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It took me two weeks to see the box.

I don’t mean literally; it was shoved onto the table in the dining room with the others, a tower of unopened cardboard built with tape and too much disposable income.

I mean it took me two weeks to see the box for what it was, and by then, I was too late.

By then, I was wrapped up in something mind-boggling, soul-saving, and life-changing.

And it was all my fault.

Let me explain.

****

My wife and I got packages almost daily—Amazon, USPS, FedEx, you name it. Online shopping was a habit we picked up when we moved, first out of practicality, then indulgence, then caution when COVID hit.

With Christmas approaching, it only got worse. My wife and I were only children and both our parents had died, so it was just us ordering packages. Mostly for our 4-year old son.

This year, I was ready to buy him everything he’d asked for. I’d been working at Sylversea Industries for over three years on the opportunity of a lifetime. I couldn't talk much about what I did, but they paid me well for my time and ideas. With my wife out of work, it was me that afforded us this house, the food on our table…and whatever boxes arrived on our doorstep.

My wife had made it clear that she didn’t like all the deliveries. Over the past few months, we’d been talking less, yet somehow arguing more. At first I thought it was the cabin fever, the deadly virus outside, the climate change threatening our son’s future, or any one of numerous other stressors. We’d gone through a lot together—hell, we’d survived two years of COVID—and I was confident that in time, we’d work out our problems. We always did.

The day this box arrived, she yelled up to my office and I could hear more than a hint of annoyance in her voice. I was about to reply, but then a call came in, and I knew who I had to answer.

Later, I came down for dinner. Time had gotten away from me and the house was quiet. I made a mental note to spend a day offline, just the three of us, over the weekend.

I waited for my leftovers to warm as the dot pattern on the microwave blurred in front of my eyes. An equation still taunted me. I’d have to return upstairs after eating.

When the timer beeped, I took my food and sat on the couch, ignoring the mountain of boxes on the table. The turkey and stuffing weren't anywhere near hot, but I was too tired to care.

****

A few days passed, and more boxes arrived on our porch. I’d ordered most of them, so I was vaguely aware of what they contained. One by one, they were added to the mountain in our dining room, relegated to being opened and rewrapped the week before Christmas.

I made more of an effort to put my son to bed, but was quickly discouraged. No matter what I did, he cried and cried, begging for his mom or his stuffed dinosaur. My wife was already asleep and a search around his bedroom came up empty, so instead, I climbed into his bed and held him until he fell asleep.

****

“All you do is work. When was the last time you had dinner with us without me having to interrupt one of your calls?”

We’d just finished cleaning our plates and somehow, we were arguing again. I sighed. I’d hoped tonight would be different.

If only she knew. If only I could tell her.

With a deep breath, I leaned over and took her hands in mine.

“These extra hours…” I cleared my throat and tried again. “These calls will get us over the finish line of something big, and then I promise, I’ll take four weeks off, and…”

I brought her hands closer to my face. “Wait a minute. Where’s your ring?”

Embarrassed, she backed away, and our hands slipped apart.

“I don’t know. I took it off over the weekend, when we made you those ornaments.” Her eyes met mine, and I could tell the sting of my absence was still fresh. So much for a family weekend. “Anyway, when I went to put it back on, my ring wasn’t where I’d left it. I’m sure it’s in my jewelry box or something.”

That night, after she’d fallen asleep, I sat awake reading Einstein’s Dreams, squinting in the dim light of my phone. Someday soon, it would all be worth it. Someday soon, they’d both forgive me.

****

Another week passed, and then they both disappeared.

My wife and my son.

I was writing an email when I heard them yell, sudden and shrill and abrupt. I raced downstairs.

Boxes were scattered around the dining table, all except one. Every room was empty, and the front and back doors were jammed. Taking the steps two at a time, I returned upstairs for my phone, but the screen refused to wake. My work computer wouldn’t start, either.

Something was very wrong.

Panicked, I tried to calm myself. There had to be some sort of clue. Something I hadn’t seen.

Of course.

Feeling like a prize idiot, I jogged down the hall to the door at the end. Pushing it open, I found myself in the sanctuary—my wife’s word for her office—surrounded by pothoses and pillows. I slid into her desk chair and flipped open her laptop.

Our home security system generated a list of folders cataloged by location, date, and time, so finding what I wanted would be easy.

But today’s footage was just static.

Working backward, I saw a steady rotation of drones delivering packages, my wife making dinner, our son playing on the carpet. Standard COVID-era fare, except—

My gut clenched. Where was I? I knew there were countless other videos from around our house, and I was in just a few. None with my son. At least not recently.

I felt a rush of loneliness.

After a moment of hesitation, I began opening more files: bird’s eye views from our dining room, living room, kitchen, and hallway. In one, my son toddled across the hardwood, my wife close behind. In another, they ate dinner, laughing and smearing mashed potatoes.

What had I been doing instead? And for whom?

It’s not like I’d been there, silent but laughing behind the camera. I’d let technology replace me. While I’d been basking in my own ambition at Sylversea, my wife and son had lived this life together. Without me.

I reached up to touch their faces, their laughs frozen and pixelated.

They had to be somewhere…and I was going to find them.

*****

It took me a few more minutes to find the next clue.

Entry_112922_175732.mov

Exactly two weeks ago, just before 6 PM.

I hit play.

The video began the same as the others: our front porch, quiet and suburban and boring. Suddenly, a drone whirred onscreen, descending from the dark evening sky with smooth, practiced movements. It hovered comfortably above the patio, unencumbered by the weight and bulk of its cargo.

I could see an obnoxious, single sticker slapped across the side, identical to the one now sitting on my kitchen table.

Onscreen, the drone registered the successful delivery in its internal systems, emitted two beeps, then dropped the box, which landed on our polyester welcome mat with a muffled thud. Our doorbell sensed the motion and rang, and I could hear my wife’s footsteps as she approached the door. The drone’s engines whirred faster, lifting it back into the night, and the video cut to black.

I hit pause, rewound a few seconds, and double clicked to get a closer look.

The machine was hardly visible against the night sky, but for a split second, our porch lamp glinted off a metallic label on the underside of its body. My breath caught in my throat as I made out two tiny words:

Sylversea Industries.

****

I stood in front of the table, seething. What the hell was this?

My employer never sent packages. That was part of our agreement.

Then, out of nowhere, they’d sent this monstrosity. And it had something to do with my family disappearing.

Scissors in hand, I stabbed at the top, at the awful sticker, and…nothing. Not even a scratch.

I pushed the package in a circle, examining each side for any markings or clues. Had it always been this heavy?

“Alright,” I breathed as I gripped the underside, “I’ll just—”

I tried to lift the package and nearly broke my back. A searing pain roared into my arms and I cried out, my voice echoing in the empty house.

In front of me, the box began to shake. As pain coursed through my veins, strips of brown tape ripped upward with a flourish, and I felt myself falling forward, headfirst into the box.

*****

When consciousness returned, the first thing I felt was metal. I wasn’t in handcuffs, just flat on my back on a wide, steel bench. My back was cramping, and while I wanted to keep my eyes closed, I gingerly eased them open.

I was alone in a silver room no bigger than my home office. The furnishings were steel: this bench, a table, two chairs. The walls were blank, save for a horizontal mirror stretched along one side.

A single light buzzed overhead, dim but incessant.

This was an interrogation room.

*****

There was no way for me to track time, and while I hoped for a meal at some point, I found myself surprisingly devoid of hunger. Yelling for help and banging on the walls did nothing, so I simply resigned myself to wait.

Someone had to come eventually.

Time passed and I was jolted from my daze by the screech of metal on metal. A gap opened in the wall across from me. Before I could reach it, a tray came clattering through, sliding loudly against the steel floor. To my surprise, it held no food at all. Just a glittering diamond band and a small, stuffed stegosaurus.

*****

I can't tell you how long I sat on that bench, turning them over in my hands.

These two people, gone away except for their two treasures. Would I ever see them again? When? How?

I cried for the time I'd wasted. I begged and pleaded and reasoned and threatened. I slammed my fists into the table, equally angry at this place and myself.

And still, silence.

It was just me, alone in my own head.

“Damn it, I don’t know what you want!” I had run out of tears at this point, wet rivers running dry in my stubble. “All I want is to see them again. Please.”

The mirror in front of me flickered, and from one breath to the next, a man materialized behind a pane of glass.

My captor.

I moved toward him, my eyes adjusting to the dark room beyond. I could make out his heavy-set build, dark red sweater, clipboard, and glasses. The salt from my tears suddenly tasted sharp on my tongue.

I stepped closer until my nose pressed against the window.

I knew him, the bastard. The cut of his jaw, the clear blue eyes, the scar above his eyebrow.

My skin prickled. He was older, but his face was unmistakable.

I was looking at myself.

****

I planned to ambush him when he entered, and though I tried, he was stronger than I’d expected. Our short tussle left me panting and pushed into the corner of the room.

He spoke first.

“I know you have questions, but I promise, it’s no use fighting.”

Had I lost my mind? What was going on? I swirled between confusion and anger and pride. Had we done it? All the long nights running calculations at Sylversea…

I wiped a smear of blood from my lip and spat.

“Who are you? Where are we? Where is my family?”

He smiled gently, his spectacled eyes alight with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“You mean our family?”

My heart fluttered. So it was true. Somehow, some way, this man and I were the same. My team and I had done it. But how? And at what price?

I’d been here, seemingly alone, for what felt like days…and before that, I’d made the choice to be alone for even longer.

My voice rose and my anger rushed out.

“How could you do this to me? To us? To…yourself?”

“A more useful question, I’m afraid, is how I could not. At this moment, I’m you… but you’re not me. Not yet.”

Carefully, he walked toward me and pulled out the metal chair on the opposite side of the table. He motioned for me to sit, and since I had no better options, I did.

He continued. “To be clear, I could ask you the same questions you’re asking me.“

“What… what the hell does that mean? What is this place?”

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through the graying hair at his temples.

“Like I said, I’m you. This place, well…we’re inside a flicker. A moment between moments. A breath between breaths.”

Both my temples and my temper flared. “Cut the bullshit.”

He sighed.

“The project you've been slaving over. It works…just not in the way you anticipated. The last two weeks haven’t happened anywhere except inside your head. This room, its design, and keeping yourself prisoner: those were all your own choices. Yours and mine.”

He took a deep breath. “The good news is: when we part, your eyes will open and our wife and son will be right where you expect them, playing downstairs next to the tree in the living room, oblivious to what you’ve experienced.”

Hope bloomed in me.

“When you leave here, you’ll return to November 29th, just after 6 PM, with one hell of a hangover—and an important decision to make.”

I could smell the mint on his breath as he leaned in closer across the table, gently setting scraps of cardboard on the surface between us.

“If you choose to continue living as you have been, devoting your time to Sylversea, the box that brought you here will never be invented, never be delivered, and never bring you here. A different box might be, but there’s no guarantee. This conversation, your time in this room… they’ll evaporate. You’ll spend your life chasing fulfillment, like we all do, and whatever you do achieve will be worth something. But it'll be different. Not better, not worse, just different.”

My fingers clenched in my lap, wrapping even tighter around the wedding band and well-loved stegosaurus. Different than what?

“On the other hand, if you decide to prioritize your family, you’ll find the inspiration you need for this box. You’d be surprised what children can teach you. You’ll remember me, and what we talked about here, and it’ll remind you every day of what’s most important in your life.”

“Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute.” I rubbed my eyes, willing myself to wake from this nightmare. “Our research indicated that the temporal anomaly wasn’t random. That we could choose when to arrive.”

He looked at me funny, like I hadn’t spent my life devoted to researching time travel.

“Like I said. You do get to choose, but you’re not God. You can only return to the day the box arrives, and any point after that. Not before.”

My heart sank. All that time…

“Ok, but if it’s my choice, and you’re…me…we’re here now…haven’t I already chosen?”

He sighed.

“I’ve chosen. For myself. Like I said: I’m you, but you’re not me. Not yet. You have to choose how to live. You pick this box, or that box, or no box. Over and over, as many times as it takes.”

The gravity of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. I looked at the cardboard scraps between us, avoiding his gaze, until I felt hot tears prick the corners of my eyes.

He waited patiently for me to speak, and when I did, my voice came out hoarse and quiet.

“And when I leave, when I go back, where will you go?”

“The same place as you, just a different time.”

“To your…to our family?”

His smile was tired as he reached over, taking my face in his hands. I wanted to resist, but my anger had left me, and his warm fingers were peaceful and insistent against my temples.

The room began to spin. Colors and shapes melted, blending us into a kaleidoscope of gray. With shaking hands, I reached up to feel my face, and it was the same as his. Wet with fresh tears.

We faded away, and back, and together, and the last thing I heard was our voice in my head.

“It’s up to you.”

*