Quantum Poppers (14 page)

The automatic
doors opened and a rush of cold re-conditioned air blasted him as if fired from
a weapon. To his chagrin, things had changed. The lifts, flanked either side by
escalators, were across the beige marbled floor, but where once sat Alan and a
cobbled together desk complete with telephone and newspaper, stood a
professional looking counter with room for two. The building had come far in
the intervening year. To his left hung a large glass plaque engraved upon which
were the companies housed within the building. There was a wave of relief as
John saw Alfred and Sons accountants atop it which struck home the reality that
he had returned, and how he, mostly, belonged there. He glanced at the new
counters which housed a young girl, barely out of college who had apparently
replaced Alan. John contemplated what Alan could be up to now, and to whom he
would be discussing children’s football tactics with. But he brushed this aside
and concentrated solely on the one thing that mattered: getting into that lift.

He looked at it
as it opened for two suited men to get out. They crossed the lobby and out into
the street. John’s gaze flicked from them, to the girl at reception, and then
to the lift doors. The girl had yet to make any indication that she had
actually seen him. Her eyes were on her monitor and she keyed in data with a
cordless phone clamped under her chin. A large clock behind rolled over to
14.30. With his eyes fixed on the lift, he purposefully headed forward.

He was going to
make it. It was so simple. No one was here to stop him, there was nothing odd
about this. He worked here, this was his domain. Circumstances may not have
been strictly normal but he was John Johnson, Alfred and Sons employee,
returning from an afternoon smoke. His jacket was upstairs, his shoes needed a
shine but so what? He was going back to the work to continue with this
afternoon's assignments. There would be a few choice questions for Kerry and
the possibility that a mirror image of himself was waiting for him up there,
but these were trivialities. He just had to pass the counter and get in the
lift.

‘Excuse me.’

She has some
mail for me, or a message, that's all,
he thought. Without
speaking he turned to the girl and smiled, forcing himself to look calm, as if
he belonged there, and that it was her who had to answer to him, not the other
way around.

‘I’m sorry, but
you can’t go straight up there. Do you have an appointment?’

John let out a
defeated breath and moved towards the counter.

‘Hi, I don’t
remember you,’ he said.

She appeared
unsure how to respond to this but smiled polity in a professional manner and
repeated, ‘do you have an appointment?’

‘You don’t
remember me?’

‘I’m sorry,
should I?’

She doesn’t
recognise me
. Did that mean he no longer worked there? That he, or whatever
monstrosity was posing as him had left the company after the actual John had
been taken and before this receptionist had arrived? A new tact was needed.

‘No it’s fine.
I’m here to see John, John Johnson? On the 34th floor?’ He could not help the
questioning intonation in his voice.

‘Ok, if you
take a seat I will call him.’

‘No, it’s ok.
I’d rather surprise him. If I could just go up...’

‘I’m afraid
I’ll have to notify him and he would have to come and collect you. I’ll call
him now.’

‘Wait. Did you
honestly mean it? When you said you didn’t recognise me? I used to work here.’

‘Sorry, I don’t
recall. But it’s a large building; so many people come and go throughout the
day.’

‘So, I could
still work here?’

‘You don’t know
whether you work here or not?’ John could see her professional demeanour waver
as she began to question the sanity of the man before her.

‘Does everyone
who works here still have those security cards for swiping in?’

‘Yes, every
employee is issued with one,’ she said with hesitation.

‘Ok, could you
please check on your system to see if a John Johnson still works here.’

‘So is that the
guy you’re here to see?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I’m sorry, but
if you’re not here to see someone specific, I can’t help you.’

‘Please, does a
John Johnson work here? You were about to call him down to me.’

‘That was when
I assumed he was a definite employee you were here to see. I can’t simply
search our records for all the people whom you are unsure of work here in the
first place. That information is confidential.’

‘Confidential?
It’s me. You can’t tell me whether or not I am on your system.’

‘I’m sorry, so
you’re John Johnson? Who are you here to see?’

‘Look, please,
just tell me, yes or no and I promise I will leave. I’ll walk out that door.
John Johnson, does one work here?’

The promise of
a swift end to all this seemed to revive her. She glanced around the lobby for
any sign of help and accepting nothing could be done she began to type. John
himself began looking around the lobby. Another group of people left one of the
lifts and headed outside, whilst another entered. He didn’t recognise any of
them, but as the receptionist had said, it was a large building, and the John
Johnson he was himself hadn’t been there for a year. Change was inevitable.

‘John, John,’
she muttered to herself. ‘No, I’m afraid, let me double check, yes, there was a
John Johnson, but he left six months ago.’

John spun back
to her. ‘I...he left. Does it say where to?’

‘No. We had his
security card halted six months ago; we keep no record of where employees move
on to.’

‘Ok,’ he said,
followed by thanks. The receptionist smiled and remained frozen as if she
couldn’t relax until he had gone. He took one more look at the lift and turned
to leave unsure of what to do now. He had to go home and see his family and
needed to see John. Without a word he headed to the exit.

A group of
people were approaching from outside. Once again he recognised none of them as
they began entering the lobby. He stood back to make way as they poured in, a
couple acknowledged him with thanks. He then stepped forward to squeeze out
when, ‘John? John?’ was called to him by someone at the back of the group. He
glanced up, and saw Kerry enter the lobby. For a second they just stared at
each other. She gave a look he couldn’t read. The note in her voice meant she
was pleased to see him but she looked unsure exactly how to react to him being
here. Perhaps she was just reacting to the gaping look on John's own face as he
stepped back. Through the confusion and anguish he managed a smile.

‘Kerry, you
coming?’ asked one of her group, a man who eyed John up and down, probably
noting the cost of his suit before continuing towards the lift.

‘Yes, won’t be
a minute. See you upstairs.’ She turned to John. ‘This is a surprise,’ she
said. ‘What are you doing here?’

She sounded
pleased to see him but John could tell that him being there, if confirmation
was needed, was definitely not a regular sight. Hadn’t been for those six
months mentioned by the receptionist.

‘I came to see
you,’ said John.

‘After all this
time you show up, to see me?’

‘Yes, I kind of
missed the place. Thought I’d give the place the once over and see how you
were.’

‘You thought
you’d see how I was. And what exactly were you expecting?’ She glanced over his
shoulder at the people heading for the lift. ‘Were you expecting a friendly
welcome?’

John turned
back to Kerry but she was still glancing at the lift. He heard the doors open,
the people enter and then a ping as the doors closed and it began its ascent.
That ping triggered another memory within John of the day twelve months earlier
when he had last taken that very ride.

Kerry’s palm
exploded against his cheek. It stung more with dull surprise than any pain. Her
forced smile had dropped and her eyes had grown into slits as she fumed in a
way he thought only his wife was capable of. He hoped the receptionist hadn’t
seen it or even heard it, if so security would be well on the way as the crazed
intruder was now making a scene. All be it he the one under attack.

‘What was that
for?’ She slapped him again. ‘Hey.’

‘Are you being
serious? You didn’t think you turning up here and confronting me would have
resulted in anything other than a slap? You should count yourself lucky it was
nothing more after what you’ve done to me.’

‘What I’ve
done? What have I done? I haven’t been here for a year.’

‘A year? It’s
only been six months. It might have felt like a year to you but the days have
scarred themselves into me.’

‘Of course, I
meant six months. But I’m sorry; things have been a little hectic lately. What
did I do?’

She stared at
him. He could tell that she wanted to slap him again, maybe leave a mark with
her nails if she could, but all she did was let out a sharp laugh.

‘You are
pathetic. After what we had together, and your way of dealing with it. And you
turning up now acting oblivious.’ Her voice was rising but apart from a couple
of glances from people still entering and exiting the building they were left
alone. Just what had his double done?

‘Please, I
needed to talk to you. I’ve come to see you, I need some answers.’

‘Pathetic and
pleading, nice.’

‘Please, what
happened?’

Her face fell,
not as if defeated but as if he really wasn’t worth the effort. She let out
another laugh and took a step towards the lift.

‘Please,’ John
reached out a hand and grabbed her arm to pull her back.

‘Let go of me
please,’ she said in a calm way, staring directly into his eyes. His young,
naive secretary had really grown up these past few months. He began to dread
exactly what he had done.

‘Ok,’ and he
released his grip. ‘Please, what happened? I really need some answers.’

‘You want me to
spell it out? Really?’

He nodded and
realised that the pathetic look he was giving her probably enraged her more
than everything else as she let vitriol fly.

‘You need a
reminder about how you fucked me twenty-seven times, told me you loved me, that
you’d leave your wife and kids to be with me? And then chicken out and quit
your job to get away from me? You need reminding of all this?’

‘There was a
kiss, in the stock room cupboard.’

‘Oh, so you
remember that, but forgot about all the sex and declarations of love that
commenced two months later.’

John didn’t say
a word. Of course he was unaware of anything that had happened between them after
his imprisonment with Bartley; the stockroom incident had been just weeks
before his capture. The fact that this double had continued twisting his life
by sleeping with his secretary was worse than the incarceration. At least he’d
eventually done the right thing and returned to Caroline. But then, he had been
on the verge of wanting to sleep with Kerry himself. Who wouldn’t? She was a
well endowed, slightly crazed, young lady who adored him - perhaps his double
hadn’t taken John’s life into an area it wouldn’t have gone if he himself had
remained in control.

‘I’m sorry,’

She shook her
head and then headed for the lifts.

‘It was really
good seeing you John,’ she shouted across the lobby. The receptionist glanced
up as though she could no longer go on ignoring the scene. ‘It was a really
good idea coming here. Now go back to your lovely wife where you belong.’

She was
swallowed by the lift doors and John made eye contact with the receptionist. He
shrugged apologetically, then turned and left to do exactly what Kerry had
suggested.

It had been
three days since Tony's chat with Aaron, and since then he had hardly moved.
The flat still looked its usual state, the unsightly mess growing out from the
scratched coffee table, with various cans - mostly alcoholic - littering the
windowsill like battlements. The only thing out of place was the silence. The
TV was off and all computer systems shut down. The controller was on the floor
in easy reach of the sofa, but Tony just lay on his back, his arm across his
eyes as he fought back any urge to venture outside in fear of who or what he
might encounter. The need for answers still loomed large but the ability to lay
here and do nothing was too great. Perhaps there was no cure, but giving the
symptoms no chance to shine was just as good a counter balance. Simon and Andy,
upon hearing about Emma’s death, had called him the night before to drag him
down The Cheeky Half - as if a pint and a chat were all that was needed for
closure. This was Tony's conclusion to their actions, and he was grateful for
their gesture, he just hoped they were as accepting of his decline.

The doorbell
rang. Tony had gotten used to this. As it was with the phone constantly ringing
throughout regular working hours, there seemed to be an endless procession of
marketers and salesman at his door. The phone calls were mostly automated,
which were a lot easier to hang up on. As with everything else in his life
right now he responded the only way he now knew: ignore it. He rolled over on
the sofa and closed his eyes in hope that the veil of remorse would manifest
into sleep. It was not needed, but was all he wanted.

This particular
salesman seemed eager as he rang the doorbell again, followed by a knock. A
minute later these ignored sounds were repeated and Tony opened his eyes to
stare at the black fabric that faced him, as if this somehow held the answers
he dreaded to hear.

‘Tony,’ came a
voice through the letterbox. It echoed down the hall. ‘Tony.’

Now he rolled
onto his back and stared wide eyed at the ceiling.

‘Tony, if
you’re in, please answer.’

Could this be
him? The man Aaron had mentioned? It could always be Aaron himself come to
admit that everything he had spouted was nonsense and that he was here to
apologise for wasting his time. His friend was dead and he, Tony, was losing
his mind. Simple as that, quantum shadows and plains were just what he wanted
to hear; a convenient excuse to give meaning and relevance to what was
happening to him. If so, then Tony supposed he needed to hear this face to
face. He sat up and positioned himself on the edge of the sofa, shaking off the
lethargy that was rooting within. ‘I’m coming,’ he said, loud enough for the
caller not to hear. If he really wanted to speak to Tony then he would wait.

The figure, rippling
through the frosted glass, was dressed in light brown. He looked as though he
was facing away from Tony, on the verge of leaving. Tony stopped, hoping he
would leave so he could return to his world of oblivion, and believe what he
wanted to believe - which right now wasn’t much. He stepped forward, and with a
gesture that he previously would have thought beyond him, opened the door, and
welcomed what would be.

‘Hi Tony. My
name is Bartley. We need to chat.’

The man held
out his hand. Tony looked at it and then to his face. It was drawn with
sadness. He was dressed in a shirt and tie and wore a light brown raincoat; a
slightly disheveled covering for a burgeoning intelligence within. Tony shook
the man’s hand without thinking. It was rough and cold, a detail Tony pushed
aside, but a detail nonetheless that confirmed this man’s existence. As if
these things needed to be established these days.

Tony muttered a
welcome and headed to the lounge. The corridor grew dark behind him as he heard
the door close. A shadow fell and footsteps followed. He entered the lounge and
walked over to the window which overlooked his vegetable-patch of a garden. The
sun was shining strong and he felt a throb of a headache as the light diffused
around him. He turned to see Bartley standing at the entrance, almost as unsure
as he was as to whether or not he should be here.

‘Take a seat I
suppose,’ said Tony. He gestured to the sofa which Bartley made for. He sunk
low into the depths as Tony rested on the windowsill, feeling the warmth
against his back. Uncomfortable beads of sweat trickled down his spine.

‘Where to
begin,' said Bartley. ‘I’ll return to the actual beginning later. Aaron tells
me that you confirmed sighting of a quantum shadow the other day?’

Tony nodded.

‘And also
confirmed that you were the same man present at another location, Stayx, about
a month ago?’

‘Yes, he
mentioned stuff about shadow idents and plains.’

‘I know, he
filled me in on everything you told him. The visions you have been seeing,
these doppelgangers.’

‘Are you here
to tell me I’m insane?’

‘No, quite the
opposite. I’m here to tell you that you have a unique gift. As far as we know
you are the only person capable of what you have been doing.’

‘I haven’t been
doing anything, it just happens.’

‘Whether it’s
controlled or not, your ability is potentially very useful. We could use a man
like you.’

‘The quantum
poppers?’

‘Yes, the
quantum poppers.’

Tony muttered a
laugh and shook his head. All Bartley did was stare at him, he must have been
fairly expectant as to how Tony would react.

Bartley edged
forward upon the sofa and rested his arms on his legs. He glanced around the
room, as if the answers he had to tell were signposted around him. ‘There’s no
easy way for me to put this, so I’ll just lay it out for you. What I will say
though is - you have no choice but to believe everything I’m about to say.’

‘And why’s
that?’

‘Because it is
the truth. No matter how crazy this will sound. It is fact.’

‘As long as you
can prove it, I’ll believe.’

‘Ok,’ said
Bartley. He paused and drew breath. ‘Tony, where are we?’

‘What?’

‘Where are we?
Tell me now. Where would you say we were?’

Tony instantly
deflated. If this was the path Bartley was about to lead him on, he didn’t need
it. Needless riddles are rarely necessary.

‘Look, if this
is the truth it can be told plainly. I don’t want to hear you circling around
the facts.’

‘Tony, the
facts are coming. Where are we?’

‘My house,
Hambleton.’

‘And when are
we?’

‘What?’

‘When, Tony?’

‘It’s about
4.30 in the afternoon.’

‘That’s right.
We are both physically in this spot, in your house right now. We are both
physically in this time - right here. This is the quantum plain and we are
riding its wave before the crash.’ Tony was close to showing him the door.
‘Would you know if you were not here now?’

‘What do you
mean?’ asked Tony. It wasn’t boredom in his tone, but a clear sense of not
wanting his time wasted was present.

‘If you were in
a physically different place or in a physically different time, would you know
that’s where you were supposed to be? You assume that when and where you are is
the proper time and place and that you, along with everyone else - whilst
obviously not in exactly the same place - are all in exactly the same time. I
can tell you that you are correct. You are here now, and you are in the right
time and place.’

‘That’s good to
know,’ said Tony.

‘The quantum
plain is what you would call the present. This plain rides the sea of time and
everybody on it is moving along the wave of the present.’

‘Are you sure
you can’t explain this in simpler terms?’

‘You need to
know the facts and I need you to know the facts before I elaborate. I do
apologise for the time as sea analogy.’

‘Look, so far
you’ve talked about quantum plains, poppers, quantum shadows and I still have no
idea what you are trying to say or how it relates to my problem. All you’ve
said is that I am currently living in the present, which I was already aware
of.’

‘I’m glad you
understand that part.’ It sounded as though he was being patronising, but Tony
could see the relief rise from Bartley. It was as if he was pleased he had been
allowed to say this much, which hadn’t really been anything. This seemed to be
hard for Bartley to say. For now it was best for Tony to just let him. ‘You
understanding that you are currently in the present is fundamental to
everything I’m going to tell you. How do you know that you are in the present?
Don’t answer that because I’ve already told you that you are. The key to this
is simple: it is possible to be knocked back along the sea of time and exist in
the past without you even knowing it. For all you know you could be living five
minutes in the past to everybody else on the quantum plain - the present - and
have no idea.’

The quicker
this was over the better
, thought Tony. ‘If I’m stuck five minutes in the past, aren’t you
stuck back there with me?’

‘No. Let me
give you an example. Mr. X could be trapped in the past and may not know about
it. I say may not because it is possible to jump back in time and be aware of
it. People have jumped back and gone near enough insane as they consciously
replay what they’ve already done before we pop them back.’

‘Pop them
back?’

‘I’m coming to
that. Whilst some people may be aware of the jump - such as the kid in the
restaurant, the jogger; most aren't - the girl in the red dress. It could
happen in their sleep or they could be sitting around unaware of the time when
the jump back occurs. Mr. X would then be stuck five minutes in the past and be
unaware of the fact completely.’

‘And all the people
around him haven’t jumped back.’

‘No. After he
has jumped, Mr. X inhabits the physical location he was at at the time but
lands on a new strand of time, five minutes behind the quantum plain where
everyone else is now a past echo. These are shadows, representations for his
benefit that keep him unaware that anything has changed. The reverse has
happened in the present. A quantum echo, or shadow of himself now holds the
space where Mr. X would have been for the benefit of everybody still on the
quantum plain. So most of the time, nobody is aware that anything is wrong.’

‘So Mr. X
carries on oblivious in the past with a bunch of ghosts whilst the present
moves on oblivious with a ghost replacement.’

‘That’s it’

Tony had to
control himself in order to not roll his eyes. ‘I presume you can prove all
this.’

‘Of course, and
will as soon as I’ve finished explaining.’

‘There’s more?’

‘We’ve hardly
begun.’

Tony had to
admit that he was intrigued. If nothing else, this guy’s explanation of the
insanity he had recently been witnessing was unique. He wouldn’t have been
spouted this much nonsense by a doctor if he had gone to seek a true
professional's opinion. But there was something about Bartley. Whilst what he
was saying was insane and made no sense, there was a strong belief within his
eyes that he himself believed every word. He had gained confidence as he went
along. The relief that had risen from him seemed to suggest that Tony could now
be told everything. He was in his zone, and that the telling of this time jumping
nonsense was something he held dear to his heart, like a child he had nurtured.
Tony would play along to keep him happy, before kicking him out of his house.
The burning sun against his back grew more intense but still he wouldn’t move.
He could feel the beads of sweat congregate and collect atop his jeans, but he
remained sat against the window, the world at his back. ‘Who are you?’ he
repeated.

‘Bartley
Robinson. And I’m a quantum popper.’ His pride in this statement was evident.
‘The problem with time is that it keeps moving.’

‘How
inconsiderate.’

‘If Mr. X has
jumped back then the quantum plain continues to move relative with the past so
Mr. X never catches up with his other self in the present, they remain
completely independent of each other. This means that whatever Mr. X does in
the past has no bearing on our present. The quantum plain's past has happened
and cannot be changed; it moves along ahead of wherever Mr. X is and no matter
what he does it will have no impact on the present when he returns.’

‘So he does
return?’

‘Of course.
That is the whole point as to what I’m telling you. A quantum popper has the
power, or should I say the equipment, to track down those who are trapped in
time, go back, extract, and return them to the quantum plain, hopefully unaware
anything has happened. Although this is not always the case. ’

‘Are you saying
that you have the power of time travel? You are capable of going back those
five minutes yourself and getting them.’

‘Yes. Many
subjects automatically return when they hit the point on their past plain they
initially jumped back from in the present. This doesn’t always happen, and
admittedly is happening less frequent than ever. Most need a little push from
ourselves. When they return they instantly replace their shadows and continue
as if nothing has happened, in theory. We go back, and pretty soon you will
too.’