The cat was accommodated, Katie was with her mother again, and Sam was pacing at the hospital reception, awaiting the arrival of his former professor. His appearance was still in shambles; he hadn’t had time to do much but shower before coming back here. But, he rationalised, that was neither here nor there at this point. The pain in his head was reaching alarming levels, and he was finding that his left eye was having some trouble focusing.
“Miss Bennett…?”
Sam’s eyes followed the voice, and he cantered over to Professor LoNigro as he entered the lobby.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Come on.”
He led the Professor back outside, and to a bench around a corner where he’d seen few people venturing. The two took a seat, and Sam clasped his hands together, gazing at his feet as he tried to assemble a convincing way to explain himself.
The professor sat silently, patiently, waiting for Sam to speak. He’d always had an excess of patience, Sam recalled. He figured that anyone who could listen for hours to a guy talking about the quantum theory behind time travel would need plenty of patience.
“Professor…” he began, finally, “for the sake of argument, suppose Sam’s theory successfully resulted in a functioning time machine that allowed him to travel to any point in his own lifetime.”
He glanced up, studying the professor’s face. “And then, suppose, through sheer bad luck, he got his nineteen-year-old self hit by a car, resulting in brain death…”
Professor LoNigro’s brows knitted together.
I know. I know how this sounds.
“Now suppose said time machine works in such a way that Sam travels back by switching places with someone at random, and — to all the world — he is seen as that other person. Suppose he’s now stuck in a paradox and may have potentially broken the space-time continuum.”
He ran a hand down his face. “And suppose Sam is now, for all intents and purposes, trapped looking like some woman and doesn’t know what to do next because the ensuing twenty-seven years of his life have been erased.”
The professor was silent for what seemed like an eternity.
“Then I’d suppose he would be reaching out to the man who helped him develop his theory,” he said at last, brow still furrowed. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re Sam?”
Sam gave him a sheepish nod.
“You realise how this sounds, I assume.”
“I most certainly do, Professor.”
“I like to think of myself as an open-minded man,” the professor mused, gazing straight ahead, “but this is quite the tale you’re telling. Have you any proof?”
“All I can offer you is what I know,” admitted Sam. “About my—Sam’s life, about you, about the future. But the process of time travel did a number on my memory, so I might not have all the answers.”
“That’s convenient,” said the professor, arching one brow.
Sam chuckled. “Quite the opposite. But I’ll answer any question you have as best I can.”
“Alright then, I’ll humour you. Explain to me your theory, and provide me some of your equations that allowed you to put it into practice.”
Sam grinned. “Easy,” he said, unclipping the strap from his purse to use in his demonstration of the string analogy.
As he looped the ends of the strap together, explaining the theory he’d explained countless times over the years, it occurred to him that his life was no longer a full string. It was cut, or perhaps frayed. Barely keeping together. And if that final strand was severed…
I think Katie was right. I can’t let them pull the plug, not until I figure this out.
Sam scrawled some key equations on the back of his hand, as Professor LoNigro watched on, astonished.
“Well,” he said quietly, “if you’re not Sam Beckett, then you’re just about as brilliant. I may be beginning to believe you.”
Sam sighed with relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”
“But, if you really have got yourself into this predicament you claim… it seems to me that travelling back in time again would be the only solution. To stop yourself from stepping into the path of that car.”
Sam sighed. “I would if I could, believe me. But even if I had the control over the process needed to do that — which I don’t, mind you — my entire project no longer exists thanks to what happened, so I wouldn’t have the ability. I’m stranded.”
Sebastian LoNigro rose to his feet, stretching. “That is quite the head-scratcher.”
He folded his arms thoughtfully. “Allow me to fetch a few supplies, and I’ll return here. If you can take me through as much as you recall about your time machine, I’ll see if we can’t put our heads together on a solution.”
Sam nodded. “I don’t know if there’s anything you’ll be able to do, but I don’t have any other options. Thank you for believing me, at least.”
“It’s not easy to look at this woman in front of me and believe you to be a man, I’ll say that much,” he said, biting his lip, “but there’s just something about the way you speak, the way you gesture, and the way you look at me. It’s… terribly strange, but somehow, it does feel like talking to Sam.”
He turned away. “I won’t be more than twenty minutes,” he said, giving a distracted wave.
Sam watched him go, and took a deep breath, hoping desperately that his memory wouldn’t fail him.