By Jay Nystrom
Marine Sergeant Clive Rothwell walked through the doors
of the small used bookstore, the two tarnished silver bells affixed above the
doors chimed as he entered. The smell of old and rotted paper wafted to his
nose, he took a deep breath and relished the familiar smell. For him nothing
struck that loving chord like the air found in libraries or bookstores, it was
like stepping back in time and knowing that the great writers and philosophers
both ancient and new had worked in such environments. He had walked through the
doors thousands of times, and just like the very first time nearly fourteen
years before he was greeted by the same aging Doctor. Over the years the Doctor
had gone from a distinguished and proud man to a silver haired shell, his pale
blue eyes glassy, father time himself seemed to have stood upon his stooped
shoulders. The Doctor feebly shook hands with Clive and waved him to the
sitting area, his old liver spotted hands shook at the effort of pouring two
cups of tea but he would never accept any offered help.
Clive added sugar to his cup and stirred the aromatic
liquid with a tiny spoon, he took a sip and enjoyed the smooth and sweet drink
as it traveled down his throat. “I’ve finally finished it you know,” said the
Doctor, his voice tinged with sadness, “after nearly all of my adult life spent
here I’ve finished it. It all seems quite anticlimactic to be honest, the rush
of discovery has long since lost it’s luster and sheen. I remember the
beginning, I don’t remember much at all anymore but I remember the beginning.”
The Doctor rose slowly from his chair, his old skin sagged on his skeletal
frame. He moved to a shelf filled with books, knickknacks, and curios, he
removed a golden pocket watch from it’s place.
He laid it on the table next to Clive, he pressed a
button on the side and the watch sprang open. The second hand ticked softly,
counting the minutes precisely. “This is the watch that my Great-Great
Grandfather carried with him as he crossed the Atlantic after leaving his home
in Belfast to come to America. After all these years it still keeps time just
as well as any of those fancy satellite connected smart phone can, hell maybe
even better so.” The Doctor opened the back panel to reveal the inner workings
of the timepiece, the gears spun and whirled in a beautiful blur of motion and
expert craftsmanship. “Each gear was hand cut and placed by an expert artisan
who trained for decades perfecting his craft,” continued the Doctor, “these are
not just a way to tell the time Sergeant Rothwell, these are priceless works of
art.”
“I’ve never seen you so sentimental before Doctor, in all
the years I’ve visited you here in this quaint bookstore I’ve never once heard
you talk about yourself. Why now?” The Doctor chuckled softly as he closed the
pocket watch with great care, “Like I said Sergeant, I’ve finally finished the
project. It will truly be the greatest thing I’ll never be known for, the curse
of working on secret government projects I guess. I don’t regret it for one
single second but I gave my entire adult life in this pursuit, my marriage
crumbled shortly after I took on this project twenty eight years ago. I didn’t
get to see my son grow up, I haven’t seen him in nearly twelve years and even
then it was just meeting a stranger who happened to carry my DNA. But that’s
the thing about life, you only get one shot, you don’t get to do it over.”
Clive agreed but this only elicited another chuckle from the Doctor.
“Oh Sergeant, that truly is grand, I know you come and
check in on me for your department. I hand you a file marked ’Top Secret’ and
you go along your way, sometimes with a book or two in hand. However, you do
your job like a good little soldier, never peek at the files, never bother to
ask what it is I do here. Well today that all changes, I’ll hand you your
precious little folder but you get the pleasure of being the first and quite
possibly the only person to see the fruit of my labors.” The Doctor got up and
beckoned Clive over to the door at the back of the little room. “That’s above
my pay grade Doctor,” said Clive, “I have no authorization to lay eyes upon
your project. I could report you for even suggesting it, hell I should report
you but after all these years I’ll let one slide.”
The Doctor seemed to ignore the warning from Clive, he
just beamed a huge smile, it looked as if his face had forgotten how to do it.
The Doctor inserted a key into the lock and turned it, he walked into the back
room without looking back towards the Sergeant. The door was left swaying as
the Doctor disappeared into the room, beyond the threshold of the frame Clive
could glimpse shining machinery that turned and ticked with tiny bursts of
steam emanating from tubes and gauges. Clive thought twice about following but
decided that maybe just this once he would let his curiosity get the better of
him, he lived his entire life listening to the orders of others. First his
father, then after his death his step father, football coach, and finally the
string of commanding officers of his military career. Clive stepped through the
door.
His eyes widened at the sight, gleaming brass turned and
twisted in knots. The machine was nearly twelve feet high and spanned the
entire width of the sixteen foot room, Lord knows how deep it went. The entire
thing shook with pressure and sputtered like an engine, the tubes wiggled back
and forth. Clive’s eyes traveled the tubing, he traced what seemed to be the
logical course but got lost in the labyrinth of piping. The Doctor was near a
control panel of some sort, he was pulling levers and tapping on the glass of
various needled gauges. He turned to Clive and was still grinning ear to ear. “Welcome,
United States Marine Corp Sergeant Clive Rothwell, today you witness history
all the while I rewrite it.” The Doctor walked over to a bookshelf, he grabbed
a book from the shelf. It looked old and worn, it’s pages yellowed, the cover
faded beyond recognition, and a well worn crease on it’s spine. He stepped onto
a small raised dais, “Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to push that green
button to your right.”
Clive walked over to the button, his hand hovered over it
for a moment, “One question Doctor,” The Doctor nodded his head, “what book is
that?” The Doctor’s smile grew even wider, his eyes sparkled with a fire that
the world hadn’t seen in decades. “H.G. Wells, The Time Machine, a personal
favorite.” Clive pushed the button and a light from below the dais illuminated
the Doctor, the machine quaked mightily causing steam to burst forth from
several pipes. The Doctor closed his eyes as the light brightened, then without
warning a blinding flash emitted from the machine. Clive covered his face for
protection, after realizing the machine had fallen silent he turned back and
opened his eyes. The Doctor was gone.
Epilogue
The tide ebbed and flowed gently turning the unconscious
half naked man on the sands. A lifeguard sprinted down the beach, his
footprints filled with water nearly as quickly as they formed. He slid down to
his knees and turned the young man to his back, the man looked no older then
fifteen, just a boy. The lifeguard gently lifted the chin with two fingers and
forced a breath into the boy’s lungs and compressed his chest firmly with his
palms. The boy coughed and spewed water, the lifeguard turned him to his side.
The boy looked up with surprise, “What year is it?” The lifeguard looked
puzzled, “What year sir?” The lifeguard shook his head, “It’s 1939 son,
December to be exact.”
The boy sat up, he flashed a huge grin, his pale blue eyes
sparkled.
End
