Travis Wilkenson sat down at his desk and smiled to himself, happy with his life. Today marked his little daughter's first birthday, and he promised his wife that he wouldn't linger over his unfinished reports too long before joining them for a small celebration.
He reached into a drawer and his hand brushed against something unfamiliar. Curious, Wilkenson lifted the object into the light of the waning sun, then dropped it to the floor, repelled by the sight of the gun he held. Who on Earth had put a gun in his desk? His wife? he thought of his dark haired lady, her eyes ablaze when discussing the subject of firearms, especially since the birth of their child. No, it wasn't likely she put it there. However, if not her, then who?
The phone rang, breaking him from his train of thought. Absently he lifted the receiver and murmured into it, "Hello?"
"'Ello, yerself, Gav'n. Listen, lad, we oughten ta git togither t'night and make sure o' our plans fer t'morra. Ah'll be by fer a drink."
"I'm afraid you have the wrong number, sir. There is no Gavin here."
"Sir, is it now? Ah'm not inna mood fer yer games, Gav'n. Ah'll be by."
"Wait a minute! You've..." Wilkenson looked down at the dead receiver in his hand, confused. "... got the wrong number."
"No, he doesn't," came a voice from the shadows of the room. Wilkenson jumped and stared about the room, seeing the unfamiliar furniture for the first time. This wasn't his study, but a small flat: an antiquated, dilapidated bed, a shabby wardrobe and this small writing table were its only contents as far as furniture went. Scattered about the room were clothes, unwashed dishes and several sections from various English papers. Even the dime store pictures that hung about the room in profusion were unknown to him. He was stunned, something was terribly wrong. First the gun, then that called, now this room and the voice...that voice! The memory of it came swiftly back to Wilkenson.
ALL IRREGULARITIES WILL BE HANDLED BY THE FORCES CONTROLLING EACH DIMENSION; TRANSURANIC HEAVY METAL MAY NOT BY USED WHERRE THERE IS LIFE. MEDIUM ATOMIC WEIGHTS ARE
AVAILABLE: GOLD, LEAD, COPPER, JET, DIAMOND, RADIUM, SAPPHIRE, SILVER AND STEEL. SAPPHIRE AND STEEL HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED."
Travis Wilkenson glanced nervously in the direction of the voice. "Who is it?" He asked in a voice that matched, if not surpassed, the shaking in his knees.
A woman and man stepped into view. Both were blond, the woman wearing a dress of soft blue which accented the azure of her eyes and the corn silk yellow of her hair. Her lips played with a smile that both reassured and excited Wilkenson. They gave her a look of compassion, something that her grey suit companion lacked. There was certainly no warmth in his somber, square jawed face, just a look of resolve and single-mindedness.
The woman stepped forward, offering her hand. "You have an appointment with destiny, Gavin Bristol."
"I'm afraid you got the wrong guy, ma'am," Wilkenson answered, falling back a step from the slender hand before him. "My name is Wilkenson, Travis Wilkenson."
"Not for the moment, I'm afraid," the man answered curtly, then looked intently at the woman. This is going to be tricky if we are to get him through this without losing his mind. He's already halfway there.
"That's not fair, Steel." Again, the woman smiled, her eyes hypnotic. "I am Sapphire, Mr. Bristol, and this is Steel."
Wilkenson gazed up at the ceiling, his hands imploring for some sense of normality from above. "I just told you, my name is Travis Wilkenson. I'm 35 years old and live here in Loughborough with my wife and daughter. Now, I'm beginning to become more than a little annoyed with your presence." He dug into a hip pocket and drew out a scuffed wallet. "Here, I'll prove it to you." He riffled through the cellophane compartments, his arrogance replaced by a loss of hope. Nowhere in the photo section could he find a picture of his family, or even a bit of information that identified him. All it contained were ticket stubs, a plastic calendar and several newspaper clippings, concerning the Prince of Wales. "How did you manage to switch my wallet?" He demanded, and then abruptly started to grin. "You must have passed my wife on your way up here. Call her. She'll tell you who I am."
Complete denial, Steel sighed softly. Even when faced with facts.
Patience, Steel. You can't expect someone who's been existing in an empty category for two years to come leaping out of it. He's confused and needs some information. Show some compassion. You do remember what that is? Sapphire crossed her arms prettily at her partner's snort, and turned her attention to the dark-haired Wilkenson. "Steel can explain what has happened to you, Mr. Bristol."
The slender blond man walked to the window and brushed aside the greasy curtain, the fingers of one hand beating a nervous tattoo against his thigh. "You see, Mr. Bristol, reality is a contingent interlocking of events, events that we are very much a part of. Language, myth, history, ways of doing things, unconsciously accepted attitudes these all make up our only reality. For every event that we encounter, there is a verification search, a sifting through, if you will, of all previously known facts that exist for us, in an effort to discover or synthesize a previously known fact that will strengthen or verify the hypothesis that generated the search in the first place. In this fashion, we decided whether or not the event is 'realistic'. To be realistic is everyone's goal, for it indicates a high point of intelligence." Steel paused. "Are you still with me?"
"I think so," Wilkenson nodded, noticing that in the fading sunlight, the man's eyes had shifted from their brilliant blue to a cold iron grey color.
"Good, for now it gets confusing," Steel said, turning back to the window. "In order to answer a question, there is created something called an 'empty category'. The question is seized by a quest of the mind, which can reshape our concept in favor of the kinds of perceptions that are needed to 'see' the desired answer. The nature of the question determines and brings about its answer, just as the answer shapes the nature of the kinds of questions asked. In short, we reap what we sow, or, as William Blake put it, 'Anything capable of being believed is an image of the truth.'"
"But what does that have to do with me?" Wilkenson asked, perplexity creasing his smooth face.
"Oh, he's not done yet," Sapphire assured, pushing back a strand of golden hair. "Just like an empty category, the mind creates a type of filtering or screening, if you prefer. This helps to keep us from living in a world of mental chaos. This screen, however, is changeable and arbitrary, allowing us to accept new concepts and ideas that might have previously been against our nature."
"Sapphire, please let me." Steel smiled slightly at the woman. "What she is trying to say is that people are caught up in an imagery by which they can interpret the universe and give it personal meaning. This centering can fill a person with a sort of powerful conviction, much like the one you are displaying now by insisting you are someone you haven't been for two years."
"You mean I've been walking around screening out all sorts of things, but the wrong things? Are you trying to tell me I don't know fantasy from reality?"
"No, remember what I just said." Steel interrupted impatiently. "You have merely been perceiving a reality which is not. While you believed yourself to be Travis Wilkenson, a business man with a wife and family in Loughborough, you have been instead, Gavin Bristol, a criminal who's been hiding out in Colchester."
"Colchester?" Wilkenson repeated, incredulous. "I've only been there once before in my entire life. That was a short visit about two years ago, just before Maggie and I got married."
"And do you remember coming back?" Steel's voice dropped to a hard whisper.
Wilkenson stopped, thinking furiously for a long moment. "Well, no, not exactly, but you can't expect a person to remember everything!"
"The reason you can't is because you never returned."
Wilkenson sat down at the desk, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He pressed his hands against his reeling head. "But why?"
"Just as Time manipulates everything else, it has deceived you, up to this point. Now it has returned you and is standing back to watch the consequences."
"You make it sound as if time were alive."
"It is, in a sense," Sapphire answered while Steel resumed his vigil out the window, apparently lost in thought.
"And you're here to set things right? That's awfully decent of you."
"You misunderstand," Steel corrected. "We are here to pick up where Time left off. In other words, we are here to manipulate you for our own purposes."
"What gives you the right to do that? You're not a god!" Wilkenson shouted at the blond man.
"As far as you're concerned, I am." The man turned to face him, his manner as cold as his name. "And we will do anything we need to in order to insure your full cooperation in the matter."
"Like hell you will!" Wilkenson threw himself at Steel, his fury heightened by the loss of the world he had only moments ago held so firmly. Despite the sensation of warm flesh beneath his fingers, he felt as if he clutched a rock, the throat so unyielding. It struck him odd, for the man was so slight in build; also, he didn't fight back, making no attempt to tear away the hands that threatened him. Then, Wilkenson became aware of cold spreading through his body, numbing his arms, slowing his bodily functions, and he grew tired, weak, his knees surrounding their support. Collapsing, he heard Sapphire speak sharply, but the words did not penetrate the blanket of cold.
Abruptly, Wilkenson found himself on the floor, dazedly looking up to Sapphire. He became even more confused, for now her hair was no longer blonde, but darker, more like...Maggie's. He took a deep breath and ventured, "What happened?"
"Steel shouldn't have done that, but you startled him." Sapphire knelt to stroke his forehead. "It was purely instinctive on his part."
"I surprised him?" Wilkenson shook his head. "What did he do to me?"
"When he needs or wants to, Steel can lower his body temperature to absolute zero. Anything touching him suffers the same fate."
"And where is he now?" Wilkenson glanced about uneasily in the dark room. "Wait a minute. How long was I out? It's the middle of the night."
"You were never totally unconscious, Mr. Bristol. This is several days in your past." She reached a hand to him. "Come."
She led him through unfamiliar streets to a small pub, pausing before the door. "Now, I must urge you to remember that you are merely a visitor here. Do not do or say anything that will interfere with the progression of the events that you are about to witness."
With that parting warning, she entered and picked her way to a small table, far from the other patrons.
"I don't see what this is going to solve. I..." Wilkenson trailed off as he watched himself come through the door along with another man. "Oh my God," he whispered.
"There you are, Gavin Bristol." Sapphire's now hazel eyes watched him, misty with compassion.
"I've seen enough. I want to go back. Please, get me out of here."
"Of course," Sapphire said, tossed her hair back with a shake of her head.
A wave of nausea swept through Wilkenson and he bowed his head, waiting for it to pass. When it did, he looked up, not too terribly surprised to find himself back in the flat. Even this was a welcomed sight, despite the man who sat on the corner of a bed, shoulders sagging.
You're back sooner than I expected.
Sapphire moved to Steel's side, placing a hand upon his arm. Are you all right?
I rather have to be, don't I? With a nod, Steel rose tiredly to his feet and Wilkenson hesitantly looked from one to the other. "Ah, since you two aren't going to be leaving, could you at least give me an idea of what I have been doing for the past couple of years?"
"That seems only fair." Sapphire sat down on the corner of the bed Steel vacated. "You have been living in this village hiding form the law, or so you believe, picking out a seedy, second-class existence, stealing what you need. You even killed a man over a woman. Obviously, Gavin Bristol is a man of his passions."
"Wonderful." Wilkenson murmured drily, watching as Steel bent to retrieve a gun from beneath the desk.
"Not only that, but you and Benny Drake, the man you saw yourself with tonight, are about to commit a crime that will change the course of the world," she continued. "You're about to kill the Prince of Wales."
"What?" Wilkenson protested. "But I would never...I couldn't!"
"As Travis Wilkenson, perhaps not, but as Bristol, you're more than capable of it."
"Why the Prince?"
"Why not the Prince?" Steel interrupted. "He's a man of power, position and importance. This would elevate you to a higher rung in the world of crime. So Drake figures it. The death of the Prince is immaterial; however, it is vital that William, his son, be born. Thus, the Prince must live.
"But surely you must realize that I'd never go along with this Drake's scheme, not as me. Why do you have to 'manipulate' me further?"
"Because Benny Drake would, so he must die tonight." Steel held out the pistol to him. "With this gun, by your hand."
"No."
"That's why we're here to see that you do. Bristol would not think twice about killing a man to save his own skin." Steel nodded to the gun.
"That's still murder, even if it is in self-defense. I'd never be able to live with myself aft it, even if I were cleared of guilt. I'd rather die myself."
"You'd be surprised what you're capable of," Steel murmured. "Given the right motivation."
"Why don't you do it? You're a cold blooded bastard."
"No, he can't" Sapphire's velvety voice stopped him. "You must be the one. We can merely affect the sequence of events." She broke off to cast her crystal blue eyes in the direction of the pacing Steel. "Patience is something you should learn, Steel. He will be here."
"Then what?" Wilkenson asked, rubbing a sweating palm on his trousers. "I won't kill him."
"You will. Remember, you're a man of your passions." Sapphire's eyes hypnotized him and he swayed slight beneath her gaze.
"You know, I believe a man could kill for you," Wilkenson whispered. "But you still haven't told me who you are. How do you know the future and the path it must adhere to? How does he lower his body temperature and how do you manage that time trick?"
"We're gods, remember?" Steel snapped as he stiffened visibly. "He's here; Sapphire and I must be off." He strode to the taller man and forced the gun into his hand.
"No!" Wilkenson tried to force the iron grip away.
"Take it," Steel ordered in a tone that he dared not disobey. "Her life is in your hands." Steel pointed to the still smiling Sapphire. "If you place any value on your own worthless existence, you'll not let anything happen to her, for then you'll have to deal with me and that can be most unpleasant." And he was gone.
A sharp bang on the door made Wilkenson jump, even as he dreaded the voice that accompanied it.
"Gav'n, open the bloody door or Ah'll take it off its 'inges!" The same huge man from the pub forced his way in, stopping short at the sight of Sapphire. "'Ello, yer not Gav'n."
"What do you want?" Wilkenson demanded, not caring for the leer the big man was giving the willowy woman. Steel had, for all purposes, faded into the woodwork from which he had come.
"You shaddup. Ah'd like ta talk ta the young lady."
"She's with me," Wilkenson said, coming up to stand protectively beside Sapphire.
"Then ya won't mind takin' a walk." Drake began to fumble with the buckle of his belt.
Sapphire's smile faded and she took a step back, looking beseechingly at Wilkenson. She was no longer blonde, but his dark haired Maggie.
Drake grabbed her delicate wrist and Sapphire cried as he fell roughly to the floor. Drake followed her down.
"Leave my wife alone!" Wilkenson screamed, clawing at the man's back in a futile attempt to drag him off the struggling woman. He caught the man's elbow square in the stomach and fell back, gasping for breath. Suddenly he became aware of the gun in his hand and, as Sapphire screamed, he aimed it straight at Drake.
"Let her go!" he shouted, sweat trickling down his face, his breath coming in short gasps.
At the sight of tithe gun Drake's dark face grew ugly with contempt. "Is that the way ya want ta play now? Ah should have listened to ta others. Yer no good, Gav'n." He released the struggling Sapphire and rose to his feet, grinning wickedly.
"I don't want to hurt you. Just go."
"Yer nothin' without me. Ah taught ya everythin' ya knae, and now Ah'm goni' ta teach ya how ta die." He began a slow stalk of Wilkenson, and in a fit of panic, Wilkenson pulled the trigger, feeling the gun buck in his hand. Drake fell to his knees, clutching an arm.
"Kill him," commanded Steel's voice as a wave of cold enveloped Wilkenson. "For if he lives, he'll surely kill you."
Drake rose, faltering but his face intent with death. Wilkenson screamed, firing the gun three more times. The big man's body convulsed with each impact before finally dropping to the floor, the open eyes unseeing, body trembling with death throes.
"I killed him," Wilkenson whispered in shock. "You made me kill him."
"No," Steel insisted, helping the again blonde Sapphire to her feet. "We ensured a necessary course of events. You were merely the vehicle we used."
Wilkenson collapsed, sobs racking his frame. "Oh my God, what have I done?" Tears cascaded down his face and he hugged himself tightly.
"Our job is finished here, Sapphire. Come," Steel softly implored the woman, cupping her shoulder in a gentle caress. He propelled her silently out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. Sapphire involuntarily took a step back towards the room, but Steel intercepted her.
"Whether he dies at the hand of a judge and jury or his own, it was his decision. Now, time may progress as it should."
"He was right you know." Sapphire said after a moment. "You really are a cold hearted bastard."
"That's not what Jet tells me." His lips hinted a just the ghost of a smile as he merely faded from view. And after a moment, she did as well.