How To Go Back in Time Book One: Chapter Fourteen

I arrived at the hospital just as the sun was starting to lower. Crows perched high up on the
building and made their calls. The circled around, painting black splotches on the sun. And just like
everything else in Beldad, all was quiet.
Inside the hospital, I noticed the built-in cafe and ordered a coffee. Then I made my way up the
elevator to room F16. Cracking open the door, I saw Gretchen laying in her bed. Tubes were attached to
her nose and arms. She was coughing.
“Come in!” She said.
The door swung open. “My name’s Irwin Sander. FBI Agent.”
“I know who are you are and I’m not answering questions. You can leave now. Thank you.”
“Gretchen—I wanna talk to you. You can help us.”
She tightened her grip on the T.V. remote until the button popped off. She smashed her teeth
together and said, “Twenty or so minutes of prying, AFTER I’VE TOLD YOU I DON’T WANNA TALK
TO ANYONE!”
For the next five minutes, my ears would ring. “You don’t think I’d get it, do you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s part of it.”
“Well, I am not a normal man. There is nothing normal about me. And when you have the eyes
that I do—when you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, you’d probably understand anything.”
She cracked a smile, and pressed a button. The television flashed to static. “…Who do you think
you are?”
“Irwin Sander…?”
“Exactly. Do you know what Rimbaud said? That whole, ‘I is another?’”
“Wait, are you telling me there’s somebody else inside me?”
“Well, maybe that’s how you interpreted it.” She cleared her throat. “Something attacked me. It
had yellow eyes.”
“Uhuh.” The yellow eyes, again. I listened carefully.
“I don’t remember much, but I smelled my own perfume. That’s all I’ll say.”
“Understood. Thank you for your time.”
* * *
AND NOW, THE BRAND NEW EPISODE OF YOUR FAVORITE T.V. SHOW
THE COPS
After the terrible realization that were doppelgangers, I decided to go to the bar. I desperately
needed a break. I couldn’t even figure out exactly what Gretchen was saying. All she did was give me
little hints.
But with those little hints, I realized a thing or two. This was not normal. And it was never
going to be normal. There were copies of everyone, just roaming about. That’s why Justin was on
video. That’s why he had a solid alibi.
And as I walked through those doors, I saw a familiar face. A skinny blonde man sitting at the
counter, absolutely plastered. “James!” I said. “You’re here?”
A drunken smile crossed his face. “Yeaaah, BUDDY! I’m still here!”
“…You’re deteriorating.”
He nodded. “I am. Too much going on, man. Too much noise. Too much death. I can’t find my
paints, man, my fucking paints. I can’t find them at all and I swear I’m gonna cry.”
“Come on.” I said. “Have a drink with me.”
* * *
“Did I tell you I was a premie?” James said, taking a swig.
“…A what?”
He wiped his mouth and said, “A premature baby—yeah, I know—kinda crazy. My mom was
fuckin’ bedridden for a couple months—like it was bad.”
“Right.”
“But you wanna know why that happened?”
“…”
“I literally just wanted to be born early—that’s what the doctor said. I just wanted to be alive,
and experience… fuckin’ tables. Yeah, tables are great. You know, this table feels pretty nice. I like
tables.” He said, grabbing the edges of the wood and rattling it. It squeaked. And from across the room
I could see the bartender glaring.
James sat back in his seat and took a deep breath. “Did you talk to Gretchen?”
I nodded and kept silent for a minute.
“Well, what’d she say?”
“Nothing, really. She thinks she was attacked by a copy of herself.”
He slammed his glass down and facepalmed. “Fuck! What is with these crazy people in town?
Are they hurting themselves? How does a copy of yourself attack you? What about Satan?”
I chuckled. “Right.” Poor guy didn’t realize Gretchen was being serious. But more than that, he
didn’t see that she was right.
* * *
“I wish I could go back in time to a kid.” I said. Three beers deep. A couple shots. Multiple
cigarettes.
“Why? Being a kid sucks. Didn’t your childhood suck?”
“Everyone’s childhood is unhappy, but that’s besides the point—I just felt… grounded. Back
then, sitting at school lunch tables, there wasn’t a lot to make me unhappy. Yeah, I didn’t have parents.
Yeah, I lived at an orphanage. But, I wasn’t working. I wasn’t paying bills. I didn’t have to take shit
everyday and suck it up and yadda yadda ya.”
“You were happy.”
“Exactly. I just wish I could go back in time. You know? I wanna go back in time.”
* * *
It was now one-in-the-morning, and we hadn’t left our seats except to go to the bathroom. We
just sat at our booth filling our stomachs with beer, and our lungs with smoke. But I guess there was
that one time I stepped out to smoke a joint. James wanted one.
“Okay, say your in a room and a killer’s coming at you. He blocks the door. What do you do?” I
said.
“Uh, jump out the window?”
“The window’s locked.”
James stared in confusion as the ash dropped from his cigarette and onto the table. It dispersed
into a million little pieces. “I, uh, I hide under the couch?”
“Then you’re gonna die.”
“Okay, I don’t get whatever this is, dude. Maybe I’m just a little… you know—tipsy.”
My glass clinked against the table. “I’m completely plastered.” I said, with a completely stone
face.
“You don’t look it.”
“I don’t look like many things. If I told you about my life, you wouldn’t believe.”
“Then try me.”
I paused for a moment, debating. There was one thing on my mind but I wasn’t sure if I should
say it. “I see things, James. I see things like no other person.”
“Like… reading people?”
“No. It’s shamanic. I am a shaman.”
He stared at me with wide eyes and his mouth hangin’ open. “You’re a shaman?”
“Yes. There’s a spirit that talks to me in dreams—you know that night where I passed out here? I
was talking to him.”
“…”
“He told me I’m in a time loop but I can break out of it in the future. His job is to guide me
there, and alert me when I have that choice. But there’s more spirits I talk too—they’re friends. They
were given to me by a lady in town named Gretchen. Supposedly, it means I’m living a myth. You
know, when something in your life that only happens in a story? Yeah. Basically, their mission is to
make sure I’m never alone. They succeed at that.”
James stared in silence like he had been struck by lightning. His eyes were wide and unblinking.
Until the silence was broke by a giggle fit. “Man, that is the craziest story I’ve ever heard. You ever
think of being a writer?”
“Multiple times throughout my life, yes.” I said.
We left the bar shortly after, and I drove. I didn’t have a lot to drink for some reason, so I took
James home. He stumbled inside and I watched him eat shit on his stairway. Though he just got right
back up and walked inside. Once I was done laughing, I drove away.
And I kept driving. I took the main road down into the business section. The air around me was
desolate. Streetlights and neon signs illuminated the road ahead. Not a tree in sight. Just plain dirt
fields. I think I saw a cat crossing the road.
I ended up turning into the parking lot of a hotel, and went around the side to a plateau. I parked
the car and immediately reached for my flask. A cigarette was lit and I was good. And up in the sky, my
loyal lover the moon stared upon me—haunting my dreams.
* * *
AND NOW,
YOUR MIDNIGHT TRANSMISSION
“Wake up, Mr. Sander.”
My snoring was cut short and I was jolted awake. Turning my head, I saw him again. He just
stared straight ahead. Completely silent. My eyes studied the burnt flesh around his ear. A charred piece
of rubber.
“Don’t be alarmed now,” He said, “You are not in any danger.”
“Then why are you here?”
He laughed and it sounded more like a groan. “I’ve seen how you take care of your friends. You
treat them well.”
“Yes. I try to do that.”
“Do you really like being a babysitter?”
I turned away. “Kind of, actually.”
“Anyway, I’ve come to congratulate you. Things are going swimmingly.”
“Swimmingly, huh?”
“Yes, very much so. Don’t do anything different, I just need you to carry on. After all, when
your in a situation like this, the only thing that matters is carrying on. Even in certain death.”
“So, I should race to suicide?”
“Not like that. You carry on just so you have the power of deciding your life. That’s the only
thing that matters, Mr. Sander.”
“That’s what my first foster father said. Life is a fight.”
He nodded. “That it is.”