Dear Nick,
I hope the fog is lifting from your mind though I’m sure it is
now being replaced by an even greater confusion as to what is
going on as you have found yourself in the exact location where
you were at eight o’clock this evening.
In life there are moments that are impossible to grasp, to
come to terms with: the injustice at the death of the innocent,
the inexplicable agony and confusion at the loss of those we love,
the impossible cruelty of fate.
NICK COULDN’T HELP looking out the window toward the coroner’s truck where Julia’s body lay in a cold, black bag.
One simple selfish act can reverberate through time, through
life, robbing a stranger of existence. A loved one could meet her
death from the repercussions of a moment or an event she may
never know or understand. Yet if this one moment didn’t occur,
if it could be found, could be taken back, the lives it touched
could be changed, could be altered and that one life saved.
You are now standing in a room, in an instant that seems
torn from your memory, a victim of magic, of some divine
intervention, but I assure you it is neither.
You are in the very room you were in during the eight
o’clock hour this evening, living that hour once again. But this
time you are free to do as you wish, turn left where before you
turned right, say yes where before you said no. No one will
know the difference, nor will anyone else experience this
phenomenon. You are on your own to choose direction as you see
fit, to alter the future you have experienced.
You’ve been given a gift, Nick. A gift to live twelve hours of
your life over again.
You must pay very close attention as time is short:
Every hour, as the minute hand of the gold watch sweeps to
and arrives at twelve, you will slip back in time one hundred
and twenty minutes to relive one hour of your life again.
One step forward, two steps back.
This will occur exactly twelve times, no more, no less,
taking you back by the hour to ten o’clock this morning.
With your actions now, stepping back into each prior hour
of the day, you have the chance to find and save your wife.
I will not bore you with explanations and technicalities,
suffice it to say that as the hour strikes you will be whisked back
to the exact location where you were two hours earlier to live
that hour anew.
But be aware, each choice, just as in normal life, has
consequences that we may not realize in the moment of their
choosing. You have the ability to save Julia, the ability to put
your world back in balance but be warned, it is a precarious
route you now venture on, and your choices must be well
thought out so as not to unbalance the rest of your or anyone
else’s existence.
As to why you are being granted this gift, as to who I am,
and how this all happens, those are not of import in this
moment, but rest assured, all will be made known in time.
God speed, Tempus Fugit,
Z.
PS: Hold tight to this letter and the timepiece, and be
warned, this watch you carry on your person can never leave
you, for if it does, or if it is destroyed, you will be lost to the
moment you are tied to, reintroduced to the forward-flowing
existence of the rest of man, and saving Julia’s life will be
become a lost cause.
OFTEN WHEN FACED with impossible odds, when the future is darkest, a man discards logic and turns to faith, to prayer, to the mystical, convincing himself that a higher power will intervene in his favor. It happens in matters of a desperate heart, in business, even in war, when he is up against an enemy. A soldier will pray to God for victory, often not realizing that his adversary is also praying for deliverance, and in all likelihood to the same God. A man will wish on a star for love, throw a penny into a well with confidence that it will deliver the winning lottery ticket, or rub rabbits’ feet so his favorite team will win the Super Bowl.
And so in that manner, Nick began to believe in the watch in his hand, in the written words of the stranger-though he was at a loss to know what language appeared at the bottom of the note. He believed that somehow, if he fought hard enough, he could stop Julia’s killer, he could save her. If he could just hold out until 9:00, he would be able to confirm whether that hope was hollow, whether his faith was misplaced and he was doomed to relive his harrowing experience in the interrogation room all over again. As silly, as impossible as it sounded, it was all that he had to hold on to.
With a sudden focus, he raced out of the library and across the marble two story foyer to the front door. Throwing the dead bolt, he hurried to the French doors in the living and dining rooms that led to the rear slate terrace, locking them in succession. He locked the side and garage doors and hurried back into the library, closing the heavy mahogany door, locking it tight. He was thankful that Marcus had put a dead bolt on the library door, odd for an interior door, but not odd for a room that contained a Gerome and two Norman Rockwells.
Nick looked again at the watch: 8:58.
And he heard them arrive, pounding on the locked front door.
Nick went to the bay window and closed the slatted wood shutters, flipping them down, sealing any point of vision into the room.
He heard the front door being kicked open with an earthquake-like rumble, and Marcus’s enraged voice suddenly filling the cavernous marble foyer, no doubt angered at the damage and the situation.
A knock sounded on the library door.
“Nick,” Marcus’s muffled voice came from the other side. “It’s me. I put a call in to Mitch, he’ll meet us down at the station. But these guys, they want you to go with them… and they say now.”
Nick remained silent, staring at the room, staring at the watch in the palm of his hand: 8:59.
“Listen, I’ll be right behind you,” Marcus said, enormous compassion in his voice. “You’ve got my word, we’ll get this all sorted out.”
Nick remained focused on the watch.
“Nick,” Marcus said through the door, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I believe you, I believe you-”
“Enough is enough,” Shannon ’s voice interrupted. “Open this door now, Quinn.”
Nick sat there, staring at the pocket watch, the second hand sweeping at a pace that seemed impossibly slow. Thirty seconds gone, thirty to go.
“Nick, please, I don’t have my keys, and these assholes already destroyed my front door.”
Nick continued to stare at the watch as if it would somehow deliver him from the moment, as if it were sacred and would reveal the truths of the hereafter.
“Get out of the way,” Shannon yelled at Marcus. “You’ve got five seconds, Quinn.”
And as Nick remained focused on the ticking watch, the door exploded open, splintered into toothpicks as Shannon ’s foot destroyed both lock and mahogany with an explosive kick. His gun was drawn and held before him as he burst into the room. Dance, also armed, came right behind him.
“On the ground,” the overzealous detective screamed.
Nick tucked the watch into his pocket just as Shannon grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him to the Persian rug on the floor.
“Dammit all,” Marcus shouted as he grabbed Shannon by the shoulder, pulling him off Nick. “Leave him alone.”
Shannon spun about and snapped a punch, catching Marcus in the jaw. Without even flinching, Marcus poured his 220 pounds into his fist as it landed square on Shannon ’s nose, exploding it into a crimson mess.