Brink by Mikel Parry

CH – REBEL

Slamming into the floor, a literal wave blasted his every sense. The smells, the sights, the feel; it was all there, just as he remembered it. Every acute detail accounted for—everything in its place—nothing had changed. Pulling himself up off the ground, he looked around the room quickly, his mind ablaze, his heart racing.

It was him, the old him, at an angle he could have never imagined. He was literally staring at himself, what seemed like ages ago. And there she was. Her eyes filled with light, her elated smile enticing him into a sense of glee he had long forgotten. His heart skipped a beat. Looking at the Thomas that was frozen in time, he could see the ring, the exotic ensemble of flowers, and his stupid hat. He had worked so hard to be normal at that point. To sweep Jen off her feet and never let her go. She had said yes, the most affirming answer he had ever received from anyone. It was pure, delightful, and good. Tears filled his eyes. The flood gates had been opened. Allowing himself to drift into the currents of his roaring emotions, he bit his lip and cried. It was both horrible and beautiful to be able to see her again. Why had the fates been so cruel?

He paced around the room before taking his place next to himself, kneeling and smiling ear-to-ear. Only he wasn’t smiling; everything had changed. He was tainted, torn, and broken. The contrast was remarkable. The simple times in his life were long gone. The suffocating nostalgia of his broken past was too much to bear. His heart grieved his loss. Standing up slowly, he stumbled to Jen’s side. He brushed his fingers against her delicate skin. Its suppleness was denied by the powers of time, locking it in place like cement. And yet it was still there, the perfect memory. Unable to resist, he kissed her gently. Her face remained unchanged. She would never know he had been there. She’d never know that on the same day his heart had nearly exploded with joy, it had also nearly collapsed with sorrow. Such a warped twist of fate; such a painful moment.

Screw it. Screw all of it.

Looking back down at his watch, another date and time came to the forefront of his mind. This date and time brought in a harrowing reality that he wasn’t sure he could face. But he had to. He had to try. He didn’t care what they had told him about the rules of time, the rules of brink. This was beyond that. He had never done it before, but had witnessed it firsthand. He was going to glimpse to another moment in time, just minutes from the one he was dwelling in now.

I’ve got to try.

Plugging the data into the watch, he pressed into the tornado of light. He watched with tears in his eyes as the love of his life was rapidly shredded apart. Within the blink of an eye, he was back again. The glimpse was largely anti-climactic. He was in the same room. But so much had changed. His heart plummeted into the bowels of despair he harbored within. Could he relive this moment?

Not this time. I’ll stop it, I swear.

Looking around, it was as it had always been; the greatest tragedy of his life. There stood the man, gun pointed, bullet fired. Just ahead of him was the frozen image of himself, begging the soon-to-be killer to stop. Behind them, Jena cowered. Her eyes were filled with terror. Their perfect moment, ravaged.

I’m here, baby.

And there it was—the embodiment of what had become the end of his fairy tale—the bullet. It was suspended in air on route to its final destination, Jena’s chest, his frozen-in-time self mere inches outside of its path. He approached the bullet and frowned. How could something so small wrench apart a life, leaving unhealable gashes behind? It was beyond him. Had his body been just a step to the right, he would have been the one struck, rather than Jena. The thought of this pained him. He felt like a coward. Why hadn’t he done more? What hadn’t he stopped it?

Unwilling to fight the urge, he reached out and grasped the small bullet between two fingers. Its place in time nailed it firmly to its course. Suddenly, the fire that had been boiling in his veins erupted in a scream filled with anguish. His fingers pressed tightly around the bullet, he pulled on it with every fiber of his being. Yanking and contorting his body, he tried again and again to veer the bullet off course, even if ever so slightly. With each effort, his soul shriveled up just a bit more. It wouldn’t budge. Despite his most valiant efforts, the change was too drastic. Jena’s timeline had ended. For a moment, he thought about trying to change a few minor things in her past. Perhaps he could play the killer’s game of chess and somehow salvage the situation. But somehow he knew, deep down inside, that the justice of time had to be met when it came to death. There was no greater sacrifice or loss than one’s life, whether given or taken. The unchangeable event would not be robbed of the soul it had claimed that day. The past could not be changed.

Thomas collapsed to his knees, defeated. He had expended every ounce of energy he had in his vain effort. Tears streamed down his face. He hated it; all of it. He wished he had never opened this door. Why couldn’t he change the past? Why did she have to die? He put his head in his hands and let loose. He knew that his time would soon be up. Jo would trace the event and warn the team. Their foolish oversight ultimately made him a vigilante on the run; a vigilante running from a secret organization that he now felt was teeming with evil.

I’ll find a way, I swear it.

Unwilling to get back to his feet, he looked at the man carrying the gun. He knew the face well now. It had lived on in his nightmares. The strung out junkie who had no name, no real purpose. Someone looking to score his next fix by stealing an expensive ring. The ring had meant nothing to him. But to Thomas, it had meant everything. Walking up to the man, he looked him straight in the eyes. Panic, anger, and confusion were the emotions that dwelled there. A man who obviously wasn’t completely sure he had just done what he had just done. Behind that was the emptiness of failure. The sick, sour taste of defeat.

When the lights flashed and the room began to unravel, he felt himself lose something—hope. Was it all really worth it? Did it even matter without her? An acute ripple of pain ran through him as he was rapidly ripped away, back to his present world. He collapsed with a thud against the concrete ground in the alley. A wave of energy swept up some of the discarded garbage and then dumped it in all directions. He felt sick. Unable to fight the urge, he ran directly to the nearest garbage can and puked. Even though the sensation that glimpsing brought him was more manageable now, mixed with his intimate visit to one of the most painful moments in his life proved too much for him. As he finished heaving his insides out, he wiped away the remnants from his mouth and stood up. He saw the homeless man he’d run in to before gazing back at him blankly.

“You aliens stay away from me. I ain’t caused no trouble.”

Thomas shook his head. The world was still fuzzy. An evil smile crept over his face. He was imagining the sheer panic he must be causing in Roslin’s organization. He could practically hear Jo’s educated banter streaming like a broken record. For some strange reason that was even beyond his understanding, he actually missed it. Perhaps his time with them had somehow sprouted roots in him, like a fungus. He threw the sentiment away. There was more he needed to get done. But now he was up against what seemed to be insurmountable odds. How could he dig up the past of a secret organization that had so painstakingly kept everything swept under the rug? What would he find?

The memory of the feel of Jena’s skin still lingered in his mind. He needed to remain focused. He couldn’t dilute himself any further. He was going to find the one answer that still stewed his cerebral juices; who was the woman on the mountain? What could she possibly have to do with everything? Perhaps it was time he took Barb’s advice.

Screw it.

If he couldn’t change the past, he could at least use it to his advantage. He’d be a ghost passing like a chill. No one would ever know he was there. The only problem was, where was there? How could he use his gift and technological windfall to his advantage? He’d have to remember it all, every moment he spent in the mysterious building. Every discussion he had ever had with anyone connected to the secret organization. Words could translate into clues. Little breadcrumbs ready to be followed.

It wasn’t clear, but opaque. The path to vindication was filled with obstacles. But it was all he had now. Perhaps he needed to retrace his steps. But there was something else; things had changed. What was once presented as an impossible anomaly had now occurred several times. He had shared his relative time and space in a glimpse with the killer, not by happenstance, but by design. If the murderous wit of a madman could figure it out, so could Jo and the organization. With each glimpse he’d be baiting them to try to catch him. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the killer could just as easily be lurking in the shadows. It was a web of malicious design. His actions would strum its fibers, alerting one monster or another. It was a game of tag with everything at stake.

Let’s do this. Come on, Tommy, let’s do it.

Thomas repeated his silent mantra over and over. He needed the courage to face whatever was going to happen. One date and time came slamming into the forefront of his mind. It felt like he had just left it. Pressing even further into the alley, he went over in his mind’s eye what he had already seen. The homeless man cowered as Thomas passed. He looked as if he was seeing a ghost. But aside from his mumblings and grumblings, he stood his ground. Thomas ignored him completely. He was intensely working his way through things. Passing a T-junction in the alleyway, he finally reached the pivotal end of his walking path. He stopped. He’d have to be quick. The glimpses would have to be expertly executed, one seamlessly transitioning into the other. If he was right, his time would have to be brief. The agents or even the killer could be waiting to pounce.

You can do this.

His heart thumped up and down as if prepping for a cardiac arrest. The tension was humming in his ears. Hovering his hand over his watch, he rehearsed the protocol. The watch prompted for the coordinates; he gave them. For a moment he was breathless. This would be the adventure of a lifetime. He would be a true renegade of time and space. As the maelstrom of light surrounded him, he knew that his time had come. Thomas Ghune was dead. Tommy Gun was who he needed to be now. A law breaking rebel who wasn’t going to stop until it was over. He clenched his teeth as the world disappeared. Waves of intense energy ushered in a true sense of his mortality. If he failed this time, he was as good as dead.