A Troubled Man
-September 30th, 1945-
We got a place in L.A...far away from her parents. It's a sweet ass, two story from the 1890's.
White picket fence, flag in the yard. All that good shit.
They stepped through the doorway, side by side, arms linked.
"Holy shit," they breathed in unison.
They looked at each other then and giggled; Beverly letting out a squeal in surprise as he picked her up and spun her in his arms.
It's a lot nicer than the shabby trailer my parents first called home. Cost about the same, too.
She frowned as she painted over her section of wall, turning to him with a frown,
"Do you think this would go better in the kitchen?"
"Pffffffft," he shrugged, slapping his paint roller to it,
"Like I would fuckin' know."
She turned back to it and folded her arms; her ponytail wagging as she shook her head,
"I think it would..."
Raising an eyebrow, he turned and ran the roller up and down her arm; a devious smirk crossing his lips as she screamed,
"Oh! Oh no, look at that!"
She gaped at him in shock, punching him in the arm as he did it again, this time down the front of her blouse,
"Aww, I can't believe that just happened!"
"Michael! What the hell is wrong with you!?"
She smacked him again as he got her in the leg; her khaki capri's now coated in yellow paint. He snickered as she pouted up at him, a quiet fury brewing in her eyes,
"Oh, Mrs. Milligram! You should really be more careful with that paint! You're gettin' it all over the place-!"
"Michael, stop," she screamed as he got her again, this time on the cheek,
"Stop-!"
Reaching up with the brush, she shoved it in his face; leaving a long streak across his nose and mouth. His eyes widened at that and a laugh escaped him,
"Oh, ho, ho! Oh, now, it's on, baby...!"
A full out war broke out between them as they flung paint at each other, Beverly letting out a cackle as he grabbed her and shoved her back against the wet wall,
"No, no!"
She squealed as he planted a kiss on her lips and wrapped her arms up around his neck.
Being with her is like being in a dream. I feel like a little fucking kid, again.
His eyes widened as she brought the brush up and began painting his face and hair. He broke the kiss and went after her with the roller again; wild grin on his face as she began to run from him. Grabbing the paint can, he chased her up the stairs to the bedroom, where she let out a loud shriek,
"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"
I don't ever wanna wake up.
-ø-
He dried his hair with a towel as he strutted out of the bathroom, soaking wet and still grinning,
"Sure you don't need any help in there?"
"You stay out there! You've done enough, already!"
He snickered at that, shaking his head as he strolled to the window. His heart stopped.
An angel stood at the street corner; gazing up at the house.
I've been seeing them everywhere, Doc. It's like they're toying with me.
She came up behind him; smiling as she wrapped her arms around him,
"What are you looking at?"
He grabbed her hands, squeezing them tightly,
"Nothing."
A car zoomed passed the angel, blocking it momentarily from his view. It disappeared.
I can't tell her about it. I tried that before...she thought it was a story. If I told her the statue of an angel had been following me around since the wedding, she'd think I'd snapped for sure.
Sighing, he turned slowly and ran his hands through her hair; the woman beginning to blush,
"You plan on putting any clothes on?"
He scowled, gazing deeply into her eyes,
"Now, what fun would THAT be?"
Leaning down, he gave her a soft kiss and she grinned; locking her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed...
-ø-
That night, they both awoke to screams from outside, and the sound of rapid pounding on their front door drew them to their feet. He quickly grabbed his gun and started down the stairs first, Beverly close behind him.
"Help! Someone help, please!"
He cautiously opened the door, his wife pushing passed him as she spotted the tearful woman standing there,
"Lucy!"
It was our neighbour from down the street. She was a mess, covered in blood and shakin' like a leaf.
"Help me, please! It's George! He's...! Oh, God, he's...!"
Beverly turned to him, her eyes wide in terror,
"Michael-"
"I'm on it," he breathed, rushing down the road to the corner lot. The door was wide open.
He entered cautiously, his eyes widening as he followed the blood trail into the bathroom.
Her husband George had come back on the same day I had. Ever since, he'd been struggling to readjust. He was a mess, constantly drunk and barely able to keep his head above water. He'd started seeing things...having flashbacks. And that night, I guess he'd just had enough.
Beverly gasped as she stepped up behind him and surveyed the gruesome scene for herself; burying her face in her hands. He put his arm around her quickly and led her back out of the room; a dark look on his face.
He'd shot himself with a combat rifle.
-ø-
They held the funeral last Saturday. It was a closed casket...thank, God for small mercies, I guess.
They stood in the cemetery, the rain beating steadily against their black umbrellas.
He watched silently as Beverly stooped down and comfortingly cradled her distraught friend.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move and glanced up to see an angel statue standing across the way. He kept his eyes on it as he listened to the rain thumping against the strip of canvas over his head. Beverly looked at him, a frown flashing across her face as she turned to see what he'd been staring at.
It appeared to be a tombstone in the shape of a weeping angel. She swallowed hard.
He was glaring daggers into it.
She's seen the way I've been spacing out. I know what she's probably thinking.
She must think I'm ready to snap.
Sometimes, it feels like I might.
-ø-
The Doctor swallowed hard as he finished reading the entry, Kobra Kid slamming his fist on the table,
"You gotta do something, Doc. You can't just let it happen again!"
"I'm sorry," he said softly, shaking his head,
"I can't. Michael brought this on himself..."
"But...he's happy," Jet Star shook his head,
"Doc, c'mon...! He didn't know-"
The Doctor quickly shook his head,
"It doesn't matter. Time. Is. Fixed. There is nothing I can do! Even if I wanted to...whatever happens in this book has to happen."
He then turned to the next entry and wiped his nose,
"October 30th, 1945..."
-October 30th, 1945-
I never told you before...but on that day that Girl and I got caught out in the desert...I saw something I couldn't explain. At the time, I just thought I was dyin', you know...all that toxic trash in my lungs. But I think I know what it was, now.
He straightened as he went to set the table for dinner, eyes widening as he turned around to see the statue of an angel at the kitchen door.
It got in. I don't know how.
The dishes fell out of his hands and shattered against the hardwood floor. He kept his eyes on it, unsure of what else to do.
Outta nowhere, it hit me. The room got hot. Felt like the air was being sucked out.
He coughed, his eyes widening as all of his strength suddenly seemed to escape him. He fell to the floor, heart racing as he gagged for air. The angel was smiling at him, inching closer all the while.
As I laid there on the floor, I found myself in a familiar place. The world around me was gone...I was lying in the desert. The Trans Am was next to me. I could hear Girl screamin'. I was there again. It was like I was there. And the angel was right over top of me.
Beverly let out a scream as she entered the kitchen, rushing to his side frantically,
"Michael! Michael, sweetheart! Can you hear me!?"
He gazed up blankly at the ceiling; unresponsive.
Tears hit her eyes and she gently brushed a hand over his hair,
"Michael! Michael!"
Quickly, she stood and shook her head, rushing back out of the kitchen to the phone in the hall.
It was Bev. I had seen her that night in the desert. It makes sense...but then it also doesn't. How could I see her that night? And how could I see the desert tonight?
-ø-
Fun Ghoul straightened, shaking his head,
"What does he mean, Doc?"
The Doctor shook his head, pulling at his face in thought,
"He must have been in a weak spot."
"A weak spot?"
"Yes. You see, sometimes, time tends to act up, create a window of sorts," the Doctor waved, trying his best to explain in a way they could understand,
"The barrier that keeps you boxed in, keeps you from crossing out of your time and into another sometimes gets weakened. Sometimes, the time streams get a little too close and sometimes, but not often, you begin to see windows into the past...sometimes your own past...or, in Michael's case, his future..."
"So," Jet Star frowned, scratching his head curiously,
"Kinda like seeing a ghost."
"Yes, exactly," the Doctor nodded, continuing in vigor,
"Except, they aren't ghosts, just people. What you're seeing is really there. Time is happening all around us, every second. And I don't just mean this time. I mean the 40s, the 50s, everything, all at once. For us, the things in this journal have already happened, nothing can change it, it's already been...but right now, somewhere out there in time and space, Michael is living out the things that are happening in here, at this very moment. The only reason he would have seen her is because the barrier between the streams was weakest in that spot, acting like a window."
He turned back to the entry,
"I was scared."
-ø-
He gasped as the desert suddenly dissipated and quickly sat up; his strength returning. He coughed violently, finally able to breathe again, and glanced around. The angel was gone as if it had never been there at all.
He found himself shaking uncontrollably. His heart stopped.
I didn't see her anywhere. I thought maybe the angel might've switched targets.
"B-Bev," he shouted, pulling himself up quickly. He nearly fell as he made it to his feet, still a tad short of breath,
"Bev!?"
She quickly rushed back into the room, her eyes wide as she ran over to him,
"Michael!"
Throwing her arms around him, she began to sob,
"Oh my God! Michael! Are you all right!?"
She pulled back and began inspecting him, running her hands up through his hair as she pulled him close and pressed her forehead to his,
"When I saw you on the ground, I didn't know what to do! I didn't know if you were okay! I was so scared! I thought you were...I thought I'd-!"
He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tight as she began to shake.
I couldn't tell her that my thoughts were pretty much the same. That I thought that angel in our kitchen had touched her and sent her back to oh, I dunno...King Arthur's court? I just held her.
It was all I could think to do. I held her and I sure as hell wasn't gonna let go.
"I," she began, stammering as she pulled away and took his arm,
"I called an ambulance. Here, I want you to sit down. They'll be here soon. I want them to check you out-"
"Bev, I'm fine," he coughed, wiping his eyes with a smile,
"I just...I lost my balance and hit my head. That's all..."
"Then, they need to be sure you don't have a concussion," she said, gently pushing him down onto the couch. Pulling him close, she briefly inspected his head herself,
"Now, I don't see a lump, but I want them to double check."
"Bev-"
"No, buts, Michael!"
She stood as she heard a knock at the door, wiping her eyes of tears as she started to it,
"Now, stay put and let them take care of you."
He watched her walk away, his eyes lowering to the coffee table.
I'm scared, Doc. I dunno how much longer I can keep this up.
-November 23rd, 1945-
The sightings are getting more frequent, now.
They sat in the middle of the park, resting on a red, plaid tablecloth. A picnic for two was set up around them. He could see it across the way and narrowed his eyes at it. It stood frozen, peeking around the tree as they ate. Beverly frowned as she caught his glowering stare and straightened,
"Michael? Michael, what is it, what's wrong?"
He shook his head, taking another bite of his sandwich as he kept his eyes on it,
"Nothing."
She's really starting to worry about me.
The phone rang and Beverly sighed as she picked it up, waving off her sudden bout of nausea,
"Hello? Oh, Lucy! How are you? Are you doing all right?"
She frowned,
"Okay, okay...just calm down. I'll be right over."
Hanging up the phone, she grabbed her coat and called upstairs,
"Michael! I'm heading down the street to Lucy's place. I'll be back in a bit!"
"Okay, babe!"
He walked to the window, watching her head down the road. She passed a stone angel on her way toward Lucy's and he straightened, his heart stopping. It was looking right at her.
"Bev..."
Quickly, he charged downstairs and out the door after her, grabbing his gun as he went. He had no idea what he would do with it; ray guns alone weren't effective on them, never mind lead bullets. Seeing the statue, he let out a snarl and strode right up to it,
"A'ight, I've had it, mother fucker. You may be straight up stone, right now, but lemme tell you something. This shit stays between you and me, you got that? I will die before I let you lay a fuckin' hand on her..."
It continued to stare after her and he snapped it's fingers in front of its face,
"Hey, hey! You look at me, when I'm talkin' to you, hot shot."
He glanced away from it briefly and down the road toward her. She was on the porch with Lucy, just chatting. When he turned back, it was staring straight at him. He smirked,
"Yeah, that's what I thought, you little shit. Don't make me get out the TNT-"
"Michael?"
He straightened, his eyes wide as he turned to see that the two women were now watching him.
Coughing, he turned back to the statue. It hadn't moved. He smiled sheepishly at this and waved to the two of them, pointing at it with a laugh,
"Just...uh...giving him a pep talk."
She must really think I've lost it.
-December 18th, 1945-
Sorry, I haven't written in awhile. Things have been pretty hectic around here.
I got a job. Just car repair, nothing special. The kind of job you'd be good at, Ghoul.
He walked through the door, covered in grease and dirt. Taking off his jacket, he trudged upstairs to take a quick shower.
Bev's a teacher. Kindergarten. The little fuckers are so adorable with her. She keeps bringing home the shit they make for her. It's so cute. We've gotten so many apples we've run out of places to put 'em.
After he'd cleaned himself up a bit, he tossed on a pair of black trousers and a plain, white shirt; putting a colorfully floral over shirt on top of it.
I wear Hawaiian shirts, now. They took the colour out of my hair so I got have it somewhere.
He paused as he started out of the bedroom, eying his pistol on the nightstand. With a deep breath, he leaned down and scooped it up; setting it in his waistband. He then left the room, shutting the door behind him.
We're going out tonight. Well, not really out, it's just the school carnival. Fun houses and apple bobbing. Woo hoo! She's actually there, now, helping them set up.
-ø-
They strolled around the carnival, hands locked as they watched groups of tiny tots run past them giggling. He glanced down at her, nodding to a cluster of them by the merry-go-round,
"You think we should try for one of those?"
She laughed, shaking her head with a smile,
"A merry-go-round?"
"No," he snorted, nudging her gently,
"A kid. You know like in those sappy, family songs...'pitter patter of little feet', shit like that."
Her eyes lit up as she turned to him, a look of relief on her face,
"Well, that's...that's actually something I've been needing to talk to you about."
He stopped, his eyes wide as she took both of his hands and pulled them up to her heart,
"Michael..."
His mouth dropped as she paused; a smile striking his face,
"You are?"
With a giggle, she nodded and he let out a laugh, embracing her tightly,
"Holy fuck, are you serious!? I'm gonna be a dad-!?"
She punched him in the arm; her eyes wide as she let out a soft hiss,
"Watch your mouth! There are children here!"
"Aww, a little cussin' never hurt anybody. 'Sides, I know a six-year-old that could give me a run for my money..."
A group of kids ran up to her then, gathering around her to show them her prizes,
"Mrs. Beverly! Mrs. Beverly!"
Turning to them, she knelt down and smiled brightly,
"Oh wow, let me see what you got!"
I can't believe it guys. It's actually happening. I'm gonna be a father. Me. Of all fuckin' people.
He straightened as he heard a strange sound behind them and turned, eyes wide as he spotted a Weeping Angel sitting beside one of the game booths. A few moments passed and the kids finally ran off, Beverly rising to her feet,
"Now, where were we...?"
She noted how rigid he'd become and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, frowning,
"Michael? Michael, what is it?"
He jumped at her touch and coughed, shaking his head,
"Huh? What?"
"You're staring," she shook her head,
"What are you staring at?"
Eyes wide, he turned back to look at the booth where the angel had just been. It was gone.
Quickly, he took her by the hand and began pulling her down the midway, Beverly raising an eyebrow in concern,
"Michael?"
It stayed in the shadows, nearly unseen as it chased them through the carnival. He knew it was there, however, and occasionally, he spotted it standing out in the open; a grin on it's stony features.
They're fucking with me. They're vultures and I'm the prey. And no matter how fast I run...they always catch up.
He ushered her into the fun house and shut the door behind them, Beverly shaking her head,
"Michael, what's going on? Are you all right?"
"Just shut up a second and let me think!"
She straightened, her eyes wide at his sudden change of mood. As he pulled his pistol from his waistband, she gasped and slapped her hand to her heart,
"Gracious! Why do you have that!?"
He jumped as there was a sudden loud knocking on the wall and she could see the terrified look in his eyes,
"Michael..."
He brought the gun up, aiming it at the knocking sound. Quickly, she ran over to him and placed a hand on his arm,
"Hey! Hey, put that down! What are you doing!?"
He glanced over at one of the nearby mirrors, heart stopping as he spotted an angel standing a few feet away from them. Quickly, he spun and fired; the image disappearing as the mirror shattered.
Beverly screamed and clapped a hand over her mouth. He repeated this as he spotted another one, and she jumped, her eyes filling with tears,
"Michael...?"
I was scaring her, I know. But it wasn't just about protecting myself, anymore. I had her to think about...her AND the baby...
He spun around, seeing that it stood a few feet behind her, concealed behind two mirrors. There was just enough space between the panels for him to see it's eyes. He raised the gun; her heart stopping.
"Bev...turn around and come stand by me."
Nodding slowly, she did as he said, eyebrows knitted as she turned around. There was nothing there,
"Michael...sweetheart? What are you staring at?"
"The angel."
She shook her head, still unable to see it,
"There's nothing there, Michael...there's no one in here but us."
He could see laughter in it's frozen stare.
"Yes, there is. I see it right, now. Come look at it from where I'm standing."
"Michael-"
"There is a mirror in the way, but I swear Bev, it's there. It's staring right at me."
Tears hit her eyes as she placed her hand onto his; her body beginning to shake with fright,
"Sweetie...you're scaring me. Please, just put the gun down and let's go home, now, okay? Let's go home."
He shook his head, snarling as he glared it down,
"No...I can't. We go home, it'll just follow us there. I gotta end this, now."
A sob escaped her and she looked to the mirrors again; still unable to see it peeking out from between them,
"Tell me...where are you?"
"What?"
"Where are you right, now," she continued, hiccuping softly as she squeezed his hands,
"Are you here? In the fun house? With me?"
"What!? Of course I'm fucking here! Where the hell else would I be!?"
The woman gasped, shaking her head as she looked to the floor,
"When I...I spoke to Lucy the other day...she said that George started to...started to see things before the end. Started thinking...he was back on the battlefield-"
He then paused, swallowing hard,
"I'm not in fucking Germany, Bev. I know where I am! I'm standing in a house a'mirrors, staring down a fucking angel with a stupid grin on its face! I'm trying to protect you!"
She remained silent, her eyes red and puffy from crying,
"Michael, calm down..."
"No, don't fucking tell me to calm down!"
He tensed, tightening his grip on the gun,
"I am not crazy, Bev. I'm not fucking crazy-"
"I know that," she pleaded, tugging at his arm ever so gently,
"I know that...but I think...I think you might be confused. Michael, we're safe here. We're safe! There's nothing over there, there's nothing out to get us-"
"Yes, there is."
He shook his head; a tear hitting his cheek as he ground his teeth together,
"You remember...that night I took you to the sign? Before I shipped out?"
She nodded shortly, her voice a mere breath,
"Yes. Yes, I do..."
I had to tell her. I couldn't keep it in anymore.
"It's real."
Beverly stared at him blankly, a tear escaping her,
"What's real?"
"All of it," he choked, keeping his yes locked on the angel,
"The angels...2019...the mad man with the box! Everything I said is true-"
"Michael-"
"No, don't 'Michael' me!"
She watched him in silence, unsure of what to do as he continued,
"I was born...in 1992! My favourite actor hasn't even been born, yet, and I..."
He paused,
"I gave up EVERYTHING...everyone I cared about, all of it...! I let them take me just so the people that I loved would be safe! But I can't...I won't do that, again! Not when it means I'd have to lose you...!"
His gaze broke for a second and he froze, glancing back up to where it had been. It was gone.
With a curse, he grabbed two tufts of hair and screamed, taking a few steps away from her.
He paced back and forth, frantically searching for where it had gone,
"It got away. Oh, fuck, it got away!"
"Michael," she whispered softly, slowly approaching him,
"Michael, sweetie...please, just calm down...and put the gun away..."
"I can't...I can't," he whimpered, keeping his eyes peeled for movement,
"What if it comes back!? Bev, what if it hurts you!?"
Cautiously, she stepped up to him and put her hands on the gun, smiling up at him sadly,
"Sweetheart...? It's okay...! Nothing is gonna hurt me, all right? Just put the gun away..."
It took him a moment, but finally, he lowered the weapon and broke into sobs; squeezing her tight.
Tears fell from her eyes as she rocked him; her heart breaking as she listened to him,
"I don't want to lose you...! Bev, I can't lose you...!"
"You won't lose me," she gasped, closing her eyes lightly,
"You'll never lose me..."
But I already had lost her.
She sobbed as the officers led him to a nearby police car; clasping her hands over her mouth as they shoved him into the back. Rushing to the window, she pressed her hand to the glass as he looked to her pitifully. He eyed it standing in the distance beside the fun house.
It was smiling.
-ø-
"They are submitting me to Stockton for evaluation. This will probably be my last entry for a while, so...take care."
The group sat in silence for a few moments, Girl shaking her head,
"She...she didn't let them take him away, did she? She stopped them?"
The Doctor sighed deeply as he turned the page, continuing softly,
"February 1st, 1946..."
-February 1st, 1946-
Happy Fuckin' New Year.
He sat alone at the long, steel table, watching the other patients babble and moan as they paced around the dining hall.
It's been almost two months since I've been here. Not heard a peep from Bev.
He drummed at the table as doctor after doctor came to talk to him; saying nothing in response.
After a few moments, they would give up and go on to the next patient.
The docs are treating me like a child. Like I don't know what's going on in my own head.
"Michael?"
Raising his head slowly, he let out a deep sigh and forced a smile,
"Well, well. If it isn't my lovely wife..."
"I'm sorry," Beverly shook her head, sitting down across from him,
"They wouldn't let me come and see you...not until you were settled."
He stared at her blankly for a moment; shaking his head as he took a breath,
"You know, I thought it was 'till death do us part' not 'till your husband cracks and you throw him in the nuthouse'..."
She leaned forward, reaching for his hands,
"Michael-"
Bringing his arms in, he leaned back; turning his gaze away from her,
"No."
Biting her lip, she shook her head, her eyes welling with tears,
"Michael...please."
He refused to look at her as she continued,
"I'm sorry! But what did you think was gonna happen!? You brought a loaded weapon to an elementary school carnival! It was either this or..."
She trailed off. He cocked his head to the side, a hurt look on his face,
"...or what? Jail? And I couldn't go there, no...no, you wouldn't have that-"
"Michael-"
"A husband in the slammer. What an image that would make, right?"
"Michael-"
"'Cause you know what they do to guys like me in prison."
"Michael-!"
"I get it. If I look like I snapped, you get the pity! Oh, the poor dear! Had to go and marry that nut job Milligram! Now she's knocked up and he's locked up and oh, let's hope the crazy don't infect the baby-"
"YOU WERE SCREAMING AT A STATUE!"
She shrieked, slamming her hands down on the table. Tears flowed from her eyes as she stood, clamping a hand over her mouth,
"What was I supposed to do!? You told me...you were a time traveler-"
"DING DING DING DING," he shouted back, his eyes widening as stringy strands of black hair fell in front of his eyes,
"THAT'S CAUSE I AM, SWEET PEA."
She shook her head, rubbing her temples as she began to sob,
"Do you even hear yourself...? Michael...you're not well."
Rolling his eyes, he bit his lip and sat back in the chair,
"I think you should go."
Beverly bit her lip, dissolving into tears as she sat back down,
"Michael-"
"Go."
Nodding shortly, she stood, setting something down on the table. It was his journal.
"The doctor wanted me to bring this. She thought it might make you a bit more comfortable to have it."
Sniffling, she wiped her eyes as one of the nurses came over to escort her out,
"I love you, Michael."
He remained silent as the nurse led her away; letting out a choked scream as she disappeared back out into the hall. Standing, he grabbed the journal and threw it across the room in an angry rage.
I know deep down...she thinks she's doing the right thing. She thinks I need the help...and she's worried that she'll lose me. But I just can't fucking stand the idea that she doesn't believe me.
My own wife.
"You gave him the journal?"
Beverly nodded as she met the woman in the hall; wiping her eyes with her handkerchief,
"Yes..."
"Good," the doctor continued, leading her down the hall,
"We'll use it to observe his progress."
As they reached the end, she turned to the doctor; sighing deeply,
"How bad is he? Tell me honestly...will he ever come home?"
The woman shook her head, her dark ponytail waving back and forth behind her head,
"I'm not going lie to you, ma'am...he's in pretty bad shape. Between the delusions of time travel and this 'Doctor' character he's created, we don't even know where to begin. We'll be starting him first on the insulin and see where he goes from there. It's really hard to say."
They're starting me on insulin tomorrow. A little freaked, I gotta say.
-ø-
The Doctor cursed softly as he read this, shaking his head with a snarl,
"Barbarians..."
"Doc, what's he mean insulin," Fun Ghoul frowned curiously,
"Isn't that something for diabetes?"
"Yes, insulin is, yeah...but not this treatment. This..."
He shook his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly,
"This is just cruel."
"Yeah, Doc, that tells us a lot."
"It-it's a treatment," the Doctor stammered, hands shaking as he ran them down his face,
"Typically for schizophrenia. They would inject the patient with insulin...enough do induce a comatose state."
"What," Kobra Kid shrieked, his eyes widening with shock,
"What the fuck is that supposed to do!?"
"Ideally, it would cure them," he began, glancing between the four of them,
"But..."
He shook his head, wiping his brow nervously as he turned to the next entry.
-February 15th, 1946-
I'm sick, Doc. And I don't mean in the head.
He looked in the mirror, shaking violently as he supported himself on the sink. His skin was pale and clammy. Dark circles hung under his eyes. His stomach growled. It felt like he was starving.
Shaking his head, he turned and slowly trudged toward the door.
It feels like I'm dying. Every time they put me out...I come back and I feel worse.
He sat in the middle of the floor; cradling his head in his hands.
"You."
Raising an eyebrow, he turned and glanced over at a young woman crouching nearby. She waved him over, a crazed look in her eyes,
"C'mere."
Frowning, he shook his head and turned to gaze down at the journal in his lap.
"You know him, yeah?"
He jumped as he heard her voice suddenly in his ear and turned around, raising an eyebrow,
"Who?"
She smiled,
"Exactly."
At this, he paused, swallowing hard as he started feeling faint,
"You look...familiar. Do I know you?"
"Do you?"
At this point, a nurse quickly came over and grabbed her, leading her away,
"Come on, you. Back to your room."
Another nurse came over to him, offering him a hand,
"All right, you. Time for dinner."
They try to make me eat and, even tough I get pretty hungry nowadays, I don't want their food. I ain't gonna give those fuckers the satisfaction.
He shook his head weakly. The nurse folded her arms,
"You're gonna kill yourself if you don't eat."
"Good, less work for you, then."
Rolling their eyes, the nurse turned and marched away,
"I'll be back when you feel like cooperating."
"Then you's gonna be waitin' a looooooooooooong time..."
He sat in silence for a few moments, the world beginning to spin. His blood sugar was dropping dangerously low. It probably would have been a good idea to eat something.
"Michael...?"
Upon hearing her voice, he raised his gaze; eyes lighting up as he spotted her entering the room,
"Bev...?"
Beverly gasped, quickly hurrying over to him,
"Michael! Oh my God!"
Kneeling down, she took his face in her hands; noting his pale complexion,
"Are you all right? What are they doing to you!?"
"It's a side effect of the therapy," the nurse nearby interjected,
"Don't worry, he's fine."
She turned, glancing over the nurse suspiciously,
"I'll be the judge of that, thank you."
Turning her attention back to him, she cradled his head; stroking his hair,
"How are you? Are you all right?"
He shook his head, forcing a smile as he weakly replied,
"Peachy..."
The nurse cleared her throat,
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to back away from the patient, now."
"And I'm gonna have to ask you to get the fuck away from me and my husband," she snipped, glowering at the woman in disgust,
"If you don't mind. I'd like to speak with him in private."
Nodding shortly, the nurse turned and walked over to the opposite wall, keeping within range.
She turned back to him, pulling him into her arms,
"Now, be honest. How are they treating you? Are you okay?"
He smiled at that, barely able to hold his own head up,
"Yeah, yeah...I'm great. We braid each others hair and talk about boys. It's swell."
She felt him put his arms around her, his grip weak as he began shaking,
"Michael?"
"I wanna go home..."
He whispered, burying his face in her arm,
"Just let me come home. Please...!"
She squeezed him tightly as he began to sob, rocking him gently.
I can't take much more of this.
-February 20th, 1946-
They read it. They read my journal. Everything. All of it.
His eyes widened as a team of doctors stormed into his ward, beginning to struggle as they grabbed him rather roughly by the arms,
"What the fuck...!? N-NO!"
He continued to scream and curse his eyes wide as they dragged him down a long hallway toward a room in the back of the hospital.
"MICHAEL!"
He could hear Beverly shrieking from a few feet away, their eyes meeting as he was pulled passed. A team of nurses was doing their best to keep her back,
"MICHAEL!"
"BEV!"
I'm scared. I think they're gonna shock me, Doc. And I don't know what's gonna happen if they do, so I want you guys to know that I love you. You were my family. You are my family.
You always will be. And don't forget me. Just please...don't forget me.
He shrieked as they dragged him through the doors, tears streaming down his cheeks as he lost sight of her,
"THEY'RE GONNA KILL ME, BEV! PLEASE! BEV, PLEASE!"
She began sobbing as he disappeared from view, turning to the doctor in rage,
"I did NOT authorise this."
"Authorisation is no longer up to you at this point, Mrs. Milligram," the doctor began, shaking her head as she started down the hall into the Operating Room,
"This is for his own good."
-ø-
"Oh dear, God..."
He closed the book and pushed it away, clamping his hands over his face,
"I can't...I can't read anymore of that."
Getting up from the booth, he began to pace the floor, shaking his head,
"No...no, no..."
Girl swallowed hard as she grabbed the journal and opened it back up, turning to the next entry,
"February 28th, 1946..."
-February 28th, 1946-
Hello. I don't exactly know what it is they want me to put in here. I was told by my doctor to write in this journal. Can't figure out why on Earth they'd want me to do that.
He frowned as he set the pen down, shaking his head silently,
"I don't know what to write."
The doctor smiled, frowning as she motioned to the journal,
"Anything. Anything that comes to mind."
He shook his head again,
"But nothing is."
I suppose I should let you know that I'm being released from Stockton. From what the doctor's have gathered, I am apparently cured.
He smiled as he eyed Beverly waiting for him at the front door; a team of doctors leading him to her. Suddenly, feeling a tug on his shirt, he spun to see the young woman from before, her frazzled dark hair falling in front of her face,
"Beware of the statues."
His eyes widened as she continued to claw at his clothes,
"Don't blink. Blink and you're dead!"
The doctors quickly pried her away from him, dragging her back down the hall as she screamed,
"Run! Run!"
I imagine I won't be writing in this old thing, anymore. I don't really see the point. To whomever I was writing to before, I'm very sorry. I hope you have a good life.
Sincerely, Michael P. Milligram.
-ø-
They sat there, frozen in silence; the Doctor standing at the bar.
Kobra Kid sat back, shaking his head as he felt tears coming to his eyes,
"That's a joke, right...? That's gotta be a joke..."
The Doctor shook his head,
"A common side effect of electroshock...was memory loss. It's not a joke..."
He turned to the others, a distraught look on his face,
"He's gone. Everything he was...they destroyed him."
Fun Ghoul slammed his fist down on the table; running his hands through his hair as he hung his head,
"So...so that's it, then? That's all she wrote!? His whole life!?"
Shooting up from the booth, Kobra Kid turned and stormed outside. Girl watched through the window as he angrily began doing karate moves, dust and sand flying up around him.
Jet Star shook his head,
"That can't be the end of him, Doc...it just can't. I mean...he's still writing in there in 1992, remember?"
The Doctor straightened, looking to him thoughtfully,
"You're right...page 394."
Sitting back down, he opened the journal back up and started the next entry,
"August 8th, 1946..."
-August 8th, 1946-
My wife is in labour...and I am freaking out.
He could hear her screaming in the next room, nervously drumming on his knees as he sat there. He turned and picked up the journal beside him, grabbing a pen as he flipped to an empty page.
Her mother won't let me be with her until it's over. They're afraid it might do something to my psyche. Make me relapse, perhaps? I don't know.
He swallowed hard as he looked over the journal at the angry looking man sitting across the hall from him. The man glowered at him and he coughed, nervously clearing his throat,
"Whatever I may have done to offend you, Mr. Spence, I'm terribly sorry."
The man remained silent. Shaking his head, he went back to his journal.
I don't know why I'm writing in this old thing. It isn't productive or anything...but it does make me feel a little better.
"MICHAEL!"
Standing, he tossed the journal back into the chair and rushed into the room, pushing passed the nurses who tried to keep him out. He made it to her side and took her hand. She smiled at this and squeezed it tight.
It was a long process, to say the least.
She held the baby close, turning her gaze to him with a giggle,
"Michael, look," he sat down on the bed beside her, and she smiled,
"It's your son."
He gazed at the tiny bundle in her arms, speechless.
I'm a father.
"What should we name him?"
Beverly queried as he gently stroked the baby's cheek, and he smiled, finding himself in tears,
"How about...?"
We're naming him Peter. I remember knowing someone by that name...but I can't place who.
I know he must have been important...because it hurts to think about. He wouldn't be important if it didn't hurt, right?
-ø-
The Doctor frowned, shaking his head in confusion as he looked to the boys,
"Who's Peter?"
They uncomfortably shifted in their chairs as Kobra Kid came back in from outside, the Doctor turning to look at him,
"Do you know?"
"Do I know, what?"
Fun Ghoul hissed softly as the Doctor was about to ask, stamping the man on his foot,
"OW, what in the hell was that-"
He jabbed his finger subtly in Kobra Kid's direction. The Doctor frowned again,
"What? What are you pointing at...?"
The raven-haired man slapped a hand to his face. It took him a moment and he glanced back at Kobra Kid again, eyes widening,
"Oh...Peter."
The blonde turned to him, startled. He swallowed hard as the other three groaned at him; settling uncomfortably,
"Oh...now I...now I get it."
He turned to the next entry before Kobra Kid could ask and cleared his throat,
"September 5th, 1946..."
-September 5th, 1946-
I've been seeing strange things...having nightmares.
He woke up in a cold sweat; eyes wide as he sat straight up in bed. Hearing the baby crying, he got up and headed to the nursery to check on him.
The desert. Most of my dreams involve the desert. I'm in a car...with four other people. We're being chased. We have strange weapons that we're shooting at our pursuers with...people with monstrous faces. I don't understand what these dreams mean...but every time I wake up...
He scooped the baby out of his crib and held him; gently bouncing him as he walked over to the window,
"There, there."
As he reached the window, the faint light of a street lamp hit his face; glinting off of the tears that streamed down his cheeks.
I feel sad.
He raised an eyebrow as he spotted an pair of angel statues across the street.
I can't remember much about my life before the war. In fact, I can't remember much about the war. I wonder if the desert played into it somehow.
He turned and walked away from the window, taking the baby out of the room.
Across the road, the spot in which the angels had been standing now lay vacant.
I've been seeing those statues a lot recently. I wonder if it's some type of marketing ploy...
-September 12th, 1946-
I've taken up drawing. Beverly said it might be a good idea to get these dreams out and not bottle them inside. She's probably right.
She smiled as she strolled into the room behind him, the baby in her arms cooing softly,
"What are you painting?"
He turned to her with a grin and shrugged, shaking his head,
"I don't know. It came to me last night."
It was a painting of a diner in the middle of a desert.
"It's good!"
He frowned at it, shaking his head as he bit the end of the brush,
"I don't know...something feels off about it. Like there's too much to it...or not enough?"
Beverly shook her head, turning to him with a grin,
"It looks okay to me."
They shared a brief kiss, then she turned and left the room as the baby began fussing,
"Oh, looks like somebody's hungry!"
He grinned, calling back to her with a snicker,
"Ah, well, a can a'Pup oughta shut him right up."
"What," she called, almost startled as she stepped back into the room.
He froze, shaking his head as he snorted,
"I...I don't know. I'm not sure..."
Scratching his head curiously, he waved her back out,
"Nothing. Forget I said anything..."
-ø-
He frowned as he sat at the table; setting a plate food down in front of his wife,
"Do we know anyone named Matt?"
Beverly shook her head as he sat down,
"No, I don't think so..."
"Hmm...you sure?"
"Fairly," she began, shaking her head,
"Why?"
"No reason...I was just thinking today and that name crossed my mind. Matt...something. Maybe an actor? Matt...Smith?"
She looked to him, eyebrow raised in concern,
"Michael? Are you all right?"
He nodded shortly, waving her off with a smile,
"Yeah, I was just...oh, I'm sure it will come to me."
They finished dinner, the baby kicking up a fuss soon afterward. Nodding to her, he smiled and took the plates to the sink,
"I'll take care of this."
"You just don't want to have to clean him up."
He snorted at that, nodding shortly,
"Damn straight, I don't."
To this, Beverly paused, a smile crossing her lips,
"Could you...could you say that again?"
He raised an eyebrow,
"Say what? Damn straight? "
He frowned as she began to giggle, watching in confusion as she began to cry softly.
Wiping her eyes, she bent down and pulled their son out his high chair,
"It's just...you sounded like your old self for a minute..."
She seemed so disappointed.
He sighed as she carried the boy out of the room, and turned to the sink, angrily jamming the plates into the basin.
That must be all I am to her these days...
-ø-
"He sounds so sad," Kobra Kid breathed, sitting down on one of the bar stools. The Doctor nodded, eyes widening as he turned to the next entry,
"Hold on..."
The others looked to him in surprise as he began reading,
"September 13th, 1946."
-September 13th, 1946-
MATT DAMON. BORN OCTOBER 8TH, 1970. WROTE AND STARRED IN GOOD WILL HUNTING IN 1997 WITH THAT PLAGUE UPON HUMANITY BEN AFFLECK.
He paused in the middle of the street as the memory hit him like a truck and shook his head, staggering to a nearby tree.
HE IS MY FAVOURITE GODDAMNED ACTOR ON THE WHOLE FUCKING PLANET. DOC, HOW COULD I FORGET THAT!? AND MORE IMPORTANTLY...
Tears hit his eyes as the images of a Trans Am roaring down a desert highway entered his mind, the four faces of the people he had called his family returning to him in a brilliant splash of colour.
HOW COULD I FUCKING FORGET YOU GUYS!?
A smile of relief flashed across his face and he ran a hand up through his hair, beginning to laugh maniacally. He bolted down the street, throwing his arms out to the side.
I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry! I just read through the last few pages. God, whoever the fuck that creep was, he was boring as shiiiiiiiiiiiiit...!
-ø-
The Doctor stood slowly, gripping the journal tightly in his hands as he began pacing,
"That settled, onto more pressing as opposed to de-pressing matters. Doc. Help. The angels are here. There are more of them now, I seen 'em. This ain't about me anymore, this is about Bev and Pete. Please, if you won't help me, at least help them. I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe."
Kobra Kid straightened at that, his eyes widening,
"Pete? He named his kid 'Pete'...?"
Fun Ghoul nodded silently, the Doctor quickly shushing them.
-ø-
I can't win this fight on my own. I can't keep 'em safe on my own.
Doc, please...
He hurried upstairs as he reached the door and sped up to the bedroom, grabbing the journal from his sock drawer.
Slapping it against his palm, he nodded shortly and charged downstairs,
"Bev!"
She came out from the back room, quickly shushing him as he rushed over to her,
"Will you be quiet? The baby is sleeping! I just got him down-"
"Bev, Bev, I remember."
"You remember...remember wha-"
She paused, gazing at him in shock,
"You...you called me Bev. You never call me Bev, anymore..."
Grabbing his face, a smile tickled her lips and she began to cry,
"Michael...!"
He grabbed her shoulders and planted a rough kiss on her lips, to which she squealed. Pulling away just as quickly, he let out a sigh of relief,
"GOD, that felt good! If only I had more time..."
"More time? Michael, what?"
Shushing her suddenly, he raised the journal and tapped it to her lips,
"Shut up for a sec and listen to me. There's something I need you to do."
She glanced down at the journal, then back to him with concern.
Doc, I'm begging you...and I never fucking beg, no way, no how. Not to nobody...
Please...help. Help me keep my family safe.
-ø-
The Doctor growled angrily at that and thumped the journal to his forehead, his teeth grinding together in rage,
"I CAN'T MICHAEL! YOU KNOW I CAN'T! Why would you even ask...!? Blast...dammit!"
He tossed the journal over to the others, continuing to pace the floor in rage,
"He knows I can't...that bastard...why would he put me in this position!? Why!?"
Girl opened the journal back up and turned to the next entry, clearing her throat,
"September 22nd, 1946...my dearest Michael. It's been almost a week, now. A week since you disappeared..."
The Doctor groaned as they all looked to him; shaking his head furiously,
"Do not start. You know there is nothing I can do. Those events already took place, that time is fixed!"
Girl sniffled softly, her eyes beginning to well with tears,
"A week since you disappeared...in the magic, blue box that was bigger on the inside..."
The lanky man froze at that, turning slowly on his heel as she finished the sentence,
"...you...and the Doctor."
The Doctor snatched the journal from her in a rush, his eyes widening as he turned and steadied himself on the bar. He read it over. It was there.
It was really there.
"Great scott!"
He breathed, a smirk crossing his lips as he turned and ran out the door. He rushed to the TARDIS, the others hurrying out after him. Kobra Kid came to a halt as he slammed the door shut, the box fading out of sight with a loud 'whoosh',
"Doc!? Doc, where are you going!?"
SEVENTY-THREE YEARS PRIOR
Bev sighed as she stepped out of the kitchen and into the hall. It was nearing 8:00, almost time for dinner. She paused briefly as she reached the phone, and glanced up the stairs. A tear hit her eye as she picked up the phone and dialled the number.
"Yes? Hello, this is Beverly Milligram...Michael's wife. I need to speak with the doctor right away-"
"Well, isn't this convenient?"
She straightened, her eyes widening as she dropped the phone and stepped into the living room. In the middle of the floor stood an enormous, blue box, the words Police Public Call Box glowing in white near the top. Out stepped a man in a purple, tweed coat, a grin on his face,
"Someone called for a doctor?"
~ø~
"MICHAEL!"
He jumped as he heard her shriek and quickly tore out of the nursery. He found her cowering on the stairwell, gripping the banister tightly,
"Bev! Bev, what's wrong-!?"
"Hello, Marty McFly."
He stopped as his eyes fell upon the man standing a few feet away; a blue police box looming behind him. A smile struck his face then and he let out a laugh.
The Doctor continued to smirk, a triumphant quality to his words,
"I'm here to take you back to the future."