by ForkishAG
The coffee was still warm.
With a thundering zap, she found herself in Laboratory 3, one hand clutching the necklace. The chair she had knocked over was to her side, and the pencil that rolled off the table was now resting itself beside her shoe. Someone outside the door was shouting her name.
She knew the voice.
The door slammed open. Dr. Evelyn Bell rushed in, stopping on the threshold, one hand braced against the frame.
"Eleanor?"
Eleanor tried to answer. Instead, she made a small, unpleasant noise, and put both hands over her mouth. Evelyn Bell crossed the room.
"Dear god, are you hurt?"
Eleanor shook her head. She tried to stand up, but she felt unusually numb, and it was only with Bell's assistance that she managed to stand up and sit herself on the table.
"Alright, let me go get—"
Eleanor grabbed her sleeve. Bell looked down at her fingers. Eleanor summoned her inner strength and forced out one word. "Please." So Bell stayed. Later, there were examinations. Interviews. Plenty of paperwork about the world Eleanor had been in. Someone asked her to describe the containment sector in which the clock had been destroyed. A stranger asked whether she had learned anything that could potentially alter the next sixty-seven years.
She told him about a restaurant and a mind-reading duck.
That evening, Bell brought her a change of clothes and the incident report. Eleanor sat on the edge of the medical bed and read it as her senses returned. Eleanor quickly skimmed through the report. She was halfway through when her eyes stopped on one line: Outstanding personnel losses: 0
"Is something wrong?" Bell asked.
"No," Eleanor replied. She folded the report along the crease it already had. The necklace left a little red mark in her palm.
Ethan MacCarthy asked if she wanted tea. Eleanor had rehearsed answers on her flight to Poland: temporal contamination, the future technology, but not of tea.
"Yes, please."
He poured it himself. There were two letters on MacCarthy's desk concerning Eleanor's transfer. One was from Site-19, and the other was from Eleanor herself, which was considerably longer. He tapped the second one as they spoke.
"You're requesting a permanent transfer?" said MacCarthy.
"Yes."
"You understand that we won't be able to send you back,"
"Yes."
MacCarthy was a rather pleasant man. He explained her assignment. Cataloguing items, primarily, and sometimes supervised work with recovered materials. He did not ask her when or how he would die. She liked him for that.
Her desk was in a room she shared with a translator called Marta, who had already taken the larger drawer.
"It sticks," said Marta, as Eleanor tried to pull open the second drawer.
"Then why didn't you take it?"
"Because I was here first, of course."
For the first three weeks at Site-120, both of them were meticulously polite. During the fourth week, Eleanor corrected one of Marta's mistranslations in anomalous texts, which had caused the sticky drawer to burst open, letting in the winds of a Siberian blizzard. Marta corrected Eleanor's correction, and they argued for quite a while before finding a method to close the anomalous gateway.
Afterwards, they went out for soup. Marta had to tell her which tram to take home. The next morning, Eleanor knew what to do without asking.
At first, Eleanor wrote some things down in her notebook because she feared she would forget them. The restaurant's windows. The weight of the oars. The way Forrest anxiously stared at his phone while pretending he was looking at something else.
She wrote down the question she wanted him to answer. Underneath, she left some room on the paper for an answer.
By 1964, she had filled two notebooks. Most of the second was on an argument with the procurement office and a recipe Marta insisted she had copied incorrectly.
But occasionally, she would open the first one.
Would you have withdrawn it?
At the age of 25, she added: You could've at least said something.
At the age of 31: I don't know what I would've done either.
She crossed it out. Then, because crossing it out seemed dishonest, she wrote it back down again. There was no one to send it to, however.
In 1972, an assistant of hers named Tomasz failed to return from a field operation.
Eleanor had approved the operation. His unit was assigned to infiltrate an underground chamber that housed a spatial anomaly. She checked the measurements and conditions herself. Civilian reports, memoirs, any found text or information, she read it. Nothing in them had suggested the chamber was going to become unstable.
Before leaving, Tomasz had stopped by her office and asked if she wanted anything from the cafeteria. She was busy, and said no.
Half an hour into the operation, the chamber changed shape. The ceiling collapsed, cutting Tomasz off from the rest of the unit. The other members reached the surface, but Tomasz's radio stopped answering. For eleven days, they kept his workstation intact.
The first rescue team reached the obstruction and found no chamber beyond it. A second approach led the team back to the passage they had already been in. For eleven days, the team compared their routes with Tomasz's last readings. On the twelfth, the recovery team found him. He'd been dead for days due to dehydration. Someone asked where to put his belongings. At night, his mother banged on her door.
“You’re the one who sent him?” asked the woman.
“Yes.” Eleanor said while staring at the floor.
“They said you checked it.”
“I did.”
“Then what happened?” the woman's eyes began watering as they spoke.
Eleanor began explaining the changes in the chamber. The woman shook her head.
“They told me that. They’ve already told me that.”
She was still standing on the doorstep. Eleanor moved aside to make room for her, but she did not come in.
“He said you were careful. Whenever I worried, he said you were careful.”
“We didn't know that—”
“Don’t tell me what you didn't know. Where's my son?”
Eleanor stopped talking. She stared at the floor. His mother pressed a hand against her mouth. When she lowered it, she was crying.
“His daughter’s birthday is next week. Did you know that?”
Eleanor struggled to find her words.
“He bought her a bicycle. It’s at my house so she wouldn’t find it. He was going to come and get it.”
She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“What am I supposed to do with it now?”
“I’m sorry.” said Eleanor.
“I know you’re sorry!”
The woman said it so loudly that Eleanor stepped back. For a moment, neither spoke. Then his mother began crying harder.
“I want him to come and get it.”
Eleanor brought a chair to the doorway. After a while, the woman sat down. She stayed for almost an hour. Before leaving, she asked for the things Tomasz had kept at work.
“His coat. The photographs. Whatever’s in his desk. Are they still there?”
“I’ll bring them to you.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” The woman nodded.
The next morning, there was a meeting on the failure of this mission.
"His personal effects will need to be checked before we release them," said the operations coordinator. "Where should we put everything?"
"Leave it."
"We can leave it for now, but his family—"
"We only found him yesterday. Couldn't you wait one fucking day before you start dividing his things?"
The coordinator lowered his pen. "No one is dividing anything up. I'm asking how you want us to return them." Eleanor could hear Tomasz's mother asking about his belongings last night. Her sobbing. She had promised today.
"Would you be asking this if it was someone you actually gave a damn about?"
The chair of the meeting asked her to leave. She stood up so quickly that the chair slammed against the wall. Marta found her in the stairwell.
"I signed it," Eleanor said.
"I know."
"I checked everything myself."
Marta sat beside her.
"His daughter's birthday is next week." Eleanor pressed her hands together between her knees.
"I can't even remember her name. I promised his mother I would pack up his belongings and send them to her today. I was such a fucking jerk."
"Would you like me to help?" asked Marta. Eleanor nodded.
They packed up Tomasz's belongings in the afternoon. Marta found his coat. Eleanor wrapped up the photo of his daughter in clean sheets of paper. It had been delivered to their house by the evening. There was nothing that could be changed by reading the paperwork about the mission. She read it again anyway.
Bell called while she was still reading. They usually spoke on Sundays, but Eleanor had missed the last two.
“Have I offended you?”
“You haven't.”
“What happened?”
Eleanor told her about Tomasz. The field operation. The operations coordinator. The meeting. Bell listened without interrupting her. Before hanging up, they scheduled to call again on Sunday.
When she finally went home, she opened the first notebook and looked down at the empty space left for Forrest. She still wanted to ask whether he would've withdrawn it. Beneath that, she wrote another question.
Did you try to find another way?
The next year, Eleanor requested financial support for an independent survey instrument. Procurement denied the application twice.
She submitted it a third time with the retrieval team’s notes attached.
The instrument was cumbersome and required frequent recalibration. In November, it detected a change the primary readings had missed. Three researchers were able to withdraw before their routes closed. Eleanor attended the debrief. Afterwards, she corrected the instrument’s maintenance schedule and sent it back to procurement.
Marta knew about Forrest. Not everything, though. Most of Forrest's records were classified; some were kept a secret. Eleanor herself could not explain without sounding as though two days had outweighed most of the life she made ever since.
"You can still miss someone without having known them very long," said Marta.
"I know."
"You always say that when in reality you don't."
They were in Eleanor's kitchen. Marta was peeling apples in one strip. She had become irritatingly good at doing so.
"Y'know, I used to think I'd know what to say by now," said Eleanor.
"What do you want to say?"
"Well, it changes."
"Then it's quite fortunate you've got time."
Eleanor stared at her. Marta put down the knife.
"That was a stupid thing to say," said Marta.
"A little."
"I'm getting old. People are supposed to let me."
Eleanor took a piece of apple and put it in her mouth.
Years earlier, when she was still at school, Marta's daughter, Anna, first came over on Thursdays because Marta worked late, and often overnight. Eleanor cleared out a space on the kitchen table so she could do her homework. Being a researcher did not apparently qualify her to explain Anna's school subjects.
Marta died in 2008. Anna had grown too tall to sit underneath Eleanor's desk. She came to Eleanor's house with a bag of items her mother meant to bring: a red scarf, two books, and a serving spoon.
Anna asked if she could still come over on Thursdays.
"Of course," said Eleanor.
When Eleanor saw Forrest again in 2013, she was seventy-four.
He was eleven.
A little boy, sitting by the pillar. A blue school-bag. A piece of paper marked by a big, red 56%. He noticed her, and wiped away his tears. It had been 54 years since Eleanor last met Forrest.
For a moment, she could not reconcile his face with the size of him.
She had imagined a conversation across a table. She had imagined being angry. She had imagined she would be so old that Forrest would have to lean forward to hear her.
For now, she didn't want to say anything about it. They spoke about his test. Luckily, for a senior researcher, his questions weren't difficult. She was grateful for that; it was a quick fix. When he handed her the paper, she could see the graphite marks on his finger. He still wrote too hard. There was a loose thread at his cuff.
She had once wanted to ask him how he could've sat beside her and said nothing.
She had brought the necklace because she always did. In every conversation she had imagined between them, it lay between them on the table.
But there was no table. There was only a little boy waiting to learn whether one failed test meant that there was something wrong with him. She could not ask him to explain a decision he had not made. She used to want to return the necklace to someone who remembered giving it to her. Instead, she placed it in his hand and closed his fingers around it. It was tarnished, of course, but the brass was still clear, and the photo within still remained. He held it in his hand, examining it with the serious concentration children give to things that adults usually do not let them hold.
She nearly asked him to open it.
She nearly said: That's me.
A horn sounded from the opposite side of the road. Forrest gathered his things. Before he left, he asked Eleanor whether they would meet again. She gave him the answer she could bear to give. He smiled.
She watched him go.
When she returned to the hotel, she put a hand to her throat while trying to search for the key. Her wrinkled fingers found the indentation the necklace had left in her skin.
She sat down on the edge of the bed without taking off her coat. After a while, she called Anna.
"Did you have a nice day?" asked Anna.
Eleanor looked at the empty space above the buttons of her old blouse.
"I saw an old friend."
"Oh, that’s lovely. How is she?"
"He was better when I left."
After that, there had been opportunities. Eleanor could’ve introduced herself, explained the photograph, the necklace, and shoved a big story into Forrest’s face.
Once, she even drafted the letter.
Halfway through, she realized she was trying to tell him how to behave when he met her. She put the letter away. There was a version of the meeting in which he had been kind because she instructed him to be. Eleanor didn’t like that.
She wanted him to know her. She did not want every act of kindness she remembered to be an instruction he was meant to follow. So she chose a date: September 1st, 2026. By then, the time that they'd spent together would be over. She could tell him about it for years onwards without fearing their shared memory would be changed. Besides, she had not expected waiting a few more years to be that difficult.
At eighty, she was still going to the office twice per week.
At eighty-four, the stairs became a problem.
At eighty-six, she had to stop pretending the breathlessness was simply due to the stairs.
She moved into the site’s medical office in the spring of 2026. Anna’s daughter, Kasia, had visited her numerous times and read Eleanor her favorite books.
By late August, Eleanor was struggling to get out of bed. She'd intended to get in contact with Forrest a few more days later, but her body was feeling worse and worse, and there was no reason for her to be certain she would still be alive by September.
Forrest Klein intended to answer his messages while eating toast. But something about the girl that sat opposite to him kept drawing his gaze. Her smile. Her hair. Her expression as she tried to find an object in the luncheonette that had been removed in her absence.
He put his phone in his jacket.
For once, he could let a few things wait.
The evening had been good for Eleanor. She made quick work of her book that she had been reading after Anna picked up her daughter from Site-120. Plus, she had the energy to eat dinner.
"What time is it there?" Eleanor asked the nurse as she came in to take away the empty dinner tray.
"New York?"
"Yes."
The nurse checked her watch and did some math in her head.
"Midafternoon," said the nurse.
"Good," replied Eleanor.
The phone rang for some time. She straightened a folded tissue on her knee. A recorded voice began speaking. Eleanor looked up sharply.
"Is that him?" asked the nurse. Eleanor nodded.
Forrest said his name. He asked her to leave a message. She hadn’t expected Forrest’s voice to be quite so familiar. She quietly recorded her message.
Forrest’s phone vibrated in his bag. He glanced towards it, then at the oar he was holding.
"What is it?" asked Eleanor, who was seated on the other side of the boat.
Forrest shook his head. "Nothing."
He saw the missed call when they returned the boat. It was from an internal number that he did not recognize. He decided he would listen to the message somewhere quiet at the end of the day.
Eleanor was already walking ahead of him. He put his phone away and caught up to her.
It was an hour past midnight. Eleanor woke up from Site-120’s medical bed, feeling worse.
The night nurse helped her sit up and called the doctor. While they waited, Anna entered the room. She made her way over as soon as she got the message from the nurse. She moved the phone from the chair to the bedside table, and sat on the side of the bed.
"No call?" asked Eleanor.
"Not yet," replied Anna. This did not make sense. Forrest’s recorded message assured Eleanor that he would call back once he’s available.
Eleanor looked outside the window. The outside was dark enough that the room inside reflected upon the window.
"It’s not this dark over there, is it?"
"No," replied Anna.
"There was a park on the roof," said Eleanor. The nurse adjusted her blanket.
"In New York?"
Eleanor nodded. "I was quite rude about it."
"So it wasn’t a very good park, was it?"
Eleanor shook her head. "No. It was lovely." The doctor came in with his medical bag before she could say anything else.
By four in the morning, Kasia had awoken and arrived, carrying the bag her mother had forgotten. By then, someone had called Forrest again and left a message. This one asked him to contact Site-120’s medical residence as soon as possible.
The doctor had explained what was happening.
After a while, Anna asked whether there was anyone else she wanted them to call. Eleanor looked at the phone.
"They’ve left a message," Anna said gently.
"I know."
"We can try again."
Eleanor nodded. So they did.
It was a little over half past ten in New York.
Forrest Klein’s screen lit against his palm. The same unfamiliar number appeared again. A notification under the notice of the grand clock's neutralization. He had still not listened to its messages.
Across the room, Eleanor watched the corridor empty.
Forrest silenced the call. He would listen when this was all over. If he answered now, his Eleanor would have to spend her remaining time with him watching him speak to someone else.
He put the phone facedown beside him.
"I’m sorry," said Anna.
Eleanor shook her head. She knew where he was now. Who he was with. For a little while, this knowledge made her angry. She had been patient with it for so long that this anger had surprised her. She wanted him to answer. She wanted one conversation for which they both knew the beginning.
Then she remembered that room. The glass. The look on Forrest’s face when she whirled away. She remembered being twenty.
"He’s with me."
Anna leaned closer to her.
"What?"
Eleanor was about to explain, but she was tired, and there was too much of it.
"I was frightened."
Anna stroked the back of her hand. "Are you frightened now?"
Eleanor looked at her. "Yes." Anna moved her chair closer as Eleanor stared. Kasia sat on the other side of the bed. "Stay," said Eleanor.
So they stayed.
When the incineration chamber activated, Forrest’s hands reached towards the young woman who sat next to him.
His hands reached nothing.
He stared at his palm.
Then he left.
Forrest’s childhood house had long been abandoned, but his parents had kept the house when they moved away. The old key still worked. The rain poured on him as the wet door made a creaking noise.
The drawer was harder to open than expected. He moved away the old school papers, markers, and a cable that no longer functioned properly.
Underneath all of them was the necklace.
There had been a feeling. He felt like he knew what was stored inside. His fingers fumbled with the catch. He opened the locket.
The photograph inside had faded. The woman did not change. He sat down on the floor.
The notifications of a Neutralization Report on the clock brightened his phone’s screen. After reading it, he let out a long chuckle.
She had got home.
But underneath that was something else. There had been several missed calls from the same number. He read the most recent message. It was from an unfamiliar woman called Anna. She told Forrest to contact Site-120 concerning an 87-year-old woman called Eleanor Wilson.
Forrest stopped breathing for a moment. His heart shook as he read her name.
Then he called.
"Medical residence."
"This is senior researcher Forrest Klein. Someone called me about Eleanor Wilson."
"One moment, please."
Forrest stood up too quickly. The necklace hit the wall on his wrist. There were things he needed. A flight. An authorization to visit Site-120. Perhaps the site administration could do so.
A second woman came on the line.
"Is this Forrest Klein?"
"I’m Anna. I’m a friend of Eleanor’s."
"Can I speak to her?"
Anna took a deep breath. Forrest felt a wrong feeling when she did so, like a swarm of insects crawling within his stomach. He waited for her to speak.
"She passed away a little while ago."
He looked down at the locket. The chain was wound around two of his fingers. He slowly worked it loose while Anna waited.
"How long?" asked Forrest.
"She had already been ill since spring, but tonight was very sudden, and—"
"No, at 120."
"Since 1959. It was where she met my mother."
Forrest tried to find somewhere to put his other hand.
"Was she alone?"
"No. My daughter and I were with her."
Forrest let out a long sigh. He closed his eyes.
"Thank you."
After Anna hung up, Forrest didn’t know what to do. He scrolled through the missed calls and the notifications. He eventually found himself listening to the message Eleanor left for him.
There was a little rustling before she spoke. Her voice was frail and weak.
"Hello, Forrest. It’s me. Eleanor."
Her voice was quieter than he remembered. He leaned into the phone so he could hear her.
"I’m in Poland. I’ve been meaning to get in touch. I don’t think I’ve got a lot of time left."
She coughed. Forrest could hear someone walking across the room. She adjusted her phone so it was easier for him to hear her.
"I thought we might talk for a little while, when you’re free. There are some things I wanted to ask you."
Forrest lowered himself to the floor beside the open drawer.
"And I’ve got quite a lot to tell you, actually."
She gave a small laugh.
"When you’re free, you can call this number. They’ll put you through."
There was another long pause, as if she was deciding if she was going to say something.
"Alright. Call me when you have a moment."
The recording ended. Forrest kept the phone against his ear, the locket still in his hands. The chain of the necklace caught between his fingers. Eventually, he lowered his phone and scrolled to the beginning of her message.
He had a moment now, but it was to no use.