Out of Sight, Out of time

The blurred lights of the pier cast a misty glow as Eliza trembles in the cold teeth of a winter night. She doesn’t want to be here. Her face is so frozen it burns. The exhaust funnels from her lips in thick clouds. She rubs her hands together at fire-starting speed and tucks them beneath the arms of her jacket. Should’ve worn gloves. Gelid water sloshes and chafes the wooden beams of the dock. August—he should’ve been here by now. She hasn’t seen him in months. These sudden disappearances have become commonplace. He only said that he had to go away for a while and to trust him. And then—a call in the middle of the night to meet him here, in this frozen hell. What was so important and secretive that it couldn’t be said over the phone? Why here? Her teeth chatter and click like a wound clock. She looks out into the frigid distance and stomps her foot. This is stupid.

Suddenly a hand wraps her shoulder. She shivers and turns to a slim man in a wool coat. A swing of her open hand stings the left side of his clean-shaven face—as much out of reflex as anger. She loads up and takes another shot. Direct hit. He caresses his cheek, wearing a broken look of impotence like a dog who accepts his punishment.

“Do you know how long I’ve been standing here?”

“Not as long as I’ve been admiring you standing there.”

“Don’t be cute, August.”

“Do you know how long I’ve missed your eyes?”

“I could guess. Five months. Five months, August!” Not wanting to admit that he’s softening her, she keeps him on the hook. “And not a word! Not a phone call. Not a message. You had me worried sick! How was I supposed to know if you were alive or—”

August swoops her in his arms and firms his lips against her cheek. She melts immediately, her hard heart in feathers. All the built-up anger and resentment dissolves into “It’s cold out here.”

“Yes, but we don’t have much time, and there is much to be revealed. I needed to bring you here—away from the city, away from … from its swiveling mounted eyes.”

“What?”

August becomes urgent and jittery. “I’m sorry I left the way I did, Eliza—believe me. But when you hear what I’m about to tell you, you will understand. I need you to understand.”

Eliza has the expression of someone who’s been drugged and taken for a ride. Her eyes are tangled in his, switching back and forth.

“Some very malign and powerful people are after me, just as much for who I am as what you are.”

“You’re scaring me, August.”

“They … They—”

“They who?! Who is ‘they’?”

“The people you work for. They are not who you think they are. I am not who … Holifax Industries masquerades as an entity invested in pioneering technologies and neural research, but this is only a cover.”

“Are you out of your mind? What we’ve accomplished has saved millions of children—countless lives!”

“Why do you think they only use children, Eliza? Most with no traceable histories or backgrounds. Ghosts. And they disappear just the same. And then there’s the marks. The children with the scars—they are of particular interest to your employers. They call them birthmarks, which is half-true. But from a birth of a different kind.”

“Different? Different how?”

He pauses and says, “A different time”

Eliza looks at him carefully. “You’re talking about transposition. Time travel.”

“Yes! Holifax is in the business of smuggling children across timelines to fulfill their own selfish ends. I know how it sounds, Eliza, but trust me—they and I go back a very long way.”

“I need to sit down. This doesn’t make sense. Where do I fit into all this? And what do they want with you?”

“You must listen to me, Eliza. Three months ago, Holifax eagerly announced the finding of an ancient artifact—a book.”

“Yes, the Book of Cruxes.”

“How do you think they found that book?”

“The wave generator is still in the early stages of development. Human trials are years if not decades away. The discovery of the text is unrelated. During an excavation in New Mexico, archeologists began experiencing seismic activity that opened a small crevice in the ruin. Later they discovered that it was their ground-penetrating radar that caused the earthquake. They—"

“Lied to you. Think about it, Eliza! The global funding, the men in dark uniforms. Do you know why they selected you? Do you really think they took one look at your credentials? They know who you are, and more importantly, they know what you are carrying inside you.”

“How do you know I’m … Wh-why … No!”

“You’ve started having dreams, Eliza. Vivid dreams of familiar places you can’t ever recall having been. Sewn like memories. And it all started after you became pregnant, a happening that, despite your best theories, you cannot readily explain. It was a full moon, Eliza, a full moon, and then you fell ill—tell me I’m lying!”

August’s voice resembles the buzzing gears of a blender as Eliza’s world spins. How does he know that? There’s no way he could know that. He’s crazy! What’s happening?! Stop! Left smeared in the residue are questions … denial … questions.

August tugs his sleeve and checks his watch. “Listen—I can’t explain everything now, but you will soon have answers. I promise you!” He reaches inside the breast pocket of his coat and unfolds a crumpled piece of brown paper. “When the time comes, run to this location. I know them—they will help you.”

Eliza shakes as she clutches the paper.

August holds her face in his hands. “The life you will give birth to will be a very special child. Because of this, you will be faced with a decision unlike any you’ve ever had to make. A decision that may decide the fate of us all. I am sorry.” He’s baffled as he admires her. “You are the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”

Muffled shouts echo closer.

“Here they come.”

“Come with me,” Eliza begs.

“The farther I am, the safer you are.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I know.”

August goes to feel her in his arms once more. But then he stops and turns away, seals his eyes, and shoves her into the water. Dark trench coats surround him. Eliza peers between the boarding of the platform, her eyes red and flooded. Her lips quiver.

August charges, shouting, “The wisdom of the Crux is in broad daylight!”

Eliza jolts as she’s ejected from her nightmare. The room squeezes into view, dark at the seams. Rays of blotted light spill into the crease. The colors of the room are blotched and at half resolution. Eliza squints to bring herself closer—closer to the world between her index and middle finger. Her hand slides limp off her face as the walls pulse into clarity.