“I do have one more quick test to run,” Amhurst said slowly, like he was thinking about something else. “I need to check the surviving rat’s exposure.”
He opened a nearby drawer and pulled out something Blake didn’t recognize.
“What is that?”
“It’s a Geiger counter. I’m curious if White was dosed with radiation. This will measure the RADS.”
He aimed the gadget at the container and powered it on. Static bursts and popping noises came from the device in Amhurst’s hand. “Hmmm … it appears our little guy was exposed.”
“What does that mean?” Blake asked.
“It is low emission, but death will be inevitable.”
“Imminent death?”
“For this fella, a month or so maybe. For a human, a while longer I suppose.”
“Well we don’t want that, do we?” Blake edged around the table to get a look at the readings that he had a feeling he wouldn’t understand.
“Whoa!” Amhurst blurted out, startling Blake. “That’s odd.”
“What? What’s odd?”
The doctor blinked in confusion. “It stopped. It just stopped. The radiation stopped emitting.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure.” Puzzlement crossed Amhurst’s face, and he checked the handheld device again. “It’s almost like White was irradiated and then magically there was nothing.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
Amhurst faced him, frowning. The erratic fizzle and popping sounded again.
Blake froze. Amhurst gaped. They both looked down at the Geiger counter.
It was pointed directly at Blake.
47 The Strongest Guard
December 1, 1948, 11:29 AM
Blake was the first to speak after recovering from the shock of their new discovery. “We can’t tell Tobias. This puts a whole new spin on the situation.”
“I believe he has a right to know he is going to die.”
Blake glanced at the stairway and lowered his voice. “Screw that. So am I, but think about what happens if we let someone know their own future. It’s bad enough I’ve had a glimpse of mine, trying to make sure things stay together, and treating each day like a house of cards about to collapse.”
“That was the whole point in using time travel – to change things for the better.”
“For the better?” Blake scoffed. “Don’t you see the ramifications of this? Small changes now make for huge differences in the future. Look at Tobias. Look at me. The contrasts between us are stark. It’s mind boggling enough that both of us are putzing around here. What happens when there are three of us in 1986?”
The doctor crossed his arms, bringing a skeletal hand to his face as he mulled over the situation.
Blake couldn’t resist the opening granted in this moment of silence. “Think about the timeline, timestream, or whatever you want to call it. It’ll get more mucked up and convoluted the longer this goes on. I admit, this seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it’s become nightmarish.”
Amhurst gawked at him. “Are you suggesting we kill Tobias to ensure he no longer mucks with your history?”
“Geezus no!” Blake said, horrified. Then, unbidden, the thought fluttered into his mind as if it were a viable option. What would happen if he killed Tobias, here and now? It wasn’t really murder was it, if you killed a version of yourself? Could it be possible – if such a thing as souls existed – that Tobias and Blake, despite being the same person, actually possessed different souls? And if one believed in God, would it not then be murder to kill a soul?
Or would it?
This line of thought woke something deep inside of him, an internal earthquake shaking his foundation, and he flushed red at the thought of the unknown Judgment Day, and what may come.
The repercussions of such an action as killing his double stirred like a dream coming to life. If he ended Tobias’s life here, then in the future, Ethan wouldn’t become the person he was today. He would still eventually become Tobias Version 1.0, the meek little man upstairs. Just like Amhurst said.
Sure, he could play the part of Tobias and step in to prevent the plane crash death of their parents, but the fact remained that mentally, he wasn’t Tobias. Perhaps he wouldn’t say the right things at exactly the right time and those events would still fly off course.
Unless it had already been that way before, and that he himself was the one that had undone everything – that here and now is when and where he created a new string. Blake slapped his hand against his face. It was impossible to get a grasp on the whole concept of time being unchangeable. And yet not.
Blake spoke his next thoughts aloud for Dr. Amhurst. “If we kill him, then he changes nothing regarding our parents – my parents – in the plane crash. A loop continues with his upbringing alone, and no uncle to help him through life. Then someday, Ben Wallace comes along and sends him back here on a fool’s errand as a test subject, and in the end, the Sons of Stalin still exist.”
“What do we do then?”
Blake felt like he was in the hot seat. Amhurst may carry the bulk of the blame for what had happened so far, but now the rest depended on what Blake decided was right. The reality of this responsibility shift stalled his brain.
“We could –” Amhurst began.
Blake threw up a finger to shush him. “I’m thinking.”
The doctor pressed his lips together and fidgeted with a piece of equipment while he waited.
Blake tuned out the background noise as he debated his options. Then he had an idea. “Okay, we need to send him back. The watch works with the changes you’ve made; we can iron out the little kinks. We let him save them from the plane crash.”
“And the car crash too?” Amhurst asked.
Blake swallowed over the pain that question brought. Saving his mother and father had been the guiding force that put him in this very spot, across time and the world to stop Gernot – and now he was abandoning them.
Yet he knew that if he allowed that change, he wouldn’t know what his future held and where his newly shaped life would take him. The only thing he was sure of was what would be waiting for him when he returned if he allowed Tobias to stop his parents from boarding the plane.
His throat tightened, refusing to let him release the words, then he found his voice. “No. I can’t risk that, but perhaps there is something else I can do.”
“Which is?”
“As things stand now, it’s a given that both Tobias and I succumb to this radiation poisoning,” Blake said. “But there might be a possibility I can end this whole time travel incident. I need to change 1986 by stopping my future self from ever going back. At least this way, one of us can live.”
“You’re forgetting the Russians. You said they eventually come back in the future to here. How do you stop that?”
“I’ll have to figure that part out later.”
Amhurst seemed satisfied with that answer, but a look of uncertainty remained. He said, “Still, we have another unanswered question.”
“What question?”
“If the readings on the Geiger counter are true, why is it that you show no signs of radiation sickness?”
Blake shrugged. He knew nothing about radiation sickness, other than what he’d been taught to fear as a child from history class lessons on Japan, and that horrid television movie that had aired a few years ago. Well, technically it hadn’t aired yet. “Perhaps I’m some kind of anomaly? That would explain why Tobias is doing well also. Maybe Wallace chose us because we’re special?”
The doctor wheezed out a chuff of laughter. “No disrespect, but you are not special.”
“Gee, thanks,” Blake said.
Amhurst shrugged. “Don’t take it personally. Exposure is exposure and it doesn’t matter who you are. You would need to take some form of medication to keep the sickness at bay and even then it would only be temporary. To even consider -”
Blake’s hand flew up, cutti
ng off the other man’s words again. Two floors above in his room, inside the confines of his duffel bag, several pill bottles held the answer to Amhurst’s question. Blake felt his blood pressure rise with hot anger as the truth dawned.
Enzymes, my ass! Those pills weren’t for digesting food from a decade Blake wasn’t accustomed to. Wallace, the slimy bastard, had snowed him good.
This mission had been suicide from the start.
48 Locked Up
August 10, 1949, 2:16 PM
“Checkmate,” Tobias said, grinning.
Blake looked down at the situation on the chessboard and scowled. He sat back, pulling his coffee cup toward him and weighed his options. Yep, he was screwed. Damn, he hated this game. It didn’t help that Tobias beat him most of the time. But he wasn’t about to admit defeat yet, so he took a sip of coffee and pretended to be contemplating his next move.
Time had been sliding by at a snail’s pace since Blake situated himself at Amhurst’s. Days had melted to weeks and weeks bled into months as the doctor worked on refining the process. He’d spent most hours of the day downstairs while Tobias and Blake kept themselves sequestered inside his house, away from the world as best they could.
Amhurst did most of his work alone, as Blake and Tobias were more of a hindrance than actual help at this stage. Every so often he requested their assistance for some menial task, but sitting opposite Tobias had become Blake’s routine. Meanwhile, Amhurst worked through the night on reserves of energy that made Blake feel like a wimp in comparison.
Blake didn’t like that feeling. It reminded him too much of Tobias. He comforted himself with the reminder that he wasn’t cut out for sit-down work, hashing out complex algorithms in his mind, or hunched over microscopes. He needed to be out and about detecting, and he hadn’t done any of that lately.
Being cooped up in this house, reduced to playing games of chess, checkers, and Nine Men’s Morris with his twin on a daily basis hadn’t helped lessen his irritation at the whole situation. Blake wasn’t fond of such pastimes in the first place. Getting roundly beaten by someone like Tobias, and seeing the glow of pride on the other man’s face at each pronouncement of ‘checkmate’ or cornering Blake’s final checker into surrender, scraped on his nerves like fingers down a chalkboard.
Even after the months they’d spent together, Blake hadn’t adjusted to the knowledge that this guy was someone he’d looked up to as a young man. The discrepancy between what he remembered and what he saw now made him feel antagonistic most of the time; he’d been bossing his twin around like he was Blake’s own personal butler – mostly because he knew he could.
That Tobias was able to kick Blake’s butt soundly in the form of mental acrobatics during moments like this made Blake determined to master the complexities of each game, just so he could pulverize his double during these confrontations. He’d even managed to almost win a round or two. Tobias was no dummy, Blake had surmised reluctantly; his deficiency was in the area of kick-assery, where Blake excelled.
He snuck a peek at his twin. Tobias’s face had grown serious.
“What is it?” Blake asked.
“There’s something that still bothers me.” Tobias gazed at the chessboard but didn’t say anything more.
Blake prodded, “And that is?”
Tobias met his eyes. “How did our parents end up with different names? I can’t figure that out.”
Blake frowned. “I assume you somehow manage to convince them to change their name. You know, for protection. Or whatever. I don’t know how you do it, but clearly you figure something out.”
The light that dawned in Tobias’s eyes went through Blake like a jolt. He’d just handed Tobias an opening to set that particular piece in motion … yet another part of the puzzle that he seemed intent on putting together himself. Whether he knew it or not.
Feeling suddenly sick, Blake set aside the coffee and absently rubbed his other arm as he scrutinized the game pieces arranged strategically throughout the board.
Tobias frowned at him. “Is it bothering you?”
“What?”
“Your arm.”
Blake looked down at himself. God, he missed his arm. He never realized how much he’d taken his body for granted until he lost part of it. He didn’t like the initial dependency it had created for him, or that it had played havoc with his center of gravity – and the phantom sensations drove him nuts. He’d never noticed these particulars at first, when he was running on those pure adrenaline injections.
It was in the days that followed when the infection had taken hold and sapped a lot from him. He’d been bedridden for a few days early on. It happened shortly after discovering that he and Tobias were dead men walking. Perhaps that had been the final straw, or he’d just over-extended himself so soon after losing the arm – chasing Wallace down the streets, hauling Tobias in from the train station. Whatever the cause, he was knocked flat for close to a month.
Amhurst had been too busy to provide consistent care, so that had fallen to Blake’s double. Maybe in another life, Tobias should have been a nurse. He’d faithfully administered antibiotics and other medicines while Blake was incapacitated, regularly cleaned his wound, and then, when the infection passed, had wrapped Blake’s limb with an elastic-type of material that was supposed to help with the swelling. Tobias had even changed the linens when Blake was too weak to use the restroom.
These memories pricked at Blake’s conscience; sometimes he felt bad for treating Tobias like crap these past few months. He really was a dick sometimes, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself; another byproduct of their different lives growing up?
Blake came back into the moment and said, “Nah, I’m good. Alright, fine – you win.” He pushed the chessboard away, signaling an end to game time and rose from the table, pulling some objects out of his pocket that he’d been working on before the match began.
Tobias was reaching for the newspaper and his own coffee – a beverage they shared equal affection for – when Amhurst trudged up the stairs, entering the kitchen like a wraith.
For a moment, the old man’s appearance shocked them. Blake realized it had been days since he’d actually seen the doctor. Amhurst seemed to have aged years since then, his exhaustion almost palpable.
“It’s done,” the doctor said with a voice so faint that it almost wasn’t heard.
Blake slid the items back into his pocket. He’d started working on them several days before. It had been a difficult task with only the use of one hand, but he wasn’t about to ask Tobias for help.
Tobias set aside the newspaper and stood as well. He seemed cheerful with the news Amhurst brought, even though for him home wouldn’t be the place he’d left from; it would be 1960. He still had to save their parents from the Syracuse plane crash.
Tobias’s happy disposition struck a chord of resentment in Blake. He envied the man’s cluelessness and wished he didn’t know they were both dying.
“Great,” Tobias said, pulling his pants up and tucking in his shirt. “When do we get started?”
Amhurst slogged over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup before answering. “I’ll prep the room and move the machine; we won’t be needing it.” Then he headed slowly back down the stairs.
“Go get your things together,” Blake said to Tobias. “I want this to be quick.”
As Tobias started to leave the room, Blake was hit with a sudden, horrifying thought: would Tobias have the final laugh in the future and subjugate the teenage version of himself to similar treatment Blake had meted out these past few weeks? He had a vision of Tobias ordering him around to clean that enormous house and torturing him on a daily basis.
For some reason, this struck him as funny and Blake chuckled softly at the alternate future that could play out, then he caught himself and sobered. What if – geez, what if that is exactly what happens? Those small changes in his upbringing could alter the man he was to become, and he’d been too stupid to even think about such
a consequence.
“What’s funny?” Tobias asked, turning to face him.
“Nothing. I’m just looking forward to getting home.”
“I know we decided we shouldn’t discuss too much of our lives with each other, but when exactly is home for you?”
It was odd that Tobias was broaching this conversation now, after all that had happened. Something stirred in Blake’s chest – regret, possibly? – as he realized how much time he’d wasted acting acting like an ass when he should have been making an effort to get closer to his other self.
He forced a smile. “Well, I miss everything from the 80s,” he said.
That much was true. He missed his normal clothing, watching movies at the local theaters, good times with Art … hell, he just plain missed being Ethan. The Blake façade had worn out its welcome and he wanted things back the way they’d been. Yet even when he returned to 1986, things would not just slide back together. He wouldn’t be able to pick up where he left off unless he arrived right after he’d been sent, and since he was dying that was out of the question. No, he’d never be Ethan again. When he got back to 1986, that version of himself would still be a detective living in an upscale apartment. All of his possessions would belong to that Ethan, not him.
“So for me,” he continued, “it’ll be 1986. I left on April twenty-fifth of that year. To make sure I don’t create any problems for myself, I’ll have Amhurst send me back to the day after that – April twenty-sixth. I’ll have to catch up to Wallace and make sure we stop the Russians.”
This was mostly a complete lie, but Blake couldn’t risk letting Tobias know his true plans.
His twin said nothing, just watched him with solemn eyes. Blake could only wonder how the man felt. Tobias wouldn’t be able to pick up where his life left off either, but then again, he’d decided to travel back because he hadn’t liked where his life was going to begin with.