Chapter 1

 

“I wish this didn’t happen so much.” Jensen James lay silently in his bed, struggling to wake up. “This shit happened less often years ago when I drank all the time, but now, I just don’t know. I wake up, and my head hurts. Why don’t I remember much?” Remaining silent, he shifts on the mattress. “Oh my god, my fucking face, am I getting sick?” Exhaling, caressing his face. “My sinuses feel really congested, my cheeks are so sore.” Stretching and writhing in soreness, he smiles. “I guess that means I had a hell of a night or at least I think I did. I feel like that was all just a dream. I’m not sure, but either way, I know where the medicine cabinet is.” Feet dragging along the floor, pushing off the bed, he pauses, letting his body stretch.

A king size bed, and an adjacent crude nightstand are crammed into his tiny, darkened room. The darkness hides the decaying, dilapidated walls. A floor lamp rests near the light switch. He struggles to find the switch. The room casts bleary light onto the unmade bed, hastily duct taped newspaper dangles over the window.  Losing his hand on the wall, he traces the shoddy surface until he catches the switch. The room illuminates, Jensen rests his head on the wall; the glowing orange hue from the lamp reveals the unkempt bed, covered loosely by a sheet. The sun strains to break through the newspaper shackles binding it. The darkness of the walls gradually consumes the light as Jensen meanders toward the exit. His hand guides him toward the doorframe; remnants of peeling wallpaper and paint crumble at his touch.  

Continuing out of the room to his right, the midnight, and dreary hallway keeps the light at bay, as if a cliff was trying to push the waters of the ocean aside, only to be driven back. Casually pulling himself around another doorframe, he enters the restroom. He fumbles about for the switch, knocking the brass plate loose. The bulbs flicker as the switch clicks to life, illuminating the room. Jensen glances into the cracked, shoddy mirror. Examining himself, he notices his blond hair matted to his head, caked in dirt, sweat and dried crimson flakes. Tirelessly, he carefully examines his slender jawline down each side, then trace back to his, sloping nose. Pausing, he stares at the flaky, dried blood, caked in streaks down his face.

“What the fuck happened to my face.” He wonders. “Maybe, I had a bloody nose? That would explain this, maybe it’s my bad allergies.” He shakes his head. “It can’t be my allergies, there’s too much blood.” He touches the flaky dried crimson streaks. He rubs his sore knuckle under the warm water, the soreness loosening in his fingers. Grimacing he unclenches his fists. “I feel like a God damn geriatric, is this arthritis?” “I don’t remember much of anything. My face looks swollen. I don’t remember getting hit in the face.” Flush rosy splotches dot the landscape of his mouth, his cheeks, slightly enflamed, attempting to detract his focus from the large dark circle is developing around his left eye. “I bet I got sucker punched, but by who?” He traces the circle, examining in wonderment.

Mind racing, he slides the mirror of the medicine cabinet revealing a large collection of pill bottles. He reads the labels tossing some to the side, and gradually gathering others in his hand. Bottles clink and clank, making their way into the trash, finally selecting a yellow bottle.  “hrngh” Grunting, struggling to remove the cap, the pain in his hands has grows worse. The lid’s seal pops, letting it fall to the floor he grabs two pills and tosses them in his mouth, throwing the bottle down into the sink. He swallows them, each pill scratching its way down his throat “I’ve never needed a drink to wash them down before, why start now?” “I hope these do the trick.” Reading the label, he pauses. “500 nanomites, eh I might need a fungal steroid injection tomorrow. Running his hands through the water once more, splashing the water up against his face, the remaining dried blood loosens, streaming down, ensnaring the drain in its dastardly crimson hue.

Glaring back at him through his stone gray eyes, the mirror portals like a dimension into his soul, his pupils enlarged from the dim light. He pads the towel rack, but it’s empty. He thrusts his other hand down into his hamper, retrieving a dirty, blood stained shirt out of his laundry basket and pats his face. Suddenly he drops the shirt, stepping back in a concerned horror. “There’s a lot of blood on here.”

Stern palpitations raise his heart into his larynx. “I wonder what happened last night. I don’t remember anything. It’s probably nothing.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he tosses the shirt back into the basket. His thoughts flounder as he tries to reassure himself that it is in fact nothing, yet he wonders. He flicks the light switch as he exits the bathroom towards the kitchen, where the windows are also draped in the chic duct taped newspaper.

The dark kitchen’s light switch, missing its switch plate, hangs loosely to the left of the fridge. The bulb ignites, chasing the darkness from the room. A strange substance oozes its way across the floor, catching Jensen’s attention. The light attempts to reflect off of it. “What the fucking hell is this?” Murmuring, he crouches down to his knee, reaching out to touch the substance with his fingertips. “Oh, what the fuck is this?” Examining the tips of his fingers trying to determine what exactly the strange goo is. Perplexed, he rises back to his feet.

“Where did this come from? Why is this in here? What happened in here? This wasn’t here yesterday. What happened last night?” Thoughts flood his mind, heart pounding, trying to escape his chest; he fears what may be in the fridge.

“I need to look.” Convincingly he extends his, arm, trembling immensely.

Inhaling deeply as he pulls on the handle, the sealed rubber stripping of the refrigerator pops as it begins to separate from the door and frame. Attempting to peer inside, he’s interrupted by a loud, commanding knock at the door, halting his investigation abruptly. Jensen releases the door, the rubberized coating makes a soft sucking sound as it reseals to the frame. Cautiously he maneuvers through the dimly lit kitchen and into the living room. He traces his path lightly, knowing exactly where the furniture in the dark apartment is situated; he carefully heads to the door.

The front door, outlined by exterior light trying to force its way inside the dreary apartment, stands in front of him. Jensen peers out through the glass peephole, an outline of a man, a gregarious man, fills the fish-eyed frame. The sun’s rays cast down over the man, rendering his features unnoticeable.

“What do you want?” Jensen’s, hoarse voice deepens; he clears his throat, attempting a mild intimidation tactic.

“My name is Hector Luna. I was sent here to look after you Jensen. Someone wanted to make sure you’re okay. We’ve been looking for you for a couple weeks.” He responds, apathetic, in a veiled attempt to conceal the reason why he stands alone outside.  

“Who? Look, I don’t know you or anyone that would be concerned with my well-being.” Jensen replied, his voice filling with concern.

“Jensen, just let me in. I need to make sure you’re okay. You have a lot of people looking for you. I’m one of two people that don’t want to see you get hurt. Just open the door for a minute so we can talk.” Hector, impatient, calmly motions to the side, catching Jensen’s attention.

“Why did you do that with your hand? Who are you motioning to?” He slinks back from the door, overwhelmed with mistrust. He retreats through the apartment, rushing his steps and avoid furniture in his path. His mind begins to fill with images of a tunnel, a pathway and a gorgeous red eyed woman smiling. Quickly it’s replaced with the knowledge a hidden staircase underneath his bed. He tosses the mattress to the side, pushing on the bed. It lurches against the wooden floor, scratching the surface as he pushes with all of his might. He pushes it far enough to reveal the entrance to the secret staircase. “Goddamn time rift memory floods.” Muttering as he tumbles down the stairway, crashing down onto the muddied tunnel floor below. More memories flood through his neurons; he shakes his head hoping to organize the information coming back to him.  He pauses as a barrage of knocking echoes through the apartment. Sighing heavily, he proceeds down the creaking and moaning steps.

Two larger men burst through the door, crashing the wooden barrier to pieces. Their frames fill the doorway. Hector Luna walks in behind them, similar in build to the first two men, he barks out commands.

“Find him! I didn’t hear or see him leave. He is in this apartment. Check everywhere!” He commands out to the others.  Frantically, they search through the apartment.  Chairs, sofas and small end tables fly through the air. The men make quick work of the living room, making a brief pause into the kitchenette before moving onward through the apartment. One of the men dives into the bathroom, thrashing about at the shower door, revealing no one. The other begins in the bedroom tossing the mattress set to the side. He begins kicking and smashing the bedframe until there is just a pile of broken, debilitated shards lying on the floor in front of him. He slides pieces out of the way, revealing the scuffed floor, but he sees no staircase, no escape route, nothing. The other man joins him. “Closet.” They state, nodding in agreement. Clothes and boxes fly from the closet outward across the bedroom floor. Rubbing their jaws while they browse through the mess they’ve created, they wait for Hector.

“Fuck!” He shouts. The loud echo of profanity reverberates through the building.

“James, Jeff, let’s go, we’ve got to go make a phone call. I’m assuming he’s not anywhere to be found right?” Hector continues to shout through the apartment. “Yeah, no sign of him, just like always.” Jeff, the blonde haired one, responds.  Jeff and James begin trudging their way back through the ransacked apartment, carelessly tossing and kicking anything out of their way.

“Where am I going? Who put those stairs there? Where does this tunnel lead to?” Jensen pants aloud as his legs pump feverishly, carrying him through the damp and muddied tunnel. 

“Maybe I should have stayed, or maybe I can stop now. I can’t trust them.” He contemplates pausing, resting for a moment, but he convinces himself that this is one of those moments where if you stop, then you die. “What was in the fridge? Who were those guys? What the hell happened last night? Last night, more like what happened the last few weeks. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last month. I don’t even know what today is or even where I was at. Well, I don’t think I knew where I was at, but how did I know where those stairs were? Are they still after me? Those stairs should have been easily found. I need to keep running.” He continues along. The ambience around him grows darker, colder. “Oh, man, where the fuck is this tunnel taking me? There’s got to be a way out soon, it’s getting cold.” As he runs, he becomes alarmed at the gradually decreasing temperature, and where the tunnel may be leading.

“Is it winter right now?” Thoughts of the current season begin to course through his brain. “It was warm in the apartment wasn’t it? I didn’t see snow around Hector, right, that was his name, Hector Luna.  What is going on?” Questions with no answers begin to overtake his thought process.

Just as miraculously as it had appeared, the tunnel begins to dissipate, fading into particulates of dust. Suddenly the muddied tunnel matriculates with gray slate walls streaking by him on either side. “Well this seems a little more reassuring.” He mutters as the development of the tunnel seems to progress into a sound structure. He emerges through the mysterious particle cloud. The muddied ground solidifies under his feet.

“Concrete,” he mutters, slowing to a brisk walk. His chest pounds as he gasps for air. An overwhelming familiarity strikes a chord deep inside him.  He clutches his sides as he turns his focus upward. Bright lights reveal a massive door reaching skyward; it stands at least twenty feet high. He surveys the door continually looking over his shoulder back through the tunnel, but nothing seems to be clear on the other side of the particle encased fog.

“I hope I’m not stuck.” He ponders as he turns back to the door, looking for a way to open it. A glowing red light hangs to the left massive door, it emits a digitized beeping noise before a loud clunk radiates through the space around Jensen. The light flashes yellow and then to green. Metallic screeching and egregious thuds echo as large latches release the door from its frame. The metal door moans as it opens. Bright lights shoot into the area around him. He squints, peering through the light. A clear path into a city alley rests in front of him. He steps into the alley way. Buildings reach towards the stratosphere. Hover cars zoom and whir, flying above him in the air, eluding other vehicles and ducking and diving in between buildings.

“I should be terrified.” He thought, but the comforting familiarity within him makes this place feel like a home, his home.

“Why do I know this place?” He mutters, gradually moving forward through the alleyway, catching every new, yet familiar site and processing it. Jensen arches back looking upward into the sky. All the buildings reach into the skies above, the alleyway; all these things are seemingly familiar. He notices the dust particles from the fog begin subsiding from around him. Turning, he looks for the doorway, but it’s gone. He scratches at his and begins walking quicker through the alley. He turns to his right and ends up on a busy thoroughfare. He carefully examines the advanced nature of his surroundings. Airlock doors, whooshing and swooshing as people enter and exit buildings are drowned out by the mystifying electronic sound of human genetic teleport stations. Waiting lines of people, looking to teleport somewhere else fill the sidewalks outside of the skyscraper buildings. All this takes place beneath the chaotic scene taking place above, as the hover cars overrun the sky above. “When did… when were those invented?” He pauses, forcing himself to question what he’s witnessing. “Where am I?” His mind struggles, but he presses on, navigating through the mysterious city.

Jensen strolls down the main street, cutting and turning to avoid bumping into any of the strange people dotting the sidewalks. They occasionally exchange casual glances with him. He slows approaching a sign that switches back and forth between different holographic displays.

“Welcome to Apace, home of the Latentech Corporation; the leader in scientific innovation.”  The sign transmits its preprogrammed electronic greeting. Jensen can’t tell if it was directed at him or if it’s a preprogrammed message. His mind boggles, jumbling a rushing flood of information.

“Apache,” he mutters. “I’m home.” He registers the current street, technological advancements, and surroundings with the place he grew up in. He notices a group of four sky-rise buildings tucked in the left corner of the intersection

Jensen rushes across the street, crossing rapidly not waiting for any kind of street signal, or even looking for any cars still using the roads beneath the bustling traffic ridden sky fare. He walks past a marble slab. An etched out bronze sign reads “The Apache Sky-Rise Quads.” He moves quicker as the way home becomes eerily reminiscent, almost like he had never left. He presses along down the pathway between two of the buildings associated with the quads. He enters into the elaborate atrium that connects the four buildings of the quads. He passes by an old bent over willow tree. He pauses, crippled as an intense pain throbs in between his eyes. “Apartment 14D, Olivia,” he whispers to himself. He rushes into one of the buildings, suddenly knowing exactly where he needs to go.

Chapter 2

 

A beautiful bouquet of cadmium orange lilies adorns the top of a silk black table. Four thin black leather chairs are neatly pushed under each side. The dining room runs straight through to the living room where it greets a black microfiber couch and matching chaise lounge angled awkwardly in the middle facing towards a grandiose swirl marble fireplace. A clear glass screen is mounted above the fireplace, currently displaying a live 3D projection of the current sporting events the small outline of an anchorman in the corner. 

His new surroundings are vastly more luxurious than the previous apartment he had fled. Yet, as he continues his exploration of this luxurious new space, an eerie calmness comes over him. The sense of familiarity slowly brings more memories. He remembers the year and his mind finishes sorting his thoughts. He recollects the story of his life up to this point.

“I better look around a bit closer, just in case.” His mind urges him to make sure he’s alone and safe.

Jensen walks cautiously through the living room and down into the well-lit hallway. Paintings of desert sunsets line both sides of the hall. Halfway he passes by the kitchen, taking in the luxurious exuberance. Black marble floors contrast with the stainless steel futuristic looking appliances, promoting an air of elegance. He continues down the hall, pausing to look to at the restroom on his right. The tile matches the kitchen and the houses a grandiose, extravagant, clay stand-in shower. The large vanity mirror recessed into the wall reflects a mint green granite countertop gingerly supporting dual bowl sinks sitting on burgundy cabinets.

“That’s a bit much.” He mutters, turning to continue the tour of his apartment.

As he crosses the threshold of the bedroom, his eyes sweep the room. Much larger than the room he woke up, the walls are encased in gray. The black lacquer bed frame reflects a small amount of light, showcasing the wood. The holographic projector offers him a scrolling text - Video Port 1 is not detected.” He attempts to check out the walk in closet but is blocked at the entrance by boxes of clothes and shoes stacked to the ceiling.

Jensen ponders the problem closet, turning and stepping back out into his bedroom. Overwhelmed he struggles to remember the finite details on how he has such nice things. He remembers most of his life now, but his head has begun to hurt again. It’s becoming a familiar and unsettling effect.

“I need to rest.” He thinks, scooting onto the cushioned bed. “This has been a long interesting day.” He tries to put his mind at ease as he nestles in for the night lifting and pulling the comforter down tightly over his shoulder.

“I’ll have more time to sort this entire mess out in the morning.”  Jensen takes a few deep breaths as his mind grows silent and his eyes drew to a close.

***

A well-dressed figure finishes speaking to a thunderous roar of applause. Jensen tosses and turns dreaming about this familiar man. The scene playing out in his mind and the speech constantly repeat in his mind, making sleep futile. Even in his dreams he can’t seem to get a grasp on reality. His mind won’t allow him to have one full night of sleep. Jensen’s only able to briefly shut his mind off.

He struggles to open his eyes as his left eye fixates on a series of glowing, red numbers. He blinks his eyes again attempting to focus the blurring digits on the clock face. The time reads 520.

“What time did I start to lie down?”  He wonders. He hadn’t paid attention to the time when he crawled in bed. Sore and swollen, he begins to sweat with a mild fear. He rolls back toward the clock, covering his face with a spare pillow trying to force his way back to sleep. His mind keeps playing the same dreams and conversations over and over.

In his mind, he believes that someone wants to capture him. His mind drifts from the repetitive dreams and begins to reassure him that he knows more, he just needs more time to let it all come back. 

“If only,” he pauses thinks. “If I could just relax and get some rest. Maybe some food and a drink will settle me down.” Rolling out of his bed, he tests his balance, still sore from the earlier tunnel sprints. His hands and face are beginning to writhe with pain and tightness,

“My medicine must have finally worn off. I knew 1000 milligrams wasn’t enough, it never is.” Angrily, he wonders if there’s some medicine in this apartment. He saunters out of the bedroom toward the kitchen.

Without warning, a loud, commanding knock reverberates through the apartment.

“God damn it!” He whispers.  He freezes in the hall, fear coursing through his body, wondering who knew he was here.

“Nobody knows I’m here, right? Maybe it’s someone who can help me understand.” As the seconds sneak by, another commanding knock echoes through the apartment, shaking him from his thoughts. His eyes wander through the luxurious, extravagant apartment, affixing solely on the enormous doors that stand between him and the unknown world. Uneasy, he feels that whoever is outside will not go away quickly. He contemplates answering or running

The metallic frame surrounding the large doors reflects into the expansive size of the living room as the contemporary black oak furniture allows for easy movement between the bookcase and the black leather sofa. The coffee table is centered squarely with the sofa, a few magazines tossed haphazardly on its surface. Sitting the sofa, he places his head into his hands. Another knock echoes through the apartment, the sound waves resonating down through his spine.

“Here we go again.” He thinks, leaning back against the sofa. “These people are after me still? What have I done?” Frantically, he sorts through his memories and understand who could be at the door. Another knock, more frantic and less commanding caused Jensen to swallow the lump in the throat.

Reluctantly, Jensen rises from the couch and slowly approaches the large front doors. As he closes the distance a small pad extends out from a keypad on the right side. A young, fit, very attractive female displays upward of the holographic pad. Her hair is long, black, and stretches down her back. She looks to the left and right, as if someone is watching her. She wears a tight maroon leather suit, with brown, thick padded shoulder and chest pads and knee high black boots. He keeps his focusing on her face. Her soft olive skin is accentuated by her violet eyes. His gut instincts warn him to be cautious, even though she seems familiar.

A smaller keypad extends out towards Jensen. He reaches out and traces the keypad. “54896797.” He mutters the numbers as he inputs the eight digit code.

“Olivia” Her name escapes his lips as the doors thud, and the female figure rushes through the open frame.

“You made it back! I’m so happy you made it back!” Smiling, she throws herself at Jensen embracing him passionately. Confused, rests his arms around her half-heartedly. She pulls away staring into his empty gray eyes.

What’s the matter? You don’t recognize me? You weren’t gone to long this time. Did you experience a blood drain?” As she speaks, her voice puts him at ease.

“I, I’m not sure. You seem familiar to me, just like this apartment. Deep inside me, you are very familiar to me. I, I can’t remember anything. One minute I’m in a rundown apartment, the next I’m being chased by a large man and his goons. Now, I’m being hugged by a beautiful woman in a beautiful apartment, apparently in a future. I don’t even really know who or what I am.” 

Confused, Jensen slides by the woman reaching out at the keypad. His fingers dart across the keypad reentering the code on the keypad. The large locking beams latch from inside the door, the loud thud emanating from the latching echoes through the secure apartment.

“It’s okay Jensen. These have been happening a lot lately.” She gently slides her hand down his arm. Jensen’s head snaps quickly downward, following her hand as it glides across his skin.

“You’ve just experienced another blood drain. I’ve been helping you recover from them. The more you’ve been time rifting, the worse and more frequent the blood drains have gotten. I’ll get you caught up on everything. The quicker you are back to being yourself, the better off we will be.” Jensen gradually relaxes, as his heartbeat and the feeling of his pulse in his throat slows. 

“Tell me everything, I, but really confused and paranoid.” She steps into him, wrapping him tightly in her strong muscular arms. Her embrace is strong but gentle as she holds onto Jensen.

“I’ll start with the most important things and work my way back.” She guides him to the couch.

“I’m Olivia Jima and luckily for you, I am your girlfriend. You, Jensen, are a member of a rebel group, known as the Awakened. Your father, Ambrose, is after you. Ambrose is in the business of sending people back into the past, to alter the future, so that he can take advantage of bets or regulatory changes to make money or gain increasing political power. You learned about his plans when you were a teenager. Ever since, we have dedicated our lives to stopping him. Unfortunately, as we have succeeded in some events, your father has succeeded in others. Those men who you encountered during your last jump are known as Time Warp Sheriffs. They are part of a mercenary team able to be hired out from the Department of Time Justice, the regulatory commission on time warping. Sadly, your father and his political backing, not to mention the astounding amounts of money, have allowed him to corrupt the Apache government.” Jensen squeezes her hand.

“So, why don’t I remember anything, any part of any of this? Some of this seems familiar, even you, you seem familiar.” He struggles as he questions her.

“Relax.”  She rubs his shoulder, attempting to remove the tension. “I’m going to get there.” She puts her hand on his leg and smiles as he tries to relax the tension.

“Your memory loss, is directly associated with the act of a time rifting or warping. These two are very similar but a warp places you into that time period for a longer amount of time whereas a rift, is a more accurate travel to a specific moment in time. This allows you to potentially jump to an exact moment to stop an event from occurring. Either way, the frequency with which we have had to rift or warp has increased dramatically since we’re being hunted. The blood drain and memory loss is your body’s reaction to the strain. It’s also the way your brain erase memories that you were the one that went back in time to stop or change.” Jensen stares at her fully enthralled by all of this.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but we’ve got to get you back to normal and your fathers goons won’t be far behind. You’re going to have to move and get caught up. The typical side effects last two or three days. However, with our newfound steroid you’ll be back to yourself in the morning.” Her hand slides into her chest plate, removing a small, dark blue bottle.

The bottle is no larger than the length of his knuckle to his fingertip; the liquid inside the bottle is nearly gone. The metallic silver cap sits secured to the bottle’s neck with a small silver chain. Jensen twists the cap off.

“How much do I need to take?” He asks, guiding the bottle to his lips.

“Just a drop, it’s a highly concentrated Centella (Sinhala) extract from the past. Highly illegal in our time, so years ago we rifted back and brought a wealth of plants into a hidden greenhouse. Sadly, most of it was found and destroyed. That bottle is all that remains; the rest was burned into extinction.” Her voice calms him.

He tries to remember why he would have turned against his father. Deep inside, he feels a passion begin to yearn again. He tilts the bottle and lets a drop of Centella fall on his tongue. He sits back on the couch and looks at Olivia as she snuggles he head on his chest. “So we are being chased by bad guys? What do we do now?” His arms tighten around Olivia as he drifts off, thinking about their plans.