Quantum Poppers (29 page)

The Volvo
swerved in and out of the traffic west to Posslingford Moss at speeds in excess
of 80mph. The balance between reaching the location safely, or at all, was
fine. Getting there as quick as possible was imperative. Even with The Device,
which now lay on the passenger seat, if Tony ended up doing anything stupid in
what would be his present, then there would be no second chances in putting
things straight.

It had been
almost twenty years since Harry had jumped forward. An occurrence which
thankfully hadn't regularly been repeated. He remembered now the meeting he had
had that very night with Dixon, a retired old man who had put all his faith and
trust in him as a boy to maintain stability to the space-time continuum. They
were temporal watchmen, and annihilation was not going to happen on his watch.

Bartley swept
into the inside lane, undercut a Vauxhall, before flashing incessantly to the
BMW driver to make way.

Had he really
been wrong all along? The temporal disruption from a future event had been
growing, originally discovered by Dixon and then monitored by Bartley and his
team. A significant event in Earth’s future was sending wave after wave of
temporal disruption back through time, incrementally increasing its magnitude
year after year. At first, jump volumes had increased, and then the unheard of,
someone had gone forward. And then, a twenty-two-year-old kid had had his
quantum alignment realigned to witness visions of those in the past from the
safety of the quantum plain. And they had blamed it all on the anomaly of John,
someone who had missed his ghost to live simultaneously as two beings in the
present. It had all made sense at the time. This was clearly the cause for the
anomalies and the temporal waves being sent back. The origin of the event had
been meticulously pinpointed to the near future. Keeping the two Johns apart
was the answer to averting it. It had even appeared to have worked. As time
went on, disruptions, whilst not stopping, had decreased in magnitude, and even
Tony’s visions had slowed down. But it was all a lie. It wasn’t John. Yet they
were all linked, the eternal anomalies of coincidence all stemming from
Bressingham and the surrounding area. Dixon’s experiments originating just
fifteen miles from where the Quantum Popper offices now stood, John living only
thirty miles away, and Tony living barely twenty minutes drive from where John
had once been held captive. In a world where popping those from the past was
global, why hadn’t they read these coincidental signs earlier? The largest of
which being Emma’s involvement with it all.

The shock at
the discovery of who she really was could potentially have been enough to kick
start his own temporal disruptions in time. Like Tony, the first names you
entered into the q-MAN database of pops were people you knew. It appeared that
one of the reasons Tony’s alignment had been altered was due to a major
emotional event. They would never know whether it was Emma or the future event
that had disrupted him, but her involvement had to be investigated. And as was
often the case, he had searched for any past activity. What hadn't surprised
him were details of a past jump she had taken three years ago. What did
surprise him, and struck him to his very core whilst at the same time bringing
everything full circle, was the image of her in the top right hand corner of
the q-MAN database. He had stared at the picture for a good five minutes,
recognising that face from a traffic accident John had caused, cursing just how
intertwined this temporal world of ours could be. It was that personal
entanglement which had made Tony susceptible all along.

He slammed on
the brakes as a buildup of traffic concertinaed before him. The signpost
indicted only one mile to his turn off.

He had to put
this right. Save the universe, and most of all, repay a trust a man had put in
him over forty years ago.

On their very
first meeting, in that park, Dixon had known the answers. He appeared as if
from nowhere to lead him back to where he belonged. Of course there had been
panic, and from what he had eventually read, tears as well. Although surely
William Robinson wouldn’t have cried in public; was that dramatic license
specifically for Dixon’s journal? It was impossible to recall the sensation of
crossing that park; leaping back suddenly to have someone appear, assure you
that all was fine only to be transported back to where you were supposed to be
alongside a brother who hadn’t believed a word of what you tried to describe.
Danny Robinson had done all but commit him to a mental asylum, mimicking his
insane stories of teleporting across the park and back again within minutes. It
was Danny’s complete mockery of his situation that had led him to never utter a
word to his parents.

Only a week
later the man had knocked at the door. Again, after learning so much about the
world Dixon would ultimately show him, it was hard to recall how he felt back
then. Danny had pretty much convinced him that he had suffered some kind of
hallucination or moment of insanity to imagine his flight at the park. And
then, a few days later, the one person who seemed aware of his jump was at the
front door talking to his father. Their eyes had briefly caught each other;
Dixon outside with supposed answers, and Bartley standing dumbstruck in the
kitchen thinking how wrong his brother was. Although the man had left without a
word, his simple arrival rekindled in him the acceptance that Danny was the one
in the wrong. He really had been ripped from his brother’s side and transported
across that park; the one person who had made contact during that period had
called at the door.

‘Wrong house,’
was all his dad had said as he turned to see Bartley staring vacantly at the
closed door, his answers shut out with it.

And then
without warning, four years later, he had reappeared. Collaring him one day on
the way home from school and attempting to describe the intricacies of his park
experience. His reaction had ranged from initial disbelief to eventual
acceptance simply due to Dixon’s enthusiasm and insistence at what he was
saying. He had clearly believed it, and his enthusiasm and belief rubbed off
quickly on Bartley. It hadn’t taken long, just a couple of examples to show him
that his jump across the park was not an isolated incident. Not only that, it
hadn’t been just a jump through space, but also one through time.

And all this -
the eventual incorporation of Bartley into this world, his promotion through
the ranks to become Dixon’s right hand man, the inauguration of becoming a
government department, and finally taking over after Dixon's retirement -
boiled down to one goal: stopping whatever mass event was triggering these
temporal fluctuations. To calm the sea of time. It wasn’t John he had to stop
now, it was Tony, it always had been.

He pulled the car off the dual carriageway
and was soon cruising along Ruston Road and then off onto Denman Crescent. She
lived at number forty-five, outside which Bartley pulled up at precisely 11.50.
The screech of tires rang out around the neighbourhood and his seatbelt was
off, The Device in hand, and the door open even before the engine had died. In
true cop show fashion he should have slid across the bonnet to reach the
pavement but this would have slowed things down, especially at his age. He
sprinted around the car and up the driveway to the semi-detached house. The
cracked paving stones wobbled under foot. A group of sparrows took flight from
an overgrown bush to the side of the front door up to which he stepped,
knocking incessantly for an answer he ultimately didn’t need.

He shifted his
weight from either foot. It was early morning, someone would have to be in. Just
when Bartley decided it was time to break in, a figure approached, increasing
in size through the frosted glass of the door. The door opened.

There was a
moment’s pause as the man's eyes went from inquiry as to who it was to concern
at the stranger with already one foot in the house.

‘Excuse me Mr.
Ronen,’ said Bartley who pushed passed him.

‘Hey.’ He could
feel the breeze as an out stretched arm tried to pull him back and chuck him
out the house. Thankfully he missed and as he headed for the stairs he saw the
wife’s head emerge tentatively from the kitchen, roused by the intruder he had
become.

‘Come here, get
out of my house.’

‘I assure you
it will be worth it,’ called out Bartley as he ascended the stairs two at a
time. His mac flapped around his feet and he came close a couple of times to
tripping on it, giving his pursuer ample opportunity to grab him.

Bartley reached
the landing and noting that the room opposite was the main bedroom he took a
left, passing a bathroom and another door with a sign that read ‘Bobby’s Room’,
before entering the last room along the landing. His pursuer had reached the
top of the stairs, his voice increasing as he guessed where Bartley was headed.
Bartley keyed in a final activation code into The Device and prepared himself
for temporal displacement. He entered the last room. This one had no sign on
the door, but inside it was clear what it was - what it had been. He only had
seconds to register it before jumping back.

It had been a
few years since he had been here, hundreds of successful pops since, yet he did
remember the place. The room lay untouched, as if the girl still lived there.
The parents were obviously still keeping her memory alive until they could
decide what to do with the room. Perhaps decorating it would bring closure.

He turned to
face the man as he appeared in the doorway. His face was red but his voice was
calmer, more under control. ‘Get out,’ he simply said.

‘I am sorry for
your loss Mr. Ronen,’ said Bartley. ‘I did all I could to help her, nothing
could have been done.’ He activated The Device, and all faded to white.

Tony stood
staring up at the house as around him the heavens opened. A lone street lamp
lit the figure and the surrounding rain; Tony almost glowed as it crashed
against his shoulders and matted his hair to his face. It produced a hazy aura
within the early morning darkness. No light shone from the house and all was
silent except for the continual sounds of rain splashing the pavement and
driveway. Cocooned within the warmth of the house would be Emma and, if his
theories were correct, one with more substance than the ghost he had seen at
The Smack.

Of course there
was doubt towards what he was contemplating. Even now, so close to her, he
questioned how he had gotten this far. Chance had played a part in literally
getting him here but at no point was he forced. This was his decision, he could
blame it all on fate. But he knew that she was destined to die. Any good that
came from this would be manufactured. A perverse two fingers up to God, taking
back what he had taken. This was the ultimate power, and not to exercise it
would be a waste.

The driveway
led him to the garage. There had been a few occasions after nights out in sunny
Southbrough, or when they really pushed the boat out for the short trip down to
Brighton, where they had staggered back together to her parent’s house. This
was due to the sheer unwillingness on Tony’s part to pay the atrocious cab fare
all the way home. It had been easier to crash round hers, always on the sofa,
and to sneak out first thing in the morning.

He opened the
two large garage doors as quietly as possible. Even with the drumming rain he
attempted to not make a sound. The door opened a fraction before touching the
Fiesta parked in front of it leaving enough of a crack through which to enter
into temporary dryness. The noise of the thundering rain crashed louder upon
the corrugated roof, amplified by the virtually empty garage, turning it into
what he hoped wasn’t too much of a speaker. He reached up to his left and
fumbled in the darkness for the small tin that sat atop a single wooden shelf;
a little higher than head height, precariously nailed, Emma had always found it
with ease on their late night journeys home. She would reach up, usually whilst
talking to Tony, always finding the tin which contained the hidden key. It had
to be here now. He saw no reason why in this reality there would be none.

And then his fingers
found it. They pushed it back and side-to-side before he caught a firm grip and
pulled it down from the shelf. Even under the drumming rain he could hear the
chink as it shook in his hand and felt the floating weight of the key as he
shook the box during its decent.

He was able to
open the side door which led into her living room with thankless ease. Water
fell to the thick carpet and was sucked in as if it were a thirsty, shaggy
creature. He paused, assuring himself no one had heard him enter and then
questioned what he was to do with the water he was about to trail through the
house. But then again: it didn’t matter.

He crept
quietly through the kitchen and into the hallway. To his ears the dripping
sound of water was immense. Could it be enough to wake a sleeping family? He
knew he would be more aware of it than anyone but it was still a risk he would
have to take. He began to climb the stairs - a route he thought he would never
have taken ever again.

He held his
hand against The Device which was tucked into the top of his jeans. Whilst luck
had played a major part in the retrieval of it, it was the information he
gained from Brian which was most valuable now. q-MAN had shown no information
about him. No information about his mother or father, but had shown an entry -
one he had been praying for since Simon of all people had sowed the seed
regarding one more chance with Emma.
She’s jumping all over the place
.
And that had been the key. Had his princess been jumping all over the place?
Had she jumped before? He had searched her name as just another test in front
of Brian, and there she was. Emma Ronen - the subject of a routine pop three
years previous. At precisely 1.22am she had jumped back fifteen minutes. Being
asleep it had gone unnoticed by herself and it had been Bartley who had
retrieved her. A regulation unknown pop.

And now Tony,
shaking in anticipation at what he was about to attempt, reached the top of the
stairs upon the only strand, all fifteen minutes of it, where the real Emma
Ronen now existed. Going back to The Smack he had seen a ghost. This was
potentially something more. All he had to do was retrieve her, and take her
home to the quantum plain.

Water still
fell from his face as he reached the top of the stairs. Damp shoe-shaped imprints
like those of a monster’s filled with rain were left in his wake. He passed
what would be Bobby’s room, a single black sock lay by the door, and stopped
outside Emma’s, knowing whoever was inside was much more real than the girl he
had seen previously. He pushed open the door.

It was a room
he had only seen inside of twice before. Once to collect a CD and once to enjoy
a takeout pizza away from the roar of football her dad had been watching in the
lounge. He could still remember the look her dad had given him as they parted
the lounge to go upstairs.

On the whole
everything was spotless. A writing desk consisted of pens and paper, a
selection of books from a series he couldn’t make out, plus a set of keys. He
knew the dominant colour of the room was an electric pink but in the darkness,
lit only by a spot-lit moon shining through the slats of the blind and the
television which continued to play unwatched, the whole room appeared a murky
brown. The falling rain, soaking the windows, bent the moonlight to produce
ripples. It gave the effect they were underwater. The way Tony felt now, it
very well could have been. An acoustic guitar lay against the side of the
wardrobe next to which was the bed. Tony came close to not being able to
venture any further. Still, nothing mattered, an exit was always at hand (he
touched The Device for confirmation) but seeing Emma asleep, so vulnerable
between the sheets, made going any further a seedy violation. He could see the
covers rise up and down, as lying on her back she breathed deeply, just another
unknown jumper awaiting a popper's arrival.

He eventually
stepped forward, again quietly, not wanting to wake her (or anyone else in the
house) to expedite an ending. One way or another he was leaving here, either
with her, without her, or with the destruction of the universe. If his
calculations were correct and this was the real Emma - at least a more
substantial version of the girl than he had met at the pub - then contact could
be catastrophic. The fact she may be something other than a shadow could
intensify the consequences were they to touch on this strand, a definite
contamination of what little control time held over people. But getting her
back, at least trying to, was the priority. Since their parting, it turned out
he had so much to tell her.

The rain crashed down even harder as
he approached the bed, switching off the TV as he passed. His footsteps seemed
to make the pillars of paperbacks which cornered the room lean just enough to
cause concern about toppling, yet their weight held them rooted in place. Emma
appeared at peace, content in the unknowing of being on this plain. The urge to
touch her and end this one-way or another was strong. The first inkling to even
kiss her suddenly bloomed. To touch her lips with his own seemed the most
natural thing in the world and inwardly he cursed Andy and Simon for being
right all that time. But for now, all he did was sit, perched on the side of
the bed. Careful not to disrupt her or give any indication that someone was in the
room.

‘I knew I’d
find a way,’ he whispered, watching her eyes flicker beneath the lids. Her
skin, along with the bed sheets, rippled as the rain-diffracted-light swept
through the window. ‘I know this is the real you. When you’re as close to
someone as we became, you get a sense of these things.’

He nudged a
little closer, keeping the covers firmly between a connection point of flesh.
She let out the slightest of moans as the bed nestled under his weight but her
eyes remained shut.

‘There’s going
to be some explaining to do when we get back,’ he continued, leaning ever
closer to her ear. ‘There’ll also be a few apologies to some people but, yeah,
I think I’ve calculated it correctly. As well as anyone could under the
circumstances. You should have heard some of the things I’ve been told
recently. But yes,’ he said, more in confirmation to himself than the sleeping
girl before him, ‘you’re real here, I’m real here, there’s no shadow of you in
the present to complicate things, yeah, I’m sure it will be ok. So why am I
hesitating? Why am I hesitating.’

Tony reached
out a hand to stroke her hair, to move a wayward strand from her cheek and
place it upon the pillow, but at the last moment in an ungainly motion he
rested his hand back onto the side of the bed.

‘I’ve been a
bit of an idiot. With what we’re about to do, or what I’m about to do, I’m
jeopardising the whole galaxy just for the potential to spend a bit more time
with you. How’s that for complicated melodrama? I just never got a chance to
say so many things to you. And the things I need to hear from you, like what
you said to me that day in the car, through the shut window. It’s like that’s
the key to all this. Some sort of closure.’ He leaned even closer. ‘But
there’ll be time. There’ll be time for so much.’

And there was
that word again, time. Tony was amazed at how little meaning the word now held.
He no longer imagined it as a tangible thing. The world Bartley had opened to
him had robbed any notion of being able to place context within it. It was now
an abstract thing with no meaning. Just like everything else on this plain.
Except for Emma. He leaned closer, their lips only inches apart. He could feel
the faint breath exhaled from her partially parted lips and savoured the
sensation of its touch on his skin as the one true actuality of the plain. ‘I
should just kiss you now, would put a lot of problems behind me. Besides, might
even do the universe a favour in ending it. I really should have told you so
much more before.’

There was a
suction sound, as though space was expanding around him, creating a vacuum for
an object to take its place. He realised what was happening even before Bartley
appeared. The pop was audible. Tony turned his face towards him, still only
inches from Emma’s mouth. Of all the things that should have been going through
his head at that point, all he registered was the fact that Bartley was dry.

‘Don’t do it
Tony, it won’t work.’

‘It might. You
ever tried it?’ Their whispers were increasing. Soon someone had to hear this.
‘I’m right aren’t I? She is something more.’

‘You’re right
Tony, and part of me doesn’t blame you for trying. It's an interesting theory.’

‘She jumped
before.’

‘Yes, three
years ago Emma jumped, and yes we are standing on the strand she jumped to. For
the record I agree; within that bed is potentially the real Emma. More’s the
reason to step away before any of us touch.’

‘But if I can
only pop the actual self, I can pop her.’

‘You’re never
going to convince me that this is a good idea.’ Bartley took a step forward. A
floorboard creaked but still Emma remained oblivious. ‘Popping a person back to
the quantum plain, which for them would be three years in the future, is not a
good idea. Especially if that person is dead. This will not work. Paradox Tony,
paradox.’

Tony turned his
head back to Emma, still only inches away. He pulled back slightly. The brevity
of the situation began to grow and Tony could not help but smile at how close
he had come to annihilation - destroying the entire universe with a single
kiss.

‘You’ve got to
admit though, she was a massive piece of this complex puzzle,’

‘Larger than
you can possibly imagine.’

‘What do you mean?'
said Tony. He now sat up away from Emma. Just then the sucking sensation
occurred again and by the bedroom door appeared a second Bartley. He took a few
steps forward before registering those around him. He stopped, first noticing
his twin, and then Tony sitting on the bed with a sleeping Emma.

‘Who are you?'
asked Tony. Whispers had all but gone. They would leave this strand shortly,
and he had come to accept it would be without Emma.

‘I’m here to
pop Emma,’ said the new arrival, but looking at Bartley with some kind of
acceptance he finished: ‘but I have a feeling I’ve done it before.’

Bartley nodded.
The new arrival took one last look at Emma.

‘It’s fine, your work is done and
we’re leaving now,’ said Bartley, barely able to look himself in the eye. The
twin appeared to understand, nodded, and with one last look at Tony the rogue
element in this situation activated his own device. He vanished.

‘This is
getting too much,’ said Tony.

‘It’s not
getting too much; it is well passed too much. We must leave. Now.’

Tony looked
back to Emma. There was a moment when he accepted that he would never see her
eyes again. Her voice, her stare. But needing one final reason to move away,
finally say goodbye, she stirred and opened her eyes. Tony couldn’t turn away,
and out of the corner of his eye noticed Bartley take a step back.