Standing at the crossroads

I've had my share of strange conversations in my life.

Travelling the world meant that cultures often collided, leading to funny, awkward or positively embarrassing conversations – and not a few of them. Plus, of course, I survived secondary school and there's no stranger being on this earth than a teenager, resulting in conversations too odd to be remembered without shame.

Alas, the conversation I'm preparing for right now isn't that sort of embarrassing. There are no language or cultural barriers involved and puberty plays no role either. Instead, magic does and death and time travel and…

Ugh.

If it hardly makes sense in my head, how am I supposed to make it make sense out loud?

Sighing, I sit on the couch in Ken's living room and look at the muted TV, though without taking anything in. Given the late-ish hour, there's nothing interesting on anyway. Instead, it seems to be a re-run of an older American sitcom that doesn't much entice me.

"Anything the matter?" asks Ken, probably having heard my sigh.

I turn away from the TV to look at him instead. He's sitting at his desk by the window, his laptop in front of him and a stack of papers next to his elbow.

While I had my little chat with Miranda and Owen Ford, Ken was at the office of the company he works for, because apparently, if you want people to pay you a wage, it's generally not a bad idea to show your face on occasion. He brought back more work when he returned to his apartment and has been quite busy with it all evening, only briefly interrupted by some Chinese takeaway that I got from a small place down the road.

Somehow, we never discussed me staying at his place, and yet, it wasn't something I ever thought to question either. I simply took the bus back to his apartment after having taken my leave from Miranda and Owen Ford – with a strict warning to him not to follow me on account of it being creepy – and when Ken let me in, there was already a neat pile of bedding next to the sofa, telling me that he, too, obviously considered it a done deal that I'd be spending the night in his living room.

As Ken worked, I tried to read a book I borrowed from the bookcase in the hall, but to be honest, I struggled to fully concentrate on it. Instead, my thoughts continued to drift, alternately reliving the conversation I had today and trying to puzzle out how to proceed from here.

"Is anything the matter?" repeats Ken, seeing as I never answered his earlier question.

"No, no," I assure quickly. "Everything is just fine."

I smile as brightly as possible, but find him looking at me searchingly over the top of his laptop, evidently unconvinced by my show of unconcernedness.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "You seem a little… restless."

And who can blame me?

"What makes you think so?" I query, knowing all the while that he is absolutely right and that I'm simply stalling because I have no idea how to ask him what I really need to be asking.

Ken shrugs, reaching out to lower the top of his laptop without quite shutting it outright. "As I said, you're restless. You can't seem to sit still and when you were reading earlier, you stared at the same page for several minutes with a really absent expression. It leads me to think that there's something on your mind."

"Have you been watching me?" I ask, mainly because it's the first thought that's on my mind now.

He smiles slightly. "There isn't really anything nicer to look at in here."

Huh?

And what's that supposed to mean?

…

I mean, obviously, I know what it means. I'm not that stupid. Except that with my thoughts focused on time travel and resurrection, the sudden change in subject throws me off enough to leave me a little, well, perplexed.

"Either way, I'm not restless," I insist, firmly pivoting the conversation back to more predictable ground. "I'm just… thinking."

"Would you care to share your thoughts?" Ken asks, still with that slight smile.

So much for predictable, huh?

"I would, really. It's just…" I trail off, mentally flailing around for another excuse to try and delay the inevitable.

For a moment, Ken just looks at me, before getting up from his desk and crossing the room. He sits down in an armchair opposite the sofa and proceeds to look at me curiously.

Alright then.

Time to put on the big girl pants, I suppose.

"I… I went to see Miranda today." It seems to be as good a place to start as any.

Ken nods, evidently not surprised. "How is she doing?"

"She's alright," I reply. "I think she's quite a bit more resilient than people give her credit for. She gives such a sheltered impression, but I'm quite impressed with how well she's been handling all this."

Up to and including having an entire conversation with the ghost of her deceased kidnapper, of course.

"It's a relief to hear that she's doing well," states Ken and judging from his expression, he does seem to be genuinely pleased.

"I'm thinking about checking in with Jims soon as well," I add. "Obviously, it would have to be done in a way so as not to upset or concern his parents, but I think it would be good to see how he's doing."

"Absolutely," agrees Ken. "He also seemed to have resilience in abundance, but it's better to be safe about him coping well."

I nod. "That was my thinking."

"In fact," continues Ken, his eyes leaving me and moving to stare absently at the rug by his feet, "I've been wondering how all of them are. All of the people my father did this to, I mean. I feel… I feel I should make sure that they're… alright."

Well, if this isn't the opening I've been trying to avoid, I don't know what is.

"I talked to him," I blurt out, quickly so as not to get an opportunity to cop out again.

Opposite me, Ken grows very still.

With no reaction forthcoming, I continue to babble, "Your father. I talked to him. Or, well, I suppose that Miranda did, strictly speaking, but she relayed his answers to me."

"So, he became a ghost," Ken states quietly after a few moments. "I probably should have known he would."

"Ghosts often have unfinished business," I remind him. "They don't move on, because they feel there's still something they have to do on this earth."

Ken raises both eyebrows. "Kidnap even more people, you mean? I highly doubt he'll find a way to accomplish that while invisible and deprived of witchcraft."

Right, because ghosts lose any magic they had in life, obviously, so Owen Ford is as powerless now as all the poor humans who chose to stick around as ghosts. It must be a novel feeling for him.

"I don't think that's why he's still here," I state carefully, quietly wondering when I came to be in a position to be the one defending Owen Ford.

Ken sighs. "I don't know what to think about him at all anymore."

And no wonder!

"Would you… would you like to speak to him?" I ask, a little hesitatingly.

"Via Miranda?" Ken shakes his head. "Sorry, I know it's a well-meant offer, but I don't see it accomplishing much. Not that I doubt that Miranda would relay his words as faithfully as possible, but it would still feel like I was talking to her."

"Not the sort of closure you're looking for." I nod, understanding. When I think back to the conversation I had with my own mother while we drove to see Elizabeth Grayson in Summerside, I know I wouldn't have wanted to have that conversation by proxy.

"No, it's really not," agrees Ken. He looks thoughtful, pensive even.

I take a deep breath.

It's now or never, I guess.

"If there was a way to… to speak to him directly… face to face… would you do it?" I ask quietly.

Ken stills, his head bent. Several seconds pass while I sit opposite him, waiting, barely daring to breathe. Finally, he looks back up at me.

"How would that even work?" he wants to know. "Can you, I don't know, give ghosts a corporeal form or something?"

It's not necessarily the reaction I predicted, but I suppose it makes some sense to focus on the technicalities of the entire thing when the emotional aspect is far too complex to puzzle out.

"I can't." I pause, before amending, "Or, at least I don't think I can. I'm not aware of it being part of what my magic can do, but I could try, I guess. I'm just not sure whether it would lead to anything."

Ken smiles briefly. "No, it's fine. I just thought that because so far, your magic has shown itself to be almost limitless, it might let you do this as well."

"Not to my knowledge." I shrug slightly. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he assures me. "You don't owe me anything and surely nothing magic-related. You might possess the most impressive magical skills I've ever seen, but you don't ever have to use them for anyone else's benefit. Certainly not for mine."

"But… but what if I want to?" I wonder. "May I?"

"Use your magic for my benefit?" Ken smiles briefly. "Sure, if you want to."

"I do. I do want to," I stress, nodding my head for emphasis.

Ken considers me curiously. "And what do you have in mind? If you can't give a ghost a corporeal form, how can your magic make it possible for a non-demon to talk to them? I mean, it's not like you can bring them back to life!"

He laughs softly at the ridiculousness of the idea. I sit still, gnawing on my lower lip. When he notices that I'm not joining into his laughter, Ken grows quiet, too, his laughter abetting until his expression becomes serious.

"Rilla?" he asks, his voice sounding all strange.

"I can't resurrect anyone," I state quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "Not in the strict sense of the word, I mean."

"Okay." Ken nods slowly, though with an expression that tells me he doesn't understand a word of what I'm saying. "So… what's the plan, then?"

"It would be wrong to say I have a 'plan'," I reply, somewhat apologetically. "It's more of an… idea."

He inclines his head questioningly. "And what kind of idea are we talking about?"

"See, the thing is…" I hesitate. "Do you remember how I told you that I can control space? And how it allows me to beam myself and others to places?"

"I remember it quite vividly," confirms Ken. "I can't say I disliked the little trip to Papua-New Guinea."

I smile weakly at the memory. "Not my best moment, I must admit. But that's not my point. My point is…" I pause, nervously wetting my lips. "My point is that apparently, I can not only control space but also… time."

"Time," repeats Ken tonelessly after a long pause.

"Yes." I nod sightly. "Time."

He squeezes his eye shut briefly and shakes his head, clearly not quite able to wrap his head around what I'm saying. Meanwhile, I just sit on the sofa, waiting for my words to sink in and, hopefully, start making sense in his mind.

"So, you mean to say… you can… do what? Travel back in time?" he asks incredulously.

"Uh, no." I shake my head. "Not quite like that."

"Well, that's a relief." He raises both eyebrows in an almost comical way. "For a moment there, I was afraid I'd have to try an understand the logics behind time travel, provided there is such a thing as logic behind time travel."

I shrug. "I can't really advise you on that one."

"It has always done my head in even in fiction," Ken continues, apparently warming to the subject. "I mean, the grandfather paradox exists for a reason, right?"

Neither do I know what he's talking about, nor do I care, particularly. After all, there's a purpose to this discussion and it's not to solve some weird paradox related to time travelling.

"I resolved long ago never to try and understand the concept behind time travel. I generally just enjoy the movie," I tell Ken with yet another shrug.

"Probably a wise decision," he acknowledges.

"Yes, especially seeing as I can't travel back in time anyway, so there's no need for me to understand the specifics of fictional time travel anyway," I explain, quite pleased with not having to deal with this particular conundrum on top of everything else.

Ken nods in acceptance of my point. "How does your control of time manifest then if not in actual time travel?"

"We-ell," I draw out the word. "I don't know exactly. I've never yet done it, see? I only heard about it from the granddaughter – or great-granddaughter? – of a fairy who could. She might have gotten it wrong, so there's a chance this won't lead anywhere at all, but if she has it right…"

"If she has it right?" Ken prompts when I hesitate.

"If she has it right, I can turn back time," I finish while interlocking my fingers to keep them from fluttering around nervously.

"Tun back time… and change it?" Ken asks and from the quickly changing expressions on his face, I can see his mind working as it catches up with what I just said as well as the implication of it all.

"Presumably so," I confirm. "Apparently, I can turn time back to any point within my lifetime and then… do something to change it. I can also turn it forward, though there's no knowing what would happen then."

Ken stares, blinks, then stares some more.

"You mean to tell me you can change the course of history?" he finally asks

"Not history as such, because I can go no further back than my own birth," I correct. "Probably, that's to avoid some of those paradoxes you mentioned earlier. I can't undo my own birth this way, see?"

"I do see," he replies slowly. "But you can undo anything that happened in your lifetime?"

"Presumably so." I nod, feeling a little helpless given that I'm talking about a concept that, so far, is purely hypothetical.

Ken frowns "And what happens then?"

"Time starts anew from the moment I made the change. Depending on how far back I went and how big the change is, it deviates more or less from how things were before," I answer, doing my best to explain something I barely understand myself.

"And would anyone remember how it was before?" Ken wants to know.

"Only me," I admit. "To everyone else, it would be like anything that happened before never did happen at all."

Nodding slowly, Ken seems to consider my words. "And you're offering…" He trails off, but the words he didn't say hang between us, as loud as if they had been shouted.

"If you want me to, I can turn things back and, well, change the course of that car," I confirm, and again, the words not said sound loud and clear in the room. Because what I'm offering is to go back and prevent the death of Owen Ford, to effectively bring him back to life.

Ken hums thoughtfully as he no doubt considers my offer and everything it entails. To be honest, it's quite a credit to him – and to his familiarity with all things magical – that he hasn't yet declared me to be totally insane.

"I wouldn't remember that he died in this… timeline of events?" Ken asks, seemingly needing to make sure. "And he wouldn't either?"

I shake my head. "No-one would remember but me."

"We would know what he did though?" he continues to question. "He still would have kidnapped all these people and we would know that he did it?"

"You would find out, yes." I nod. "I'm afraid I can't undo what he did. I'd have to turn time back months or even years and… I don't dare do it. I was warned not to do it. The implications would be…"

"Potentially terrible," finishes Ken quietly. "I understand. To be honest, I… I wouldn't want you to undo what he did. I mean, obviously, I know it would be much better for all these people, but –" He breaks off, pressing his lips together.

Once again thought, I know what he can't say, so I say the words for him, "But it would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

Ken nods, the movement so slight it's barely perceptibly. "It would be too easy for him. He doesn't get to have it easy. He doesn't get out like this, because… because even if you undid it and no-one remembered, he'd still be the person capable of doing something like this. That's something… he needs to own that, don't you think?"

He looks at me, outwardly agitated, but beneath, I can see nothing but a whole lot of pain. He's doing so much to mask it, with his easy demeanour and his light jokes, but as the façade slips, I can see the hurt positively radiating off off him. I can very nearly feel it.

"It might be easier for you, too," I point out, my voice very quiet. "If I dared go back that far… if I made it so it never happened… I'm just saying that you'd never know… you'd never have to think of him or look at him and know what he's capable of. Sure, it would make things easier for him, but… maybe for you, too?"

"You mean, I wouldn't have to question what kind of person my father is?" Ken clarifies, inclining his head slightly.

I shrug, then nod.

"You're right, it would be easier," he admits after a moment of thought. "God knows I outgrew the childhood phase when I idolised him long ago, but even when he stopped being my hero, I never thought to question everything I ever knew about him. I do now and yes, it would be easier not to have to do that. I'm… I'm seeing the appeal, I really am." He pauses, gathering himself. "And yet, wouldn't I be pulling the wool over my own eyes? Even with me not knowing, he'd still be… well, himself, I suppose. You might be able to change what he did, at potentially tremendous cost, but you can't change him."

No.

No, I can't.

I would, of course, if I could, if only to drive away the hurt still lingering on his face. Truth to be told, there's preciously little I wouldn't do to drive it away, even if it meant stretching my own magic to its limits and beyond with potentially disastrous consequences for the entire world. If I could, I would.

But I can't.

"I can't change who he is," I admit quietly.

"And nor is it a burden that you should have to bear," adds Ken, his voice no louder than mine.

Briefly, our eyes meet, before I turn away, looking down at my hands folded tightly in my lap.

"I want answers," Ken tells me after a few moments of silence. "I want answers and I want them from him. I realise that I might not like those answers, but I… I want to understand, if there's anything to understand at all, and I can only do that with my eyes open. It would hurt less to continue to believe the subterfuge, but I don't want that. I want the truth and to get it, I need to look him in the eye and ask him why the hell he did what he did."

Slowly, I let go of the breath I'd been holding. "So… so, you want me to do it? To bring him back? If I can, I mean."

In response, Ken stays quiet for a long time. Finally, he asks, "What does he want?"

"He wants me to do it," I reply. "He didn't even hesitate, Miranda said. Even when I told him that I'd permanently block his access to witchcraft, he didn't change his mind."

"You can do that? Permanently?" Ken wants to know.

I shrug. "I think so, yes. Obviously, I cannot be sure about any of this, but… I think so."

"Because we can't risk him doing something like this again," states Ken, quite plainly.

"That was my thinking," I confirm. "I told him about it. That that was my price, so to speak. I realise that it's a sort of ultimatum, but…"

"At least you gave him the choice," remarks Ken. "He didn't give you a choice when he took your own magic."

No, he certainly didn't.

"The irony of it is quite compelling," Ken points out, laughing quietly, though there's a note of sarcasm in the sound that belies the laugh's humour.

"It's not about revenge," I stress. "I'm not doing this to get back at him."

"No, I didn't think so." Ken's reply comes so quickly that I don't doubt the honesty of it.

I give him a brief smile, a silent thank you for believing me, before explaining, "He wants me to do it, but he's not the one to decide it. If you don't want it to happen, I won't do anything. Always provided, of course, that I can make it happen at all. It's really just hypothetical at this point. I'd still need to practice with shorter time spans first and probably talk to Elizabeth Grayson beforehand to find out whether there are any kind of tips she can give me."

"Obviously, it needs to be well-prepared," Ken agrees, "though I don't much doubt that you can pull it off if you want to."

Given how disastrously my last attempt at magic turned out, there's something kind of sweet in the way he so blindly trusts my ability to do it right. Not that I mind, of course, not in the least.

"I'd also need to talk to my mother and Persis first," Ken continues. "It's their choice as much as mine. Are you okay with me talking to them? I can try to be vague about how we plan to proceed about this, but knowing Mum, she'll likely want to know."

"Sure." I shrug. "Tell them all you need to. I don't mind. As you said, it affects them just the same."

"Thank you." He smiles, warmly this time.

I return his smile, feeling, for the first time in days, a little hope rise within me. Maybe I'm really doing something right this time. Maybe I can really put right what I did wrong.

"So, if your mother and sister agree… and if I can pull it off…" I let the question hang, not daring to finish it.

Ken pauses, his eyes meeting mine, his gaze almost searching. Several seconds pass, before he slowly nods his head. "Yes, let's do it."

The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'I'll stand by you' (written by Chrissie Hynde, Tom Kelly and Billy Steinberg, released by Girls Aloud in 2004).

To Guest:
I'm glad you think so! I really wanted for Miranda to get an opportunity to confront Owen. What he did to her (and the others) was despicable and even knowing it was him, the fallout must certainly be something she still struggles with. I felt it was important for her to get to tell him (and probably also important for him to hear), so that she can try and gain some sort of closure. She's being very brave here to do this and while I think she still has a path ahead, I do believe being able to confront him will help her overcome what he did.