January 2, 1991
"Doesn't look like much, Mr. Treborn," says Bob Schnaufer, looking around the mostly empty office suite in White Plains, New York. There are only a few desks, two Apple Macintosh SE's with FDHD floppy disk drives capable of handling 1.4 MB high density floppy disks, and a LaserWriter printer. Plastic bags containing office supplies lie on the ground.
"Well, it's mine," replies Jason Treborn, majority shareholder and board-chairman of the newly-founded Temporal Financial Services, Incorporated, an open-ended investment company. "I can at last be able to make decisions without having to consult some silver-spooned jackass in some high-rise in Manhattan."
"And me, sir."
"You're a good man, Schnaufer, and an excellent financial analyst. But let's face it, neither of us were heading anywhere in American Pride. I mean, the best I could do is some executive position in headquarters. I mean, a vice president's position or CEO is reserved for some dumbass nephew of some board director who only attends meetings once a year and devotes his life to a golf game or fucking his mistress. And you, the best you could be there was a branch manager. No opportunity for either of us there. Here though, we are at the top."
Jason goes to the desk in his new office, opening a briefcase containing floppy disks, notes, and dated photographs. The photographs are the most important.
"Sir, I suggest we start hiring some employees," says Schnaufer.
"Good idea," replies Jason. "Take care of that while I read the Wall Street Journal."
And my notes from the future.
Ooooooooooooo
July 3, 1991
The diesel-powered boat runs across the surface of the water of New York Bay. The Statue of Liberty and the gleaming skyscrapers of lower Manhattan are visible from the passengers of the boat. A breeze blows in from the Atlantic Ocean, kissing those out on the deck.
"So how is your business going?" asks Jason's brother, Scott Treborn.
"We now have a staff of twenty financial advisors," replies Jason, beaming about his proudest achievement as he gazes towards New York's financial district. "I'm also managing some mutual funds, like the Growth Fund and the Capital Bond Fund and the Retirement Fund. Really hot stuff. I should give you my card; the office is in White Plains, just north of the city."
"Do you have to think about your business at a time like this?" asks Andrea.
"I was just catching up with my brother here, that's all."
"Are we going to see Aunt Meaghan?" asks Chrissy, Scott's thirteen-year-old daughter, just starting her journey into becoming a woman.
"She has to work today," replies Jason. "We can see her when we go to your grandpa's house."
"Okay, Uncle Jason."
Just a few feet away, nine-year-old Evan Treborn, wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt and blue jeans, looks at Manhattan through a telescope. His uncle Scott and aunt Dana and their children – Chrissy, Nick, and Patti – are visiting from Tustin, California for the summer, arriving yesterday. They had all seen the movie Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves that day, and tonight they will have dinner with Chris and Lucinda Treborn, and after that they plan to see the movie Terminator 2: Judgment Day, which premieres this day. Today though, they tour New York City.
"How do you handle three?" asks Andrea.
"You just do, I guess," replies Dana Treborn, Scott's wife. "And you definitely need a support system."
Scott approaches his younger brother. "You know, how about we take a little side trip to Atlantic City tonight?"
"Maybe."
"I'll take a picture of all of us," says Scott.
"Evan!" Jason calls out. "We're gonna take a picture now."
"Coming," replies the nine-year-old, gathering with his parents and his cousins and his aunt.
Scott takes the picture. Another picture is then taken, with Chrissy holding the camera.
Jason and Andrea look out toward the Statue of Liberty.
"I wonder what's going to happen in a few years," says Andrea.
"Sometimes I don't have to wonder," replies her husband.
Oooooooooooo
September 29, 1995
"Tommy, I'm bored shitless over here," says thirteen-year-old Evan Treborn, smoking a cigarette.
"Hold your horses, man," replies Tommy Miller. "It's here somewhere. I saw it when I was a kid."
Evan, Tommy, Kayleigh, and Lenny are all in the basement of the Miller home this morning, smoking cigarettes. The basement is packed with a whole lot of junk. Rummaging through the junk, Tommy tosses Lenny a copy of Playboy Magazine. Tommy looks at the naked form of Miss August 1995, Rachel Jean Marteen.
"We should go soon," Kayleigh says to Tommy. "If Dad catches us smoking down here, we're dead."
"So let's go," says Evan, agreeing with Kayleigh and not wanting his dad to find out what he is doing down here. "This place creeps me out."
As Evan, Lenny, and Kayleigh stand up, Tommy picks up an old Thermos bottle, shaking it. Something inside is clearly heard.
"I knew it had something to do with the army," says Tommy. He opens the Thermos and takes out a tiny stick of dynamite, grinning with mischief. "Let's blow the shit out of something!"
ooooooooooooooo
The forest is huge, with tall trees sprouting from the ground. Centuries ago, the forest was much bigger, once extending all the way to what would be called the Harlem River. This remnant is slowly losing its battle to developers.
"My dad wants to send me to some private high school next year," says Evan, walking through the forest with his friends. "An all-boys' high school. They say the school was around since before the Revolution."
"He's just trying to do what's best for you," says Kayleigh.
"I want to be with you."
"Hey guys!" shouts Lenny, wheezing. "Slow up, would you?"
"Evan, did I tell you?" asks Kayleigh. "My mother said I might be able to visit her this summer in Orlando with her new family."
"What did I say about mentioning that bitch?" asks Tommy, with anger in his voice.
"Where the hell are you taking us anyway?" asks Kayleigh, discomfort in her voice. "Just blow something up already."
"Just blow something up? Are you nuts? There's an art to mass destruction. Would you just paint the Mona Lisa? No. Besides, we're here already."
The four of them approach a street. It is the edge of the encroaching residential development of colonial-style houses. The houses have mailboxes which are replicas fo the homes that they serve.
"Here you go, buddy," says Tommy, handing the little stick of dynamite to Lenny.
"What?" replies Lenny. "No frigging way, man. I'm not touching that thing."
"The hell you aren't. Anyone of us does it, you'll puss out and narc for sure."
"Ain't gonna work this time, buddy. Look how small that fuse is! I'll get killed."
"Not necessarily," says Evan. He takes his lit cigarette, removes the fuse, and jams it into the unlit end. "That should buy you ten minutes at least."
"Gee, thanks friend," replies Lenny.
Ooooooooooooo
"This is what we need," says Bob Schnaufer, sitting inside Jason's office at Temporal Financial Services. "These up-and-coming companies have solid growth potential."
Jason looks up at his longtime assistant. "And you think there's something to this Internet?"
"Yes, sir. The Internet's gonna be the next biggest thing. Already every university has a web site. Government agencies have websites. All those big companies have web sites. We don't have a web site."
"It's just a bunch of people looking at a fucking screen."
"It's gonna revolutionize society. People will make purchases online. Look at stock quotes online. Book air fare, hotel rooms online."
"Yeah, and I suppose that bars and coffeeshops will have Internet terminals for their customers."
Jason's cell phone, a Motorola, rings. He flips it open.
"Yes?" asks Jason.
"It's me, Jason," says Andrea. "Something's up."
"What is it?"
"Evan's friend Lenny got freaked out when they and Tommy and Kayleigh were building a fort in the woods. Lenny was rushed to the hospital. I'm here at the hospital with the Kagans."
"I see." Jason had met Lenny Kagan a few times over the years. "Why weren't they at school?"
"It was a student-free day; the teachers had a meeting."
"I'll talk to you as soon as I get home."
"Can you be home by 5:00?"
"Uh, sure," Jason says grudgingly. "See you."
He turns his attention to Schnaufer.
"A lot of potential with the Internet."
"Bob, ever heard of tulips?"
"Uh yeah, Jason."
"I did a paper on the Dutch tulip crash, back when I was in college. Tulips took a long time to grow, so people sold tulip bulbs. Soon, people were bidding up the prices of tulips, in order to sell it to someone else and make a profit. They were speculating. Then, one day, the price plummeted and fortunes were wiped out. People even lost their homes. I'm not going to risk my company on some damn tulip craze."
Ooooooooooooo
Jason drives the 1995 Lincoln Continental towards the multiplex theater, the song "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden playing on the stereo system. The sunset casts the sky in orange. Stopping the car and putting the brake in park, he drops off Evan, Tommy, and Kayleigh.
"Have a great time," says Jason. "Don't worry about Lenny; I'm sure he'll be fine."
"Uh, thanks, Mr. Treborn," says Kayleigh.
Jason drives the black Lincoln Continental away.
"Wipe that sad-assed look off your face before you get us all busted," says Tommy. "You see the way Evan's dad was looking at you?"
"I'm sorry," says Kayleigh.
"I just hope my mom and dad don't find out about the mailbox," says Evan.
Tommy grabs Evan's jacket and shoves him against a wall, near a plaque advertising the movie Se7en.
"Don't ever bring that shit up again," he says. "Not ever. Not to me, not to Kayleigh, or even Lenny. The stupid fuck if he ever learns to talk again. Understand?"
Evan meekly nods.
"Ever," repeats Tommy, shoving Evan. "She don't want to talk about it, anyway. Do you Kayleigh?"
ooooooooooooo
The Sony color television in the living room is on as Andrea washes the dishes. A local newscast is on the TV.
"...was the grizzly aftermath of what police officials of upstate New York are calling a horrible act of vandalism gone awry," says the news anchor. "The powerful explosion is believed to have been caused by a small quantity of dynamite." Jason enters the house, having taken out the trash. "Police thus far have no leads as to the suspects..."
Andrea shuts off the TV with the remote control, trembling.
"What's wrong?" asks her husband, catching her feelings.
Ooooooooooooo
Evan and Kayleigh step out of the multiplex theater. It is already nighttime; the parking lot is lit with the lampposts.
A pair of headlights approaches the two. They come from the black Lincoln Continental that belongs to Evan's dad.
The two of them get into the backseat. Evan's parents are sitting at the front. Jason releases the brake and drives away from the parking lot.
"How was the movie?" asks Jason.
"Okay," replies Kayleigh.
"Any exploding mailboxes?" asks Andrea.
Evan and Kayleigh flinch, a vice gripping both of their hearts.
"What do you mean?" asks Kayleigh, trembling.
Jason pulls the car over. Kayleigh sees that she is at her house. She bolts from the Continental.
"Good night," says Andrea.
Jason wordlessly drives to his home.
Oooooooooooo
"What do we do?" asks Andrea, lying down in the bed.
"We don't know exactly what happened," says Jason. "Maybe they were just witnesses or something."
"Stop the bullshit. We know they were just more than witnesses."
Jason nods.
"Listen, I think we should move far away from here before the police connect Evan to the crime. We can go to my parents in Pennsylvania, or your brother in California."
Jason gets up. "There is something I can do. But I'll need to find out exactly what happened, and I know whom to go to."
Jason walks down the hall to his son's bedroom.
"Dad," says Evan.
"Evan, you will tell me exactly what happened," says Jason.
"Nothing happened."
"Bullshit!" yells his father. "If you don't tell me exactly what I want to know, I'm turning you over to the police!"
ooooooooooooo
October 2, 1995
Jason gets out of the Lincoln Continental and heads straight for his office.
"Good morning, Mr. Treborn," says Bob Schnaufer as he sees his boss enter the main office.
"Morning, Schnaufer," replies Jason. "I'm a little busy."
"You have a morning meeting, sir."
"Tell them I will be delayed by a few minutes."
Jason enters his private office, turning on the Apple Macintosh LC 580 on his desk, which is equipped with a 500 MB hard disk drive, a 1.44 MB floppy disk drive, and a CD-ROM drive. The 14" color screen reveals the happy Mac icon, followed by the "Welcome to Macintosh" message. The Macintosh desktop appears before him. He opens the folder containing scanned images of himself, taken in this office. Each image is dated.
He opens the image labeled "Sep-1-1995, staring intently.
Oooooooooooooo
September 1, 1995
Jason finds himself holding a Polaroid camera. The picture leaves the picture slot.
He notices that the Macintosh LC 580 is still on. The date on the corner reads 9/1/1995.
I'm back. I haven't turned thirty-six yet.
He immediately opens the TeachText program. He types everything he knows about what will happen on September 29th.
After saving the message in a folder labeled Future messages, he takes the photograph and scans it on the nearby scanner. He makes sure to save the file with the name "Sep-1-1995".
A woman with tightly-curled black hair enters the room; he recognizes her as the secretary. "I've a message for you, Mr. Treborn," she says.
"Thanks," replies Jason.
Oooooooooo
September 29, 1995
"Not necessarily," says Evan. He takes his lit cigarette, removes the fuse, and jams it into the unlit end. "That should buy you ten minutes at least."
"Gee, thanks friend," replies Lenny.
A hand grabs the little stick of dynamite. The still-lit cigarette falls off onto the pavement.
"What the hell is this?" demands an adult voice.
"Mr. Treborn?" says Kayleigh, surprised. The others look at him, sharing Kayleigh's expression.
Jason grabs Evan's left ear, pulling him. "We're going home now, Evan," he says. "The rest of you, you'll be hearing from your parents soon enough."
Ooooooooooo
October 2, 1995
Jason Treborn finds himself back in his office. The date on the computer screen reads 10/2/1995.
Did it work?
Then the memories flash right into his head; blood trickles from his nose.
Ooooooooo
That afternoon, Jason returns home. He had passed by the house where the bomb would have gone off. The mailbox is still intact. Presumably, Mrs. Halpern and her baby are still alive.
He opens the door to Evan's room. His son looks meekly at him.
"Why?" asks Jason.
"We've been through this before, Dad."
"Do you know how close you came to killing someone? You should be lucky you'll never know!"
"Dad, I'm sorry, okay."
"I want an explanation. It's for your own good, because I want to know why you do this shit. If we don't get into the reasons behind this, next time you might kill yourself or someone else."
"You were gonna send me to that school, away from my friends," says Evan. "I want to go to high school with Lenny and Tommy and Kayleigh."
"I only want what's the best for you, Evan. They're a great school. And after what happened last Friday, your friends obviously demonstrated their bad influence."
"Please, Dad. I want to see them again someday."
Jason looks at his son, staying silent for a minute. "You won't be seeing anyone outside of school until next year," he says. "And I doubt their parents will let you see them even if I let you leave the house. Still, after your punishment is over, I am open to supervised visits. I can't promise anything except I'll talk to them."
"Okay, Dad," says Evan.
Jason walks to the kitchen. His wife Andrea is there, with USDA choice beef on the counter.
"Whom are you calling, dear?" she asks as Jason picks up the phone.
"George Miller," replies Jason.
"Is it about what happened last Friday?"
"Sort of. I'm going to talk about supervised visits next year. I see no problem with Evan being with his friends after his punishment's over. He's a good kid; we just have to correct him when he does shit like this."
"The number you have dialed has been disconnected or no longer in service," says a voice.
"What the?" asks Jason, dialing Miller's number again.
He gets the same response.
"Maybe he forgot to pay his phone bill," says Jason. He dials the number for the Kagans.
"Hello?" asks a female voice.
"This is Jason Treborn," says Jason.
"Hi, Mr. Treborn," says Mrs. Kagan. "Are you talking about what Lenny did? You want to talk to him? He's not allowed to talk on the phone, but if you want me to get him."
"No, Mrs. Kagan. I was wondering if someday, you would allow supervised visits between Evan and Lenny."
"Supervised visits?"
"They're good kids who got into a shitload of trouble. They won't be seeing each other for a while; I've no problem with them seeing each other next year."
"I'll talk about this with my husband. We'll discuss this next January."
"Thanks."
Ooooooooooo
October 4, 1995
Jason Treborn drives his Lincoln Continental this Wednesday morning. He takes a little detour before heading to Temporal Financial Services. "I Have Nothing" by Whitney Houston plays on the stereo.
He drives up towards the Miller home; he had tried to contact George Miller, but the phone is disconnected.
He notices a U-Haul truck parked, with movers moving the stuff out. He parks the car and steps out.
"Excuse me," he says. "Is George Miller here?"
"Who?" asks the mover, clad in a blue outfit. "Oh, the owner. He's not here. He already moved and he told us to pick up the rest of his stuff. He gave us a copy of his house keys."
"Oh," he says. Jason gets into his car, driving to his job in White Plains.
Oooooooooooooo
That evening, Evan looks through the window, feeling worse than when his dad caught him with that tiny stick of dynamite.
Kayleigh is gone.
Ooooooooooooo
October 20, 1995
"I'm telling you, Mr. Treborn," says Bob Schnaufer. "The Internet is the future."
"I've read your report and told you why I disagree," says Jason.
"Sir, we have to take this opportunity. It's once in a lifetime."
"You want to risk money in a fool's venture, find your own company!"