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  And your wife? Asked the doctor.

  She’s too soft on him anyway, and I think you can guess why. The bottom line is that we helped her, and we can help him. He's a good kid. Let me deal with her.

  Being upset at what she had already heard, combined with a fear of hearing more, made her walk in and knock on the door.

  Sorry for interrupting, she said in a tone that meant the exact opposite. Where’s your water cooler?

  It’s right across the hall in the kitchen pantry. Did you leave your son alone Mrs. Johnson?

  Being that we’re the only ones back here, I’d deduce so, yes.

  Dr. Feinstein paused thoughtfully for a Moment, then got up and darted toward the room Hector was in. Mr. Johnson followed and looked at his wife with a stare that would burn a hole through a wall.

  Hector...

  Yea Doc.

  We're just about done in there. Come with me. I want to introduce you to Tina. She's with the night shift, and will be here in case you need anything.

  Tina...

  Doctor Fein, I'm sorry I'm late its just that my cat --

  Never mind that. This is Hector. He's going to be staying with us over night. Show him where he'll be staying before he gets transported in the morning.

  Sure. Hi, come with me please.

  Tina was a middle aged heavy set woman that seemed like she only cared about one thing in life. - That one thing had nothing to do with working here. I could see a half sleeve of tattoos on her left arm, and probably like a dozen holes in her head when you count up all the nose, lip, eyebrow and ear piercings.

  You don't look crazy none, she said as she led me down a long hall.

  Neither do you I responded snarly.

  Well, we all have a little crazy in us, don't you think?

  I didn't answer.

  Anyways, just don't be a loud a-hole tonight, please. I couldn't' catch any Z's with the last looney that was in here. Groaning and bitching all night long. Don't nobody want to hear all that.

  Sounds good to me.

  Ok, cool. So here it is. Welcome to Palace O' Feinstein. There's your cot, a desk with a pen and paper - Doctor Feinstein likes encouraging journaling. I don't give a shit, just don't' stab yourself with it or I'll be the one cleaning up after your ass. Through that door is a toilet and a sink.

  Where's the shower?

  No shower slick. You'll get access to one in the morning when he lets you out of the cage.

  Doctor Feinstein walked in with both my parents.

  We're all set Hector. Your parents will be here to see you off tomorrow morning at 7am.

  We'll be right here with you every step of the way. You'll be fine kiddo. Just you watch.

  I know I will Mom. Please don't cry for me though, I said as I gave her a big hug. Then they left.

  Here, you go Hector, toss a couple of these back. It'll help you sleep.

  Sure, I said as I grabbed the shot-glass sized plastic cup with two pills in it and a glass of water.

  I pretended to drink them, but really just put them under my tongue.

  Tina will be here for anything you need. If you're hungry, thirsty, anything. She'll be checking in with you every hour on the hour until morning. When she does, you have to sign a form for her.

  Every hour? I asked.

  Yes, I know it’s annoying, but we have to follow protocol.

  They all walked out and Dr. Feinstein locked the door with a key from the outside. I walked over to the toilet and spit the pills out. Tina came over an hour later, and then an hour after that like clockwork. Each time she knocked, slid the slot open and past me the clipboard with the form I had to fill out and sign. I checked the box next to my name, signed it and handed it back.

  Listen. If you're not gonna be a loud a-hole all night like we spoke about, we can fast-forward the next few hours of this bullshit and just fill the rest out in the morning. Hows that sound?

  Sounds like I can actually rest and get some sleep.

  Ok cool. See you in a few hours then, she said.

  I spent the next hour or so trying to unlock the door. Both keys I found would slide into it, but wouldn't turn the lock. I kept one of the keys in there while I shimmied the door and tried jamming the letter opener into it while twisting in the clockwise direction. I was just bout to give up until ... click ... it opened. I don't know if I actually picked the lock or broke the mechanism on the inside because of the pressure, but it was open. I walked over to the hallway and carefully poked my head out to see what Tina was up to. She was reclined back in her chair, legs up on the desk, and the tv was on. Good old Tina. I decided not to rush out of there just yet.

  I wanted to see if I could find anything out about my Mom and why she came to him in the first place. Old files, records, something. I went into Feinstein's office and onto his computer. I back-doored into it, overrode his passwords and firewall, then started my search. He was organized. Patient files, click. I filtered the list down to the couple of years after my Dad died and searched. Johnson, Johnson...wait, she wasn't Johnson then. She still had my Dad's name. Barbara Herrera. There you go, click. I went through her file and a lot of what she told me was in it. Flashbacks. Dreams about stopping my Dad from going to work to avoid his car accident from happening. She was having that recurring dream on almost a nightly basis for months before she came in here. It was closed out as "cured/contained". The last line of the file read; Referred by previous patient Robert Johnson (005218). Previous patient? I checked to see if he had a file, but there was no file under his name in the database. I didn't know what the numbers meant, but I did remember seeing a filing cabinet containing numbered files when I was rustling through the boxes in the other room earlier today. I grabbed a pen and wrote the number down on my hand. I quietly made my way to the other room, glancing over at Tina who hadn't budged and whose snores were drowning out the 10 O'clock news.

  I made it over to the back room and started going through the boxes. They were all patient files. Old ones. From the 80's and 90's. Had this guy ever heard of a scanner? I looked at the palm of my hand where I wrote down the numbers I found next to my Step Father’s name...005218, and kept searching. I found it. I sat down on the floor and leaned up against the wall under the window, trying to use the moonlight to be able to read through it. I didn't want to turn any lights on and my phone was dead. His file has one of those red, top secret looking watermark stamps on it. But instead of 'top secret' it says 'Not a Skipper', whatever that means. Apparently he was hospitalized here because he couldn't distinguish imagination from reality when he was around ten years old. "Subject is an only child, that does not want to let go of an imaginary friend/brother that he has created. Subject states that his older brother was sickly, and felt he was a burden on his family. He tried showing the subject how to time travel, but he was never able to. Subject states that his older brother could not undo his sickness but found a solution. Since then he never saw his brother again. Parents confirm that he is an only child, no friends or relatives that he has met resemble the imaginary brother. In a previous pregnancy however, the subjects mother went through an intrapartum stillbirth. Prior to the subject being born, his would-be older brother was tangled up in the umbilical cord and suffocated. Beyond that, there have never been any talks about having or adopting another child, etc."

  Approved recommendation: medicate, council and condition (MCC).

  No wonder he has a no nonsense approach about this. He lost his brother to what my Mom had. To what I have. I heard a toilet flush in the distance. Tina must be up. I tossed the file back in the box, and made it back to the backroom as quickly and quietly as possible. I heard a knock soon after.

  You up and decent in there?

  Yea, I responded trying to act like I was groggy from sleep.

  Ok, c’mon, she said as she slid the slot open, lets fill this stuff out.

  We backfilled all the time sheets and she told me that Dr. Feinstein and my parents should be there within the n
ext hour or so, followed by my transport. I said ok, and she went back to her post in front of the office. I had just enough time to jimmy-open the lock again, and make my way to the examination room I was in the day before. I heard my parents arrive and Tina instruct them to have a seat and wait on Dr. Feinstein who should be pulling in shortly. By the time he came in and greeted them, I was safely by the window I was going to leave out of. They all made their way to his office. My mother asked:

  How’s my boy? Can we see him?

  He’s just fine Mrs. Johnson, I assure you. I have his overnight log right here. Lets get his release forms squared away and we’ll be right on over to let him out for breakfast and a shower. Now, have a seat. I have the standard paperwork drafted. In short, it states that Hector will be in our care until he’s rehabilitated.

  How long will it be? My mom asked.

  It depends on how he takes to the medication and treatment sessions. It could be a week, or a year. It’s beyond our control at that point, but we can all do our part in making sure he stays on track and help nudge him in the right direction when necessary. That should help speed up his recovery time.

  That’s the last I listened in on before deciding to slide that first floor window open and bounce.

  Mrs. Johnson, why don’t you go over and get your son a cup of water while we go let him out. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.

  My step father and Dr. Feinstein walked on over, unlocked the door to the room I was supposed to be locked away in, only to find it empty. He called Tina over to find out where I was and if she noticed anything out of the ordinary that night. She denied everything and pointed to the log as proof that she did her job as she was told. My mother filled up the cup of water and walked over to the room they were in, approaching cautiously as she overheard the commotion. “Umm, where’s Hector?” She asked as she walked in.

  Your guess is as good as ours, responded her husband.

  Did you check the bathroom? She asked as she walked over there and opened the door. - “Hector honey,” she said.

  We checked everywhere, said Mr. Johnson. He’s not here.

  Dr. Feinstein picked up the phone on his desk as he stated; “I just hope they don’t get to him before we do,” then he began dialing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As I made my run for it, I was relieved and anxious at the same time. Would I see my Mom again? I didn't want her to worry but how could I let her know I was ok, without tipping them off to where I was? I didn't know if they could trace my calls and geo-locate me. I didn't even know if running off was going to work. All I knew was that I was out from under that immediate situation of being committed against my will, but thrust into uncertainty at the same time.

  I’ve thought about being on the run before. Wondering what I would do if a masked murderer was chasing me in the woods or if in some twist of fate I was involved with a bank robbery gone awry. During a movie I’d catch myself giving the protagonist advice like; ‘aww c’mon man, why would run into a shed in the yard and corner yourself?’ - But this was different. I felt like I was on the run from the world. And I was. Anywhere I went would be that shed in the yard. I couldn’t go to the cops. What would I say? - ‘Hey, I know this may sound crazy, but I think we’re in some sort of matrix and I’ve tapped into a way to make my dreams a reality.’ I’d sound like a crazy person. What if I was going crazy and this is what a delusional state felt like? Or what if I was right, and they knew I was right? I’d be fucked either way. So I kept running.

  I ran down streets and avenues that I’d never been on before. Heart racing, full of adrenaline as I looked back and over my shoulders at every turn. Suddenly as I made a sharp left, that’s when I first noticed the blacked-out van with its side door slid wide open. I ran right into them while trying to avoid it. They grabbed me, threw me into the van and screeched off. I was in a silent panic. Frantic as they removed their knit stocking cap masks and one of them said; “Relax Hector, we’re the good guys.”

  What is this? Who are you? I asked while pulling away from them and sitting up as I looked around, trying to memorize what they looked like.

  We’re the people that have been where you are right now. Just as confused, just as lost, feeling just as crazy as you think you are right now.

  What are you talking about? I said trying to sound as if all of these weren’t feelings I was wrestling with.

  I need you to relax, and I promise you that your confusion will subside. You’re definitely not crazy. You’ve actually just now found your way.

  Listen dude, I don’t know who you think I am but you got the wrong guy.

  We’ll stop the van right now and let you go on your way, if that’s what you really want, Hector. We’ll let you go get caught, committed and pumped full of pills that will make it all go away - and not because they’ll make things better, but because they’ll scramble your brain enough to make you completely unaware of your reality anymore. Or you can stay and find out why you’re able to change your present by accessing the past, how you’re able to bring back video’s from your dreams and more importantly, where to go from here. It’s your call.

  After a long pause I asked; “Is it just you five, or are there others?”

  There are others, many others. But we’re not all necessarily together or on the same page, just like any other group of people.

  How long has this been a thing?

  No one knows for sure but there have been accounts that go back a couple generations. There's no actual beginning or patient zero if you will. Here, have some water and catch your breath.

  Thanks, I said after taking a few gulps. How long have you all been able to go back?

  Eight years for me. I’m Miguel by the way. Introduce yourselves guys.

  I’m Laura, over 3 and a half years for me.

  Brooke 18 months for me.

  What’s up bro? I’m Charlie. 4 years and counting.

  The driver up there, said Miguel, that’s Jake. He’s my right hand and has been going back for six years now.

  Well, I’m Hector as you guys apparently knew already, and as far as I can remember, I’ve been going back for a few months now. Question though, I asked Charlie; you said said 4 years and counting. Does that mean it wastes or something? Or that you can stop it from happening somehow?

  Yea, it could waste, in a way. Responded Charlie.

  We have known and heard of cases where someone was able to go back and then one day it just isn’t an option anymore. We’ve even had ex-members of this team that experienced that and are civilians now. Since we don’t fully understand what makes it work, we can’t yet determine what makes it stop, said Miguel.

  Does that mean there are no civilians on your team? I asked.

  This team isn't too dissimilar to others that exist, in that we have clear objectives. Ours is righting societal wrongs. For that we need people that have the ability. It wouldn't be sustainable in the long run, if we just kept everyone that lost their skip-ability, on. So we ultimately only recruit people that are selfless and willing to come on with that understanding.

  Ok. I guess that makes sense, I said as I looked around at everyone again and took another sip of water.

  Is your water ok? Asked Miguel.

  As he asked I began to feel a bit woozy. I looked down at my water bottle, confused...and that’s the last thing that I remembered before blacking out.

  When I came to, we were in what looked like the inside of a warehouse. Dim lighting and second-hand mismatched furniture made up the decor. There were a few laptops laying around, two big screen tv’s and these cubicle/pod looking things throughout the open space. Miguel was sitting in the love-seat sofa opposite me.