When the first message came I had no inkling of the chain of events it would unleash. It seemed innocuous enough. Someone having fun at my expense. It could have been anyone capable of remotely hijacking a laptop.
Let’s start at the beginning.
Work had turned from a tiring grind to a raging torrent. A task list once under control now extended onto a second page. And everything was urgent. One of the emails that appeared in my inbox that afternoon was titled ‘more than critical’. I’m not sure there is a word for that.
In short, I was overwhelmed. The only remedy was to pull a second shift at the small circular table in the kitchen of my flat. I flicked open my laptop and went to piss out the sickly lemonade that came in the meal deal at the Chinese place on the corner.
Relieved of my burden, I sat at the screen. Strangely, word was already open. I had only turned the laptop on, I hadn’t started any programs. Stranger still there was a sentence at the top of the document, which I had not written. It said:
-Can you read this?
I looked around my cramped studio apartment. No one else should be here. Over by the tiny couch and the far too big for the room television, it was dark. I went to the bedroom and flicked on the lights. I even looked under the bed.
Back at the computer the cursor blinked away beside the question mark. I wrote back:
-Yes
A few seconds ticked by and I minimised the document. Enough of that. I had work to do. I opened my emails and a couple of fresh ones appeared in bold at the top. Great.
The square icon in the bottom toolbar flashed orange. I clicked open the word document. Another line of text.
-We can’t believe this worked. Is your name Paul?
-Who is this?
-Is your name Paul? We need to verify your identity.
-How are you doing this?
-Please confirm you are Paul.
My index finger tapped on the table. I didn’t have time for games.
-Yes, I am Paul. Congratulations. I have work to do.
I moved the cursor to the ‘x’ in the top right corner. The next line of text popped up before I could click.
-You have work to do, only not what you think.
-Who is this?
-You can call me Liam.
-What do you want Liam?
-Your help.
I frowned at the screen. I didn’t know how to respond. Surely this was some sort of wind-up. And a waste of my time.
-Will you help us Paul?
-To be honest I don’t have the time. I’m sorry. Find someone else.
-You are the one.
I pictured Keanu Reeves swallowing the red pill and scoffed.
-You have the wrong person.
-Paul Chambers, 24 years old and living alone in flat 2A in 2022.
-Who are you Liam? And where are you?
-The same place as you. The important question is when I am.
-I don’t understand.
-I am in flat 2A. But the year is 2096.
-We’re done.
-They told me you would be incredulous.
-Incredulous?
-My modern English dictionary says this word was still in use. It means disbelieving.
-I know what it means.
-We understand your incredulity. We will prove it to you. Tomorrow a dark-blue Mazda will collide with a traffic light outside your office. The time will be 3:21p.m. The driver’s name will be Leslie Marks.
-What is this about?
-A chain of events will be set in motion three days from now. Our task is to alter those events. Watch for the Mazda. We can talk at the same time tomorrow.
I saved the file and closed it and went back to my emails. But I couldn’t focus. I opened a blank document and watched the cursor blinking away. No words appeared. I played the conversation over again in my head. Should I have asked more questions or answered differently? Liam mentioned a ‘we’ and never told me who that was.
I went to bed without doing any work. I tossed and turned in the dark. My thoughts turned to work and all the tasks I had ahead the following day. There could be two of me and I wouldn’t get it all done.
I slept a few fitful hours and rode the bus with my head against the window and my eyes closed.
The bus stop is a block away from the office. On the walk I passed by the traffic light at the intersection. The site of Liam’s prophecy. A dark-blue Mazda will crash here at 3:21p.m. I pushed a lung-full of air out my nostrils and went inside.
Counter-intuitively, fatigue sometimes makes it easier to work. This was one of those days. My fingers clacked on the keyboard with sustained ferocity. I was so engrossed that lunch went by without the barest of thoughts of eating.
I scribbled some notes and returned my eyes to the screen. I blinked hard, my tired eyes struggling to read the small font. I looked out to the far wall to reset my focus. Phil and Anya stood together looking out the window. Steven joined them. I checked the time. 3:21p.m. Surely not?
I didn’t go to the window right away. If I didn’t look, then it didn’t happen. I swivelled in my chair and went back to my emails. A few more people joined what was now a crowd at the window.
My fingers thrummed on the desk. I had to see. I didn’t go to the window, I went to the lift and down to the street.
A bigger crowd jostled on the footpath to get a look. The pole supporting the traffic light bent at a near 45 degree incline. It takes some sort of impact to do that. I could only see the back of the car. The body was dark-blue. The insignia on the back was that of a Mazda.
I moved closer. Small chunks of shattered glass littered the street. The sirens of ambulances blared and echoed off the tall glass buildings. The smell of spilled fuel and something else I couldn’t place.
A big man in a red shirt pushed out through the throng of people, his face all screwed up. I made eye contact and he shook his head at me. You don’t want to see that.
From nowhere a police officer wearing a vest pushed me back with an open palm. He shouted at the crowd to disperse and give room for the paramedics. I pedalled backwards with the crowd. I lifted my chin and caught a glimpse of a pair of unmoving legs. The paramedics bent down and obscured the victim.
I went back upstairs and sat at my desk. Half the office now looked out from the windows. I opened the website for the local news and refreshed every five seconds for a full ten minutes until a headline appeared. Fatal Crash in City Centre. An hour later they updated the story with the victim’s name. Leslie Marks. I felt sick.
I spent the rest of the afternoon marking time. I dared not do the thing I most wanted – open the word document recording my conversation with Liam. How could he have known? It wasn’t possible. I needed answers.
I followed the same routine as the night before to the letter. I left work at the same time, ordered the same meal deal at the Chinese place, and flicked open my laptop on the kitchen table at the same time. If there was some magic to this, I wanted to give it the best chance to strike twice.
In the bathroom things didn’t go to plan. The lemonade was there to piss out, but my mind was so distracted that my bladder refused to cooperate. Not now. Eventually I deposited and a giddiness had me jogging the few paces back to the kitchen table.
Word was open. And there was a message.
-Are you there Paul?
-Yes.
-Did you see Leslie and his Mazda?
-Yes.
-Good. We hope you will be more receptive.
-How are you doing this?
-The specifics are complicated and unimportant. What is important is your task. Are you ready?
-Yes.
-Your apartment complex contains 12 units. You occupy 2A. There is a man living on the floor below you in 1A. His name is Brad. Do you know him?
-Not well. I say hello when I see him.
-In two days Brad will murder a woman named Eva. Her death will trigger events still impacting our time. Our hope is to save her.
-What do you want me to do?
-You must kill Brad.
The air left my lungs. If this was a joke it had gone too far. My fingers trembled over the keyboard. How could I respond to that?
-?
-We know we are asking a lot of you Paul. This is the only way.
-Go to the police.
-Brad has done nothing yet. The police will not arrest him.
-How do I know you are telling the truth?
-Leslie Marks.
-I need more.
-Our information is that Brad planned for months. He already has the gun. He keeps it in a drawer beside his bed. He rests it on a sheet of paper and on the paper he has written the name of his victim. Eva. He believes it will bring his plan to fruition.
-I can’t confirm any of that.
-Yes you can. Go to Brad’s flat and see for yourself.
-I don’t have a key.
-Knock on the door. Invent a premise to go inside. Then you can confirm.
-The police can do this?
-Full disclosure Paul. We have tried to prevent the death of Eva three times and have failed three times. In our time she stays murdered. You are our last hope.
-I can’t do it.
-You can. Start by going to Brad’s apartment.
-Now?
-Yes. Now. We will wait for your return.
The dumplings churned in my stomach. Could I do what they asked? No, it was too dangerous. Let’s assume Brad is who they say. Then he is deranged. Soon to be a murderer. And I am supposed to go into his apartment alone to verify he has the very weapon he will use to carry out the deed?
But then, if Liam is correct, Eva is in danger and her death will have ramifications for decades to come. And I could save her. He had been correct about Leslie.
I shivered against the cool night air. My legs worked down the stairs as if on autopilot. Like someone else was at the controls.
I paused for a beat in front of Brad’s door. I knocked. Silence. My upper body turned to start a retreat. And then footfalls from inside. The door inched open. A sliver of pale skin and curly black hair flashed in the gap, and then the door eased open.
Brad’s lips parted and closed and then opened again. “Paul, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What can I do for you?” He made room in the doorway as if already expecting to let me in.
I hadn’t thought this far ahead. Invent a premise Liam said. My mind raced. “Sorry to be that guy, but my toilet is clogged. I can’t get a plumber until tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he said without hesitation.
The layout of his flat was the same as mine. The difference being that he had an eye for interior decoration that I lacked. Coloured cushions and a throw rug brightened the couch and frameless prints hung on the walls. Being inside was surreal and off-putting.
“Through here?” I said. “Sorry again.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I left Brad behind in the living room. The bathroom and bedroom doors stand opposite each other. I opened and closed the bathroom door without going in and pushed open the bedroom door.
The dark room smelled of deodorant. I made straight for the set of drawers beside the bed. The top drawer was stuffed full with socks. The middle slid open with a jolt and a heavy object clunked against the front. A gun. Holy shit. It sat on a piece of paper, just as Liam had said. I squinted to read in the dark.
The light flicked on. The word ‘Eva’ flashed in my vision before I jerked my head around like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I slammed shut the drawer.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I got lost. I used the wrong door.”
“You got lost in an apartment with the exact same layout as yours?”
I stammered some gibberish.
“You should leave,” he said.
I pushed past Brad and raced for the front door. I took the stairs to the second floor three at a time and almost tripped.
My hands shook as I typed.
-He has the gun. And it sits on a piece of paper with the name Eva on it.
-Do you believe us now?
I did. I couldn’t come up with any other rational explanation.
-Yes. What do I do now?
-You have to stop Brad.
-I can’t. How would I even do it?
Three loud thumps at the door.
-We can help you Paul.
-I think he’s here.
-What?
“Open up Paul.”
-Brad. He’s at my door.
-What?
-What do I do?
The window beside the door rattled and jerked up and then slid open. Brad stepped inside.
“Mine doesn’t close properly either.”
-Paul, what is happening?
-He’s inside.
-This isn’t how it is supposed to happen.
“What are you typing?”
“Nothing.”
I raised my hands and stood and took a step away from the table. Brad took three full and exaggerated steps and raised the gun. He trained the barrel on my temple. I dropped to my knees.
“Please don’t,” I said, my words coming out in sobs.
“I have to. This is bigger than you or me. This is important.”
“I won’t do anything I promise. You can kill her if you want. I won’t stop you.”
“Kill who?”
“Eva.”
“No. You’re the one who is going to kill Eva. I have to stop you.” Brad pressed the gun against my head. It shook in his hand.
“What?” I said, “They told me you were going to kill Eva.”
“I don’t know Eva.”
Brad’s eyes shifted to my laptop screen.
“Were you typing to someone?” he said.
“What is happening?”
Brad put the gun back to my head. I whimpered and shook. I brought my hands up to my face. I waited for the crack and darkness. I wondered if I would even hear it or if the bullet would do its work faster than it would take for the sound to register in my brain.
“They told me I have to,” Brad said. “But I can’t kill another person. I won’t.”
I heard hurried footsteps and then the lock on my door clicked. I opened my eyes. The door swung shut. I hyperventilated. My heart raced. And then a loud pop.
I jumped to my feet. I ran to the door and then to the stairwell. Brad lay at the bottom, his feet propped up on the final step but the rest lying flat on the ground. The gun was still clasped in his right hand. Blood and brains mingled with his mat of curly black hair.
My neighbour in 2B, a small woman with her hair perpetually in a pony-tail, opened her door, phone to her ear. She came and stood beside me. The words she spoke barely registered. She had called the police.
“He killed himself?” she said.
I nodded. I went back inside and to the laptop. There wasn’t anything else. The cursor blinked next to the last message received: This isn’t how it is supposed to happen. I closed the document and turned off the laptop. Sirens sounded in the distance.
The police interviewed us all. My neighbour saw Brad come out alone and descend the stairs before she heard the pop. Only then did I appear. That confirmed in the minds of the police that it had been suicide.
I told the police that Brad had broken in with the gun. He had a crazy look in his eyes. That bit was true. I didn’t tell them I had been in his apartment. I didn’t tell them about the messages from Liam.
I have been working this over in my head. If what Liam said is true, Eva is to die tonight. They told me Brad would do it. Someone told Brad I would do it. I can only assume it was the same person.
I don’t know any Eva. I have no plans to kill anyone. Maybe it has already been averted. This could be why I haven’t heard from Liam. Or it could be that there is something about to happen that will turn my life, and the lives of others for generations to come, on its head. And it is somehow my fault. The thought is terrifying.
Another thought occurred to me. If I grant that Liam told the truth, and hell – how else could he have known about the blue Mazda and Leslie Marks – he could have been playing a game. Find a way to talk to people in the past and use it to fuck with them. See if you can get one to kill another for the fun of it. But if that is true, then wouldn’t it risk their very existence? Butterfly effect and all that. So, if this scenario has any merit, then Liam must know that anything I do has so little bearing on the future to render my actions, whatever they might be, inconsequential. That’s a little humbling.
I don’t know which scenario is worse.