Chapter 15
Six Days, Fourteen hours, Ten minutes
Slowly, Frank Parker opened his eyes. The light poured in, and he stared up at the unblemished white ceiling. The lighting was recessed, he noticed, and, making a quick guess, he knew he was in some kind of holding cell. 'Having spent too many days and nights in the funny farm does that to you,' he thought of his special gift. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he following the expanse of ceiling away from him until he found the wall. There, he tracked the seam over his head until he came to a thick pane of glass. Rolling over, he looking down the glass until he saw .
"Bradley!"
With the exuberance of a child, Parker leapt from the mattress and ran into the protective glass wall.
"Easy, Frank," the director said, smiling. "Take it easy. We just got you back. There's no sense in hurting yourself already."
"I can't take it easy," the chrononaut muttered, relaxing as he suddenly began to take in his surroundings. "There's too much ." He let his words trail off as he studied his cell. The four walls were broken only at the back where an obvious steel door - heavily reinforced - kept him inside. The walls were covered with pure blank white. He found the room offered a single bed - outfitted with gray sheets, a military-issue blanket, and a single pillow with no pillowcase.
'Of course not,' he reasoned. 'Why, a thinking maniac could strangle himself with that.'
"Bradley, what's going on?"
The director sat in a chair on the far side of the glass wall.
"I need you to relax, Frank."
"I'll relax ."
Again, he trailed off. Now wasn't the time to lose his infamous temper. Now was the time for control. Something was amiss. Something was terribly amiss . or he wouldn't be here.
"I'm sorry," Parker said.
"It's all right, Frank."
"Where am I?"
"Don't you know?"
He lowered his eyes at the senior officer. "Bradley, I think you know me well enough to know that if I knew wherever the hell I was I wouldn't be asking."
At that, the director smirked, an expression Parker had long grown comfortable with.
"You're in Containment," the older man confessed.
"Containment?"
"Yes."
"What's Containment?" Parker asked quizzically.
Talmadge showed a twinkle in his eye. "You really don't know, do you?"
Parker sighed. "I think I've already answered that question."
The two men stayed in the respective places, studying one another's expressions. Talmadge always had an undercurrent of ambitious mirth to him - a side that Parker long admired. Now, the director appeared almost bereft of any emotion that Frank could decipher.
"Okay, okay, okay," Parker conceded. "I give up. You win."
"The Frank Parker I knew would've have surrendered so easily."
"Knew," the chrononaut repeated. "The Frank Parker . you knew?"
Talmadge didn't answer.
"Let's start over at the beginning, Bradley."
Reaching out, Parker grabbed the back of the chair and dragged the steel legs squeaking with protest across the floor.
With a smile, he asked, "Does that seem like the old Frank Parker?"
Talmadge returned the smile. "It does."
Parker nodded. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For believing me."
"I didn't say I believe you, Frank."
"You didn't say you didn't."
"No," the director agreed. "I didn't do that either. As a matter of fact, I don't know what to think. And if you know me as well as I believe you do, then you'll understand that this situation - being at the crossroads without a clear choice of which road to choose - well, that's the place I like being least."
Quickly, Parker turned the chair around, sitting down, and leaned his elbows on the back. He relaxed, letting his shoulders slump, and he set his chin on his forearm.
"Then let's start over," he finally said. "My name's Parker. Frank Parker."
"Bradley Talmadge."
"Nice to meet you, Bradley."
"Likewise."
"Why is it that I'm in a cage?"
"A cage?" Talmadge gestured at the glass wall. "Is that all you think this is?"
"It's a trap?"
The director grimaced. "If you are Frank Parker, then you would know that you're in a lockdown facility. This is Containment. It's standard."
"Standard?"
"That's right."
Parker pointed with his closest thumb. "This isn't standard. At least, it isn't where I come from."
"And that's the puzzle," Talmadge agreed.
"So why don't we solve it?"
"We?"
"Yes," Parker answered. "Why don't we solve it together?"
"We will. In time."
"Bradley, this is BackStep. The one constant of the work we do is that - even though we can travel through it - time is luxury we don't have."
"That's right, Frank," Talmadge nodded. "You phoned in a conundrum."
"I did."
"And what is your mission?"
Parker almost spoke, but he stopped. If the man sitting across from him protected by the wall of glass wasn't the Director of Operations he had come to know, then there were probabilities - real and frightening and mind- blowing probabilities - that sharing any knowledge of future events might disrupt a timeline that never took place in this reality.
"I'm not home," he finally spat.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean . in my world the base doesn't have any Containment facility."
"Then you aren't Frank Parker."
"And you aren't Bradley Talmadge."
"Only one of those statements can be true, my friend," the director warned.
"Or both of them could be false," Parker tried.
Again, they stared at one another.
"How long have I been asleep?" the chrononaut asked.
"A few hours," Talmadge answered.
"And you watched me?"
"I hope you don't mind."
"No," Parker said. "Not at all. It's what Bradley would've done, and you're doing exactly what Bradley would've done. You need to hold up your end of the charade. I promise I'll do my part to hold up my end."
Slowly, the director shook his head. "It doesn't need to be this way, Frank."
He rose from his chair. "I think it does."
"It doesn't," Talmadge tried, rising from his seat as well. He approached the glass. "All you need to do is tell me where you're from, and, working together, we can end this ."
"End what?" Parker shouted, throwing his arms wide. "End what, Bradley? What is there to end? What? The fact that I don't believe it's you, or the fact that you don't believe it's me?"
"You can't be Frank Parker!" the director insisted.
"Oh, no? I'm wearing Frank Parker's clothes. I have Frank Parker's memory. I piloted Frank Parker's sphere back from the future on a mission to ."
Decisively, he stopped in mid-sentence.
"You were saying?"
"Nothing that I care to finish."
Talmadge turned red in the face. "Frank, stop playing ."
"Frank? Did you just call me Frank? But how can that be? You can't call me that! After all, Frank isn't who I am! You said so yourself!"
"What would you like me to call you?"
"Well, it certainly can't be Frank, now can it?" Parker challenged, his hands planted firmly on his hips. The anger was boiling in him now, and he wanted to strike out. He wanted to slam his body into the glass, but he knew it would be for naught. It would only please this . this . director, and Parker wasn't about to do that. "You don't think I'm him . Frank Parker . so that won't do."
"Then I'll ask you again . what would you have me call you?"
Parker sniffed. Relaxing the tension in his shoulders, he let slip a short chuckle.
"Why don't you . why don't you call me . Mr. Anderson?"
END of Chapter 15
Six Days, Fourteen hours, Ten minutes
Slowly, Frank Parker opened his eyes. The light poured in, and he stared up at the unblemished white ceiling. The lighting was recessed, he noticed, and, making a quick guess, he knew he was in some kind of holding cell. 'Having spent too many days and nights in the funny farm does that to you,' he thought of his special gift. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he following the expanse of ceiling away from him until he found the wall. There, he tracked the seam over his head until he came to a thick pane of glass. Rolling over, he looking down the glass until he saw .
"Bradley!"
With the exuberance of a child, Parker leapt from the mattress and ran into the protective glass wall.
"Easy, Frank," the director said, smiling. "Take it easy. We just got you back. There's no sense in hurting yourself already."
"I can't take it easy," the chrononaut muttered, relaxing as he suddenly began to take in his surroundings. "There's too much ." He let his words trail off as he studied his cell. The four walls were broken only at the back where an obvious steel door - heavily reinforced - kept him inside. The walls were covered with pure blank white. He found the room offered a single bed - outfitted with gray sheets, a military-issue blanket, and a single pillow with no pillowcase.
'Of course not,' he reasoned. 'Why, a thinking maniac could strangle himself with that.'
"Bradley, what's going on?"
The director sat in a chair on the far side of the glass wall.
"I need you to relax, Frank."
"I'll relax ."
Again, he trailed off. Now wasn't the time to lose his infamous temper. Now was the time for control. Something was amiss. Something was terribly amiss . or he wouldn't be here.
"I'm sorry," Parker said.
"It's all right, Frank."
"Where am I?"
"Don't you know?"
He lowered his eyes at the senior officer. "Bradley, I think you know me well enough to know that if I knew wherever the hell I was I wouldn't be asking."
At that, the director smirked, an expression Parker had long grown comfortable with.
"You're in Containment," the older man confessed.
"Containment?"
"Yes."
"What's Containment?" Parker asked quizzically.
Talmadge showed a twinkle in his eye. "You really don't know, do you?"
Parker sighed. "I think I've already answered that question."
The two men stayed in the respective places, studying one another's expressions. Talmadge always had an undercurrent of ambitious mirth to him - a side that Parker long admired. Now, the director appeared almost bereft of any emotion that Frank could decipher.
"Okay, okay, okay," Parker conceded. "I give up. You win."
"The Frank Parker I knew would've have surrendered so easily."
"Knew," the chrononaut repeated. "The Frank Parker . you knew?"
Talmadge didn't answer.
"Let's start over at the beginning, Bradley."
Reaching out, Parker grabbed the back of the chair and dragged the steel legs squeaking with protest across the floor.
With a smile, he asked, "Does that seem like the old Frank Parker?"
Talmadge returned the smile. "It does."
Parker nodded. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For believing me."
"I didn't say I believe you, Frank."
"You didn't say you didn't."
"No," the director agreed. "I didn't do that either. As a matter of fact, I don't know what to think. And if you know me as well as I believe you do, then you'll understand that this situation - being at the crossroads without a clear choice of which road to choose - well, that's the place I like being least."
Quickly, Parker turned the chair around, sitting down, and leaned his elbows on the back. He relaxed, letting his shoulders slump, and he set his chin on his forearm.
"Then let's start over," he finally said. "My name's Parker. Frank Parker."
"Bradley Talmadge."
"Nice to meet you, Bradley."
"Likewise."
"Why is it that I'm in a cage?"
"A cage?" Talmadge gestured at the glass wall. "Is that all you think this is?"
"It's a trap?"
The director grimaced. "If you are Frank Parker, then you would know that you're in a lockdown facility. This is Containment. It's standard."
"Standard?"
"That's right."
Parker pointed with his closest thumb. "This isn't standard. At least, it isn't where I come from."
"And that's the puzzle," Talmadge agreed.
"So why don't we solve it?"
"We?"
"Yes," Parker answered. "Why don't we solve it together?"
"We will. In time."
"Bradley, this is BackStep. The one constant of the work we do is that - even though we can travel through it - time is luxury we don't have."
"That's right, Frank," Talmadge nodded. "You phoned in a conundrum."
"I did."
"And what is your mission?"
Parker almost spoke, but he stopped. If the man sitting across from him protected by the wall of glass wasn't the Director of Operations he had come to know, then there were probabilities - real and frightening and mind- blowing probabilities - that sharing any knowledge of future events might disrupt a timeline that never took place in this reality.
"I'm not home," he finally spat.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean . in my world the base doesn't have any Containment facility."
"Then you aren't Frank Parker."
"And you aren't Bradley Talmadge."
"Only one of those statements can be true, my friend," the director warned.
"Or both of them could be false," Parker tried.
Again, they stared at one another.
"How long have I been asleep?" the chrononaut asked.
"A few hours," Talmadge answered.
"And you watched me?"
"I hope you don't mind."
"No," Parker said. "Not at all. It's what Bradley would've done, and you're doing exactly what Bradley would've done. You need to hold up your end of the charade. I promise I'll do my part to hold up my end."
Slowly, the director shook his head. "It doesn't need to be this way, Frank."
He rose from his chair. "I think it does."
"It doesn't," Talmadge tried, rising from his seat as well. He approached the glass. "All you need to do is tell me where you're from, and, working together, we can end this ."
"End what?" Parker shouted, throwing his arms wide. "End what, Bradley? What is there to end? What? The fact that I don't believe it's you, or the fact that you don't believe it's me?"
"You can't be Frank Parker!" the director insisted.
"Oh, no? I'm wearing Frank Parker's clothes. I have Frank Parker's memory. I piloted Frank Parker's sphere back from the future on a mission to ."
Decisively, he stopped in mid-sentence.
"You were saying?"
"Nothing that I care to finish."
Talmadge turned red in the face. "Frank, stop playing ."
"Frank? Did you just call me Frank? But how can that be? You can't call me that! After all, Frank isn't who I am! You said so yourself!"
"What would you like me to call you?"
"Well, it certainly can't be Frank, now can it?" Parker challenged, his hands planted firmly on his hips. The anger was boiling in him now, and he wanted to strike out. He wanted to slam his body into the glass, but he knew it would be for naught. It would only please this . this . director, and Parker wasn't about to do that. "You don't think I'm him . Frank Parker . so that won't do."
"Then I'll ask you again . what would you have me call you?"
Parker sniffed. Relaxing the tension in his shoulders, he let slip a short chuckle.
"Why don't you . why don't you call me . Mr. Anderson?"
END of Chapter 15