immersed in his theory, not that any of his superiors paid much attention. In the field of Metaphysics and Existentialism he was considered far too young, even in an age when the technology of subliminal education could create university graduates by the age of twelve, and he was then already twenty-one.
Nevertheless he had persevered, never for a moment appreciating what the impact of his theory would be.
His theory.
Time and space do not move in straight lines but in parallel dimensions, with intermittent folds that can cause one time or place to cross another.
There would normally be no effect at all when this occurred, but if it so happened that an object at one of those specific locations and times was surrounded by a strong enough magnetic charge, that object could move from one era to the other.
Despite Paul's confidence in the theory, it had nevertheless seemed implausible -- until that day.
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By 2190, the time had come to give it a try.
Paul had calculated and recalculated the co-ordinates and then repeated them again and again; the result was always the same, pinpointing the location on a dirt track some ten miles away from where he lived at the time. That had been an extraordinary stroke of good fortune; the connection could have occurred anywhere on the planet. He'd also calculated and recalculated the time of the next connection goodness knows how often. In exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds.
The protective suit he was wearing was restrictive. Hell yes. Those darned suits; a reminder of his other obsession, but that was another story. He smiled at the memory. He'd somehow managed to place the packet in the correct area; no need to be too precise, there was some leeway. Thank goodness satellite navigation aids were still in operation even though there was no longer much use for them in those days. Then he waited impatiently. If his theory was right...
The last few seconds took an age to tick by; five, four, three, two, one, zero. Then, despite the cumbersome suit, he literally leaped into the air with a loud cry of 'Yes!' The packet had disappeared.
That, of course, was all in the past. Well, in his past. Once you have proved that it is possible to step through time and have taken that fateful step, the past, present and future become more than a little confusing, but it also opens up incredible opportunities.
Reflecting upon that period now, Paul could remember so clearly how the idea had started to germinate. The fact that no one would listen to his theories had been intensely frustrating. As a result he had returned to his obsession with Rachel to take his mind off it all. It had certainly worked. Then he had suddenly realised the full significance of what he'd discovered as far as Rachel was concerned, and what he might actually be able to achieve.
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The fact that Paul might be able to save Rachel from her fate, hit him with stunning clarity one night. Perhaps he'd dreamed it, he really didn't know, but he'd latched upon the idea immediately.
His subsequent calculations, however, were a huge disappointment. These connections were relatively few and far between and there was only one suitable connection he could possibly use, but that was in two years time, in 2192, and would mean he'd arrive much too late. None of the intervening links helped.
However, the more he worked on the problem, the more plausible it all became. He could use a series of connections, moving to one era and waiting for another suitable connection, and so on. By doing so, he reckoned it would take him twenty two years to finally reach Rachel's era, in 2000. He'd be in his early forties by then, not that that mattered so long as he reached her in time. But everything depended upon him being fit and well throughout those years, and there was no way he could possibly guarantee that. But he could at least try.
What had he got to lose?
Life in the late twenty-second century, but that was not exactly idyllic.
He might miss one of the connections and find himself stranded at whatever time he had reached.
He'd no real idea what effect moving through the connection would have, nor even if he'd actually survive; he believed he'd be OK, but that had to go down as a minus.
On the plus side?
He'd have one hell of an advantage, knowing what the future held -- as long as he didn't abuse that knowledge.
But if it all worked, he'd be able to rescue Rachel. Amazing.
Even as he weighed up the pros and cons, Paul knew he had no choice. He would have to try.
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So far all had gone well, though the connection Paul had used to arrive in the year 2000 had not gone quite as smoothly as he would have liked, though admittedly it had been even more of a shock to one couple, the Saunders.
Considering how much of the world's surface was covered by water, it had come as no surprise that some of the connections occurred in inconvenient places. Mind you, the same could also have been said of the first, and that was over land.
The 2000 connection -- Paul always tended to think of these in terms of the year he arrived in, rather than the year he'd just left -- was located in Venice, and despite being in a city, inevitably occurred over water on one of the canals that led to the Grand Canal.
Making the connection was always unnerving. Always? Paul laughed inwardly. Anyone would think he'd done this numerous times. They'd be wrong of course, this one would only be his second.
The first had been the most worrying. Well, a slight understatement there, it had been absolutely terrifying, but under the circumstances that was hardly surprising. Although he'd calculated and recalculated the co-ordinates countless times, there had been no cast iron guarantee that it would work and that he would arrive at the place and time he expected. On this particular occasion he knew for a fact that he'd succeed, which obviously helped, but even so...
Then he recalled hearing the voices of his companions soon after the connection had been made, and for a moment he was there again, reliving it all.
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"What's happened?" The woman sounded worried.
"I have absolutely no idea, my darling." Her husband's voice reflected that concern. And their unmistakable English accents.
Paul could just make out their expressions in the dim light. Difficult to judge, though. The eerie reflection of moonlight in the canal waters was casting a shimmering glow across their features. No doubt they were stunned, but that was understandable. One moment the woman had been close to falling from the bridge into the polluted canal in mid-afternoon, then, as soon as he'd managed to get both her and her husband safely into the boat, they'd made the connection. The area was now bathed in the pale moonlight.
"I'm sorry, Mr and Mrs Saunders. You're safe enough --”
"How do you know our names?" the husband interrupted, his voice now more incredulous than concerned.
Paul smiled. He doubted that either would see his face clearly enough to notice, but he wanted to reassure them, or at least try to. However, when they knew the truth that might prove difficult.
"I was expecting this to happen.”
"You were?" Still incredulous. Then the concern returned. "What exactly has happened?”
Paul gave a slight laugh. "Quite a lot." He paused momentarily. "As they say, there's good news and there's bad. The good news is that you're both safe and well. Had you fallen into the canal, Mrs Saunders, as you're no doubt aware, it would not have been good for your health.”
"That's for sure," commented her husband. "And we really are most grateful for your timely intervention." After another brief pause he quietly asked, "And the bad news?”
"We're not exactly where you think we are.”
"We're not?" Paul watched as Mr Saunders looked around. The boat was still approaching the Grand Canal as it had been earlier. It certainly looked like Venice. The man looked back in Paul's direction. "I'm sorry, but I'm not with you.”
"Well, it's not so much where, as when. If my calculations are right -- and I'm sure they are...” and he told them.
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The Saunders, once Paul had explained what had happened, were shocked. Well, astounded and incredulous was perhaps a more accurate description. However, they had experienced the event; in the end, they'd accepted reality, especially once Paul had told them all about himself, and his reason for doing this, hiding nothing.
Considering the circumstances Paul reckoned they were incredibly unfazed -- a typically British reaction, now he came to think about it. That was no doubt helped by the fact that, through a stroke of good fortune, the couple had no relatives who would miss them, just each other, and as long as they were together, they were happy. And Mrs Saunders thought that Paul's endeavours to save Rachel Starr were so romantic.
As a result, they agreed to work for Paul, although it would require a change of name for him to get them into the US. They wouldn't object to Mr and Mrs Anderson, would they?
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Paul came back to the present with a jolt. That was enough reminiscing. He had things to do. He carefully folded the cuttings and slipped them back into the envelope. That he replaced in the desk drawer, which he then locked.
Paul had earlier contacted the photographer who had taken the newspaper photo, and asked him if he would let him have a print, for Rachel. He'd been only too happy to oblige and Paul was about to go and collect it so that he could have it framed. He'd find some suitable occasion upon which to give it to her, later.
If he didn't get a move on he'd be late. Even so, he lingered on at his desk. Concentration was difficult. Too many memories, and questions.
The question that was uppermost in his mind was whether or not he should tell Rachel the truth. Or to be more accurate, when? She'd have to know one day, that was unavoidable.
It would simplify things if she knew, and avoid the kind of slip he'd made the other day when he described that darned gown before she'd even bought it. Idiot. Luckily he'd gotten away with it, but would he always? Or would he for ever have to be on his guard?
On the other hand, he still had one more connection to make and that gave him a massive head-ache. If he didn't tell her, she'd be distraught. If he did, but something went wrong with the final connection, she'd be equally distraught. A no-win situation.
Ah well. He didn't have to decide right now. It could wait. He really must get going and collect that photo. And he had to contact the woman who had won that goddamned auction for a dinner date. Why had he ever agreed? What had Rachel gotten him into now?