Acme Time Travel Incorporated - Volume 2

The offices of Bart, Smithson and Peters Associates

“It’s nearly that day,” Toby said.

“Never thought it would come around,” Willoughby replied.

“Old Jones hoped he was still going to be working here,” Toby said. “You know ... be the one to take them.”

“Yes ... shame that,” said Willoughby. “He was looking forward to it.”

“When was it?” Toby said.

“He died last year ... July I think it was,” said Willoughby.

Toby walked over to the company safe. A huge thing. Three tumblers plus a complex and intricate key.

He took the key from its hook on the wall and inserted it into the keyhole on the safe door.

He gave the tumblers a spin.

Willoughby watched him with keen interest. They did this every few months. Somebody from the firm had probably been doing it for the last few years, ever since the deposit had been made in 1968.

Toby tugged at the big safe door. It opened grudgingly on its huge hinges.

The nameplate on the door proudly proclaimed the name

ACME

written in big, bold, half-inch thick steel letters. The name was also inscribed in tiny script on the barrels of the hinges. A name to be mentioned proudly. It stood for safety, for security, for length of service.

Toby leaned into the safe and took out two packages that lay within.

Two identical packages. Both A4 sized. Both wrapped in sturdy brown parcel paper. Both neatly tied with strong twine and small tight knots. Both bearing blobs of what had probably once been bright red sealing gum; holding the twine together where it crossed over itself.

Toby handed one of the packages over to Willoughby. He handed it ceremonially.

Their client had paid a substantial sum of money for them to keep these packages safe ... to hand them over when the time came.

Toby had handed Willoughby the one marked ‘Ginny Peters, living in Clacton-on-Sea sometime in 2017 – about 20 years old’.

He retained the one labelled ‘Gabriel Jones, living in Clacton-on-Sea sometime in 2017 – about 20 years old’.

As they had both done before, and as old Jones had also done (maybe with a particular fondness on his part, since he had felt he was a sort of namesake to one of the parties), they both gently bent the packages, listening to the sounds they made.

“It’s some sort of a book,” Willoughby said.

“That’s what you said last time,” Toby said, smiling.

“It’s got to be,” said Willoughby. “Just listen to it. It sort of creaks, and there’s a crackly noise when you bend it. Sounds like some sort of leather-bound thing.”

Toby held his package up to his nose. He sniffed it gently. There was no discernible smell, other than the slightly musty smell from the paper and the old twine. Then again, the packages had been stored in the company safe for over fifty years. And they weren’t the only old things in there.

Willoughby handed his package back to Toby, who placed them both reverently back into the safe.

Toby closed the safe door. He always expected the door to make a thudding noise, but the door was so very heavy, the door-seal so very tight, so very precise.

It made a sort of low noise. It was almost like a gasp. As if the very air was acting like a cushion, and the closing door slowly pushed it out.

“Have we got their current addresses?” Toby asked.

“Of course,” Willoughby said. “They are both living in the same flat. It’s in Clacton-on-Sea. Up until recently they were sharing the flat with a girl called Elizabeth Mothwell-Barrett, but she moved out.”

“Maybe she thought they were needing more space,” Toby said. “Maybe she thought they were ‘nest building’,” he said, chuckling.

Toby remembered when his own son had moved in with some young woman. They had bought themselves a cat. Then they had bought another cat. And then, finally, they ...

“I wonder if our client knew that they would be living together,” Willoughby said.

“I don’t suppose that he could have been sure about that,” said Toby, “otherwise he would have sent them one package between them.”

“I suppose so,” said Willoughby. “But what it means is that it only needs one of us to deliver both the packages.”

Willoughby saw the look of disappointment on Toby’s face.

“Only joking,” said Willoughby. “Of course we’ll take one each. After all, it’s a bit of a ceremony, isn’t it?”