Brink by Mikel Parry

CH – LAUNDROMAT HEIST

Thomas woke up feeling completely fatigued. He had spent most of the night staring at the tiny piece of paper with the address on it. The memories of his past had plagued him like a cloud of locusts, suffocating him. And yet, now suddenly, there was something inside of him that wanted to fight. There was something that wanted to press onward even deeper into the unknown. Perhaps he truly had lost his mind. But there was one thing for sure; he knew it bothered him to no end. He was still alive. He knew without a shadow of doubt that he had plunged over the bridge’s edge. And yet, here he was, still breathing, lying comfortably in his bed. Obviously, there had to have been some tricks involved with that show. A show so perfectly sewn together that not so much as one loose thread could be tugged free by his analytic mind.

“What have I gotten myself into?” he mumbled.

Rolling out of bed, he looked across to his closet. His clothes and shoes were meticulously organized, everything sitting in pure conformity. The closet held so much worthless detail and yet he could recant it all like the alphabet. He needed to get his mind back under control. He needed a puzzle to solve. After getting dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror. The scruffy looking man staring back at him appeared to be foreign. It was as if he no longer even knew himself. He truly had slid down the metaphorical slippery-slope. Suddenly something in the closet caught his eye and blasted his heart with bolts of energy—his fedora hat. The bright red feather gleamed amongst the sea of proper attire.

I almost forgot you.

His eyes watered with the release of held-back memories that the hat wielded. His heart burned with ardent flames that had once been extinguished. His love was still as strong as ever for her. But she wasn’t coming back. Even if she wasn’t coming back, he didn’t want to let go, he couldn’t. Walking slowly up to the closet, he grabbed the hat tenderly. He ran his fingers over its suave surface. The last words she had spoken rang in his ears.

“Don’t you dare take it off,” he whispered quietly.

It seemed illogical, if not downright silly, to indulge in his nostalgia. But he didn’t care. The hat held more meaning for him now. He saw it as a symbol of devotion; a commitment that he had whole heartedly accepted but had been robbed of. Taking it down from the closet, he slid it on top of his matted hair. It fit perfectly, as it always had. Looking back in the mirror he saw someone different staring back. Maybe he could find his purpose again. Maybe he could still make her proud. But first he needed to clean up. If he was going to work, he needed all the familiar details taken care of. It seemed like ages since he had truly resembled his former self. But the hat seemed to empower him. It helped make him feel whole, and not so alone. He was ready to try and face the world he had left behind.

Tracking down the address was easy. The location was as innocuous as any, a laundromat. In fact, it was the location that bothered him the most. Why would someone so secretive want to meet at a laundromat? It made absolutely no sense. Then again, what did at this point? That didn’t matter, though; he was just looking for answers. Walking into the building, a few people gave him some very curious looks. His antiquated hat seemed to be driving the unwanted attention. But in the city where attention spans had the lifecycle of a spark, they were quick to dismiss it. Inside, there was the typically wide spectrum of people one would expect, all of whom were deeply involved with some sort of distraction. As far as he could tell, there was no sign of the man of mystery.

Great . . . this idiot’s a no-show. I should have known better.

Feeling frustrated, he took a seat near the back of the laundromat. He slumped heavily into his chair. He stared at the jostling mixture of clothes and bubbles. Round and round they went, over and over in an almost mesmerizing fashion. It felt strangely therapeutic to let his mind focus on the mundane activity.

“It’s a funny thing, a washing machine. You see the clothes start at one point, slosh around in a circle, and then come right back to the starting point again. Over and over they go until bam, the thing buzzes and you pop in another quarter.”

Thomas cringed. He knew that voice well. Peering out the very edge of his eye he could see him. The man was sitting in a chair, grinning smugly. It was apparent that he was enjoying himself and the game he was playing.

“You like being such a creep all the time?”

The man’s smile faded slightly.

“I see you’ve taken me up on my offer . . . had me a little worried back there on the bridge.”

“I’ve taken no offer. I’m just here trying to understand some things, that’s all.”

“Look, the only thing that I can tell you is that I’m willing to give you a fresh start. I’m willing to bring you in on something really special, something that would be for the greater good.”

“The greater good? You can’t be serious! You can drop the hyped-up semantics. All I want to know is, what happened to me back there? And what do you want from me? And let’s not forget a name. I’m tired of all this cloak and dagger stuff.”

The man looked up at Thomas’ hat. His cheeks rose up, squeezing his eyes together.

“That’s an interesting hat, Mr. Ghune. Can’t help but wonder what it means to you. The name’s Roslin—Roslin Tanner. And what happened to you back there is none of your business unless we move forward. I personally don’t want anything from you. But there are those that do. A skillset like yours is highly desirable in our line of work.”

Roslin’s eyes went back to following the tumbling laundry in the washer.

“There it goes again. Back to the same position; same place, but not the same time. At least not the same instance.”

Thomas blinked his eyes rapidly as he tried to process it all.

“What skillset are we talking about here? And can we please stop talking about laundry for just a second?”

Roslin rolled his eyes and glanced down at his watch.

“You think with all your attention to detail you could see what I’m trying to say here. But that’s fine. We have people for that. Detail, Mr. Ghune, that’s really what this is about. You have a certain affinity towards it—unlike anyone we’ve ever seen—you can gut open a crime scene in mere minutes when it would take a regular team months to do it. And in my line of work, time truly is of the essence.”

“So, you want me because I can find Waldo?”

“Who’s Waldo? Look, Mr. Ghune, this is where you take the plunge. You either take me up on the offer or we both just walk out of here never to see each other again.”

“You promise?” said Thomas sarcastically.

Roslin shook his head and got up. He turned and began walking away.

“Alright, alright, I’m game. But if I suspect one thing is out of line I’ll bail on this. Is that understood?”

Roslin backed up and dropped a bag of coins in his lap.

“Here . . . you’re going to need these.”

Without another word, Roslin was out the door and gone, leaving a bewildered Thomas behind with a large bag of coins. Did he want him to do his laundry or something? Why couldn’t something happen that made even a shred of logic? His meandering thoughts were disrupted by a sudden burst of commotion that poured in through the laundromat’s front doors.

“Freeze! Put your hands up in the air!”

Thomas panicked. His eyes darted around like a pinball trying to understand what was happening. A group of policemen were encroaching on him with their weapons at the ready. Each locked in on him with their eyes. Many of the onlookers let out a shriek of panic and ran out from the building, covering their heads.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Sir, put the bag down! We don’t want to hurt you!”

Thomas looked down at his lap and cringed. What a beautifully crafted prop. If he ever saw Roslin again he’d give him a piece of his mind he wouldn’t forget.

“Put the bag down and step away, sir! I won’t ask again!”

Not one to disagree with a lawfully armed mob, Thomas obeyed. He slithered out and away from the seat, letting the bag of coins plop into the seat. He put his hands instinctively up in the air. It was now more than ever that he wished he could pull his credentials out, and then blast them for such harassment. But those days were long gone now. His woeful pity had all but burnt that bridge to ash. Once his hands were up, the cops rushed in on him and plowed him to the floor, his face pressed like putty against its cold surface.

“Easy, buddy! I’m going peacefully!”

On came the handcuffs. They were adjusted tightly around his wrists. Then with a few quick pulls and tugs, they escorted him out of the laundromat into an awaiting car, leaving a completely shocked crowd of spectators behind.

Inside the car, a soft black bag was suddenly produced by one of the officers. Without asking, he placed it over Thomas’ head, shrouding his eyes completely.

“What’s this? Am I being kidnapped? What kind of cops are you?”

There was no answer. Then, with a slam of the door, they were moving. As they drove, Thomas’ brain was soaking in everything it could. The bag was soft and reeked of some sort of cheap fabric softener. Apart from that, there were details about the officers who appeared to be kidnapping him to consider. There was something off about it all. They had even forgotten to read him his rights, not like it mattered, anyway. As corrupt as the court system seemed to be, it never seemed to be that important. How many of his cases had been held stagnate by some self-righteous lawyer?

“Where are we going?”

Again the men in the car said nothing. It was becoming more obvious that this was no traditional arrest. He hadn’t been ready for something like this. These types of methods were bothersome. Impersonating an officer was a legal offense. Just who were these people? Who was he dealing with? As the car blazed down the road, he knew that his questioning would ultimately get him nowhere. He’d struck a deal with the devil and now had to live with the consequences. But if he was going to play their game, he at least wanted to know who was involved and why. Why all the pointless build up and secrecy? Well, he had his own game to play. His brilliant mind was already laying the pieces down. It had taken in enough beforehand to draw out a moving map in his head. All he had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride.

The car came to an abrupt stop, and with a whoosh of air, the door nearest to him came swinging open. Walls of muscle created by the escorting officers yanked him out of the car and removed the bag. He was left there to his own, in a dark alleyway between two large buildings. The only thing that appeared obviously placed in his path was a small set of stairs leading up to an unmarked door.

Could this be anymore cliché?

Scanning behind him, he watched as the men in the car sped off without a trace. Again, no instructions had been given to him. Whoever ran this organization apparently frowned on such frivolous things. This would take some getting used to for someone as well organized as him. Cautiously, he approached the unmarked door and loomed for just a moment. Was he really going to do this? This was absolutely ridiculous. At one point in his life he had been at the top of the totem pole. Widely respected, even revered, as being the best at what he did. Now he was some no name washout standing in an alleyway afraid to tap on a door. Just how had he come to this point? With a stern fist, he thumped the door briefly and waited.

“Hello! The guy with the weird hat is here!”

His scream echoed down the alleyway. Nothing remarkable about the location; in truth, it just appeared to be as filthy and disorganized as any. But something about the city resonated with him. Maybe it was the never-ending ocean of interesting details, people, and places that helped keep him whole. The thought of anything slower for his racetrack mind seemed like torture. He let his eyes wander a bit, plowing through it all.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Ghune. Glad you found your way to the back door. Of course, you’ve no doubt tracked yourself here, so I’ll kindly ask that you keep everything to yourself. If you can’t, we can aid you with that problem.”

The voice was a mixed concoction of thick pride and sarcasm. The identity of its owner was obvious—Roslin Tanner. At least who he had been told was Roslin Tanner. For all he knew, that was a lie. But he didn’t have the interest to dig any deeper there. At least not until something presented itself worthy of doing so.

“What is it with you and sneaking up on people? You’d think for a guy who wears such fancy suits you could afford a better office . . . especially on this side of town.”

Roslin stepped out into full view. Surprisingly, he looked unamused with the situation in its entirety. There was obviously something troubling him. Thomas was tempted to delve further, but realized that a man like Roslin would remain impervious to such curious gestures.

“Why don’t you come inside and we’ll see how you feel after seeing just what it is we do here.”

He put out an arm beckoning for Thomas to move forward. The door that had once been closed was now gaping wide open. Inside the door was a long white hallway. There was nothing particularly unusual about it.

“Your little show back there, was it really necessary? Is that your version of tactful subtlety?”

“We orchestrate certain things to assure that certain other things work. It’s really quite simple. You’ll get used to it.”

Orchestrate? What have you gotten into, Tommy?

Reluctantly, Thomas moved to the inside of the door, and Roslin promptly closed it behind them. Once inside, Roslin took the lead. Again, he had said nothing. It was almost as if he expected Thomas to understand his implied command. Roslin was a man who was obviously used to getting his way—this fact lead to another curious question—what was a man like Roslin willing to do to get his way?

“Follow me closely, if you please. One can get lost in this place quickly without the right directions.”

The once ambiguous hallway was now filled with activity. Men and women, all scrupulously dressed in professional attire, darted about with some sort of genuine purpose, each keeping to themselves, hiding their secrets.

“What is this place? Are you guys the FBI or something?”

Roslin’s pace remained constant. Without missing a beat he responded.

“We’re many things. FBI could be considered one of them. But that doesn’t really concern you at all, I’m afraid.”

Roslin glanced down at his watch and frowned. He appeared to be flustered by some sort of time constraint he had in his schedule.

“I’m going to introduce you to someone I’d like you to meet. He’ll be able to straighten some things out for you. He’s one of our best agents. Someone I’ve known for a long time now.”

Suddenly taking an abrupt turn, Roslin disappeared around a corner. As he did, Thomas’ eyes caught something interesting—a man sitting casually in a chair—his dark blue eyes staring blankly out into nothing. He looked extremely jaded, disjointed, and removed. So many questions came to Thomas’ mind making him want to dive further into the details. But his thoughts were interrupted by a quick tug on his shoulder.

“I said stick close. You don’t have the luxury of wandering.”

Thomas shook his head. It was a difficult thing to do to break his mind free once it had locked onto a target. There always seemed to be something that would linger and tantalize him to take another peek.

“Sorry . . . it just happens sometimes.”

Roslin shook his head. Behind him was a large door adorned with an array of security devices. He took his time to carefully administer the credentials needed, in the right order, before the door beeped allowing them both inside.

“Pardon all of the security, but to be honest, I still feel like it’s not enough” said Roslin.

Stepping inside, he pointed towards a chair and a long slender table. The verbal direction again never came. But the intent was obvious. Doing his best to keep his poise, he proudly walked over towards the chair and stood.

“I think I’ll stand.”

One of Roslin’s eyebrows crept upwards but then quickly came back down.

“Can I interest you in some water?”

“Who would want water at a time like this? Let’s just get this over with, alright?”

Roslin smiled. He popped out of the room, closing a door behind him.

What is that guy’s problem?

Sitting alone in what he could now see was an almost blindingly white room, he began pacing. He felt like a caged tiger. He’d come all this way just to be left in some hospital style waiting room? Is this how little they respected him? His looming questions were put on hold when the door to the room hissed open again. He watched as another finely suited man stepped inside. His partially greyed, auburn hair was carefully combed to one side with only a few hairs sprouted loose. He had intense, light blue eyes that appeared almost grey. He moved with purpose. His features were that of a very introspective man. He walked over to the table and took one of the open chairs and sat down.

“Have a seat, Mr. Ghune. We’ve got some talking to do.”

Thomas lingered just a bit longer. He was trying to prove that he was no dog on a leash receiving barking orders. In his own distinct way he was showing his resilience towards the process.

“Mr. Ghune, please.”

Finally giving in to the polite command, Thomas screeched a chair across the perfectly white floor and sat down.

“I suppose this time is as good as any for introductions. My name is Agent Mathers; Banks Mathers to those who know me best. I’ve been a part of this organization for quite some time and have been monitoring your progress. You have a rather impressive ability, Mr. Ghune. In fact, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Look, guy, I’ve already received the patronage. Let’s just move things along so I can get back to my life.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but his courteous behavior continued.

“Your life, as I understand, was literally on the brink. But then again, whose life really isn’t? At any time, any little thing could end any one of us. All it takes is being in the right place at the right time.”

Thomas leaned forward in his chair, making sure to catch Banks’s eye.

“What is it with you people and time? All I’ve heard so far are lousy parables and riddles. When is anyone going to actually explain anything?”

He examined the details of the man quickly. There didn’t seem to be anything obviously noteworthy there, except for one thing that gleamed like a star in the night sky—a watch. It was a watch whose craftsmanship and design was beyond comprehension. He’d never seen anything like it. His brain raced through every dendrite hitting an abrupt dead-end out of desperation to link it to something. But there was nothing.

“What do you know about closed time curves, the theory of relativity, or paradoxes?”

Thomas’ eyes glazed over. Practically every word that Banks had uttered had somehow cornered him into a defensive state of insecurity.

“I know enough to not care.”

Banks rolled his eyes. Thomas’ arrogant attitude was already pushing his buttons.

“I’ll spare you all the technical nausea and just keep it simple. We’ve figured out how to access points in time. That’s it. That’s as watered down as it’s going to get.”

Thomas slumped back in his chair, letting out a roar of laughter.

“Are you out of your mind? You weirdos drag me here to pretend to be some sort of time travelers? What’s next? You got some phone booth we need to step into?”

The complete and utter disrespect from Thomas was continuing to poke at the nerves of Banks. He took a couple of deep breaths before continuing on.

“It’s far more complicated than just traveling. And call it whatever you’d like, but it’s what we do.”

Thomas looked up at the ceiling. It, much like everything else, was a perfect hue of bright white. In his mind he was satirically acting out the part of time traveler. But then it hit him. The bridge, his jump, and everything Roslin had hinted towards. But it was impossible! Nobody could break the infinite constraints of time. He’d never heard of such a ludicrous statement. How could it possibly be done? Why hadn’t he heard of it before? But looking at the tightly secured door that was his only means of escape, he realized he’d have to indulge his almost childlike curiosity.

“Fine, let’s say you can do what you claim. Great—good job—I’m so impressed. But that comes with some serious implications. If someone could just run around the fabric of time, doing whatever they wanted, all hell would break loose. And what does any of that have to do with me?”

“Exactly! I’m glad you’re finally understanding this.”

Banks got out of his chair and put his wrist forward. He placed his hand over the top of his watch. Immediately, a small holographic projection erupted into the air. Thomas’ jaw dropped to the floor. He was speechless. In the projection were what seemed like an endless mesh of lines, all streaming across like waves moving through the ocean. It was on these lines that Banks focused.

“You see the fabric of time flows like all energy. It carries a pattern and a response. When seen from the top level down, it’s far too convoluted to be analyzed—but each object, every molecule, carries its own energy—its own pattern, if you will. It’s these patterns that we can isolate and examine. Throughout all time, we’ve each left an instance of ourselves behind. Using our technology, we can access these instances and take a glimpse back into that moment.”

Thomas’ head felt like a jumbling ball pit. With each of his efforts to logically piece what he was hearing together, he merely sunk further into the chaos.

“What do you mean glimpse? Like we go take a peek at old me sitting on the toilet? What’s the point if it’s already happened?”

Banks shrugged.

“Believe me, I wish I could explain this better. I’ll introduce you to the man behind the curtain later. I guess glimpse is a rather misleading word. It’s just what we call it. As far as I understand it, your now would temporarily exist then, but only in a small portion of time. The energy required to do it is astronomical. So it’s brief—limited, if you will . . .”

“So, you guys go back to a limited point in time and do what? There’s literally an unlimited amount of points there. You go back and try to end some assassination or something?”

Banks suddenly shot a finger directly at Thomas’ head.

“Exactly, we can’t! We can’t change things that drastically. Their energy is far too strong. For me to try and redirect a flying bullet would be almost completely impossible in that moment. It would require far too much energy to do so. At that point we could only observe. But if you began the process years before, changing small, seemingly insignificant things, it becomes much easier. If you but nudge the target just slightly off course at the beginning, it ends up being a mile away later.”

Suddenly Thomas’ analytic mind was piecing apart the information. It was complicated, obscenely ridiculous, and yet something about it was drawing him in. He had to know more.

“So, what you’re telling me is that something like a presidential assassination could be set up years before?”

“It’s as simple as him taking the wrong bus because his alarm didn’t go off when it should have. I just wish it was always that straight forward.”

Thomas shook his head.

“So what, you guys have this all on lock-down, from what I see. Did some chicken fly the coop?”

Banks suddenly looked deeply sorrowful.

“It seems no one is beyond temptation.”

Banks walked over to one of the walls and braced himself against it.

“Our job was and is to monitor any ripples. These ripples signify changes in time. Meaning, someone altered its course, even if ever so slightly. They are incredibly difficult to track, but have recently been occurring more and more often. Up until now it was only a textbook problem.”

“So, why not just stop the ripples? Just go back and straighten things out.”

“That’s the problem. Our time is limited and we have no idea where to start. The changes are subtle, and once altered are almost unstoppable at a later stage. We don’t have the time or resources to continually throw darts at the board hoping we get it right. We needed someone who could piece apart an entire scene within minutes, if not seconds. We needed you.”

Thomas’ eyes bulged open. He swallowed down a salty, pool of acid that had formed in his mouth. Although the explanation had been long and complicated, the gist of it was simple. Stop someone from altering time, someone who would brilliantly change minute levels of detail, to eventually lead to a catastrophic tragedy. It was the puzzle of a lifetime.

“So why would you suddenly care? There are billions of people on earth, all carrying some sort of potential disaster. I can’t possibly comprehend that you’d be safeguarding each and every one of them.”

Banks sunk his head into his chest.

“We believe that these ripples being made are targeted. They aren’t just happening at random. Whoever has broken into our secret technology has a purpose in mind.”

“Targeted? What do you mean?”

Banks pushed off the wall and approached Thomas head on. On closer inspection, his eyes told the story of horrific loss and the tragedy he had experienced.

“Our agents are the targets. The very ones we use to watchdog this whole process are disappearing one-by-one. Soon, if something doesn’t happen, we’ll all be gone.”

“But if you know it’s coming, why not just stop it? It seems like a simple solution.”

“Because we don’t know what’s coming. Whoever is doing this is good—beyond good. Without the right eyes on this, we’re completely blind. But if whoever this is succeeds, there would be nothing to stop them from piecing this world apart. And the real irony of it all is, we’d never know.”

Thomas let out a long puff of air. Although it was beginning to make sense, a part of him felt lost at sea, floating amongst wave after wave of complex questions that wanted answers. But the puzzle was calling him in. Its deviant nature wanted a worthy opponent. If he was going to do this, it would take everything he had to win. But what would be the price of winning?

“I need some time to think about this. This is way too much to take in right now. And to be honest, I still don’t buy it.”

Banks nodded before heading towards the door.

“I understand. Things like this can be incredibly complicated. Just know that you’d be saving lives, real lives that matter. Your work would be of the upmost importance. And remember, we’ll be watching.”

As Thomas walked down the hall leading towards the door that he now wished he had never come in through, his mind exploded with a million different radiant fireworks; so many ideas, possibilities, and outcomes. He needed to understand it more. He needed to master the craft to become the perfect tool. As he walked, a strange man who looked completely out of place amongst the sea of pretentious suits caught his eye. The man was wiry and awkward, wearing an old worn-out suit and tattered shoes. His curly, messy hair looked like a pile of jet-black worms wriggling around as he walked. The man glanced at him for just a brief moment as they passed.

Looks like they’ll let anybody in here; even the homeless . . . what a freak.

During his last moments inside, he debated taking the easy route off the bridge one more time. But something had changed. In all of Roslin’s seemingly mindless banter, a truth had been chiseled free. It radiated in his mind like a pristine diamond, encouraging him on. He had found a purpose.