September 19, 1987

She felt unexpectedly nervous being back in the city again, knowing that she would see John in the hour. More than that, she was intrigued by the thought that John had come across someone that he felt had a connection to their situation.

Sitting on a bench in Brooklyn, she wondered if he would actually show up or not. He'd been so distant on the phone and insinuated that it might be hard to get away. They'd agreed upon a window of time, and so she sat, for an hour, watching the crowds rush by, until finally she saw his face.

Everything in her heart told her to keep a distance, to be prepared to be dismissed or held at arm's length. Despite trying as hard as she could to focus on Lanie since her return to school, she'd instead found herself cancelling more often than not. She'd bailed again the previous night, not sure that she could give her lover the attention she deserved. Her thoughts were reserved for someone else.

It was not the reception she'd prepared herself for. His stride increased as soon as he saw her and though he didn't smile, his faced showed something – relief? desire? desperation? love? Instead of saying hi, he said nothing, but wrapped his arms around her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She wondered if he would kiss her, and she prepared herself to pull away. She couldn't do that to herself; the hug was hard enough to bear.

Instead, he pulled away with a sad smile. "I've missed you, you know?" She smiled at that and nodded. "I'm glad you could come. This guy, he's got something going on, and he just seems so damn familiar. I'm hoping that if you look at him, you'll feel the same way. And even if you don't, we should talk to him."

They walked together to a spot outside the man's apartment and sat down together, all the while John filling in the details for her. Nothing about him sounded familiar, but she was more than willing to follow John's intuition. For another hour, they waited, sometimes sitting in uncomfortable silence, sometimes engaging in small talk that was just as uncomfortable. She felt at times as though she was being suffocated by all the things that could not be said.

"There he is," said John, pointing to a man who appeared to be in his late 20s. "Saturday afternoon, 'bout 3 o'clock, means he's probably heading to the pool hall up on 65th."

She studied the man carefully, hoping for the same recognition that John had experienced. He was remarkably average in appearance, with dark hair slicked back, a tight shirt, and a gold chain around his neck. He wore a scowl on his face. From her vantage point, nothing seemed familiar yet.

In the pool hall, though, they made eye contact and a flash of recognition crossed his face before he looked away. "He recognized me, John," she said quietly, without taking her eyes off of Paulus.

"Might be me he recognized. I mean, I did interrogate the man for hours, and he's caught me a couple times trailing him this summer.

Monica nodded, but she was sure that it was her that Paulus had reacted to. And she could feel it now, what she imagined John had felt. "I'm going to go talk to him."

He was seated at the bar, biding his time until a table opened up. When she sat beside him, he ignored her. "I think we've met," she said, looking straight at him.

"I think you're mistaken."

"I'd rather you not play coy, Mr. Paulus. We just want to have a conversation with you," she said, motioning back to John who was watching from a distance.

"Look, I got in a fight with my wife. That's part of marriage. That officer over there needs to leave me alone before I finally report him to the city. This is harassment."

"That's not what this is about."

"Could have fooled me. He's been on my tail ever since my neighbors called the cops on me and my wife."

"We know you, alright? We want to figure out why."

"You from Brooklyn?" Monica shook her head. "Well, I can't say I've ever really left it, so I'm not sure when we would have met. I think you and your friend should leave me alone now." He turned away, but didn't get up.

Monica continued to study him. She tried to picture him aged 15 years; then she tried to picture him younger.

"Do you have a son?"

"God, I hope not."

"Will you have a son? A son who would be about 14 in 2001?"

"So now you two think I can see into the future. Couple of crackpots. I've had enough. Thanks for ruining my day."

He started to walk off, but John intercepted, grabbing him by the arm. Monica rushed over.

"What did you do to us?" asked John in a harsh whisper. "How did you take us from 2001 and put us back into our bodies 15 years earlier? And why? What'd we do to you?"

"John," said Monica quietly before turning to Paulus. "Mr. Paulus – Anthony… His name was – will be – Vincent. I remember that now. He died in our arms. That's what brought us back here, isn't it? What your wife told John, that you could make a person disappear, that's part of it, isn't it? You killed him and we all went back to the moment Vincent was conceived."

The anger on Paulus' face was unmistakable. He looked hard at Monica's face, moving closer to her than John liked. "You are fucking insane," he said in a whisper so thick with rage that Monica shuddered. "You belong in a fucking looney bin."

He pulled out of John's grasp and stomped off to the door. "You two stay the fuck away from me!" he screamed loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear as he barged out.

John and Monica stood staring at the door, but it was not because of Paulus' exit – Barbara stood there in the doorway, with Officer Dunlin. The hall was quiet following the outburst, and the standoff between the Doggetts added to the chill in the air.

John's stomach hit the floor. Time stopped. His mind was spinning so fast he felt dizzy. He looked to Monica to see if she saw, which she did, and when he looked back to Barbara, she shook her head the way she did just before crying, and was out the door. With one more look at Monica, he raced after his wife, only to be stopped by Dunlin. "You've done enough damage now. Leave her alone."

"It's not what it looks like," said John desperately, his attention mostly focused on this wife who stood outside crying, though he could not help but look back to Monica. He didn't know what to do.

"Oh, I think it is exactly what it looks like. You just stay here with your teenage whore. I hope she's worth losing your wife and child for. You come near Barbara again and I will beat your ass myself. And no one at the station is going to defend you, John. It's over."

It was another hour before John was able to talk. They'd long since moved to a nearby park. Monica sat there feeling useless as John alternated between tears and stunned silence.

"I think it's time you told her," she finally said as dusk began to darken the sky.

"I thought we were keeping this to ourselves."

"It's killing her, John. She deserves to know. About us, I mean. And the only way to explain it is to tell her about what happened."

"She'll never believe me. And we have no proof. Sure, we recognize that guy, but I'm not so sure he knows what's going on."

"John, he's lying. I think he knows only too well what is happening."

"What good does he do us, though? He won't talk. He doesn't give a rat's ass whether or not we're stuck here."

"I know," she said with resignation. "I need to head back."

"I'll call you if anything happens."

"Alright," she said, but he could hear in her voice that she did not believe him, and he could see in the eyes that were barely able to look at him that she didn't expect to see him for a long time. He knew that she was probably right.