Sam peeked into the ward, spotting Doctor Marshall busily taking notes beside John Beckett’s bed, as Katie watched. His mother was, to Sam’s relief, sleeping in the chair. His father, on the other hand, was alert and sitting up.
“Ah, if it isn’t my guardian angel,” he said, grinning.
Oh boy, don’t call me that… not now.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Mister Beckett.” Sam chose his words carefully, knowing all too well that his father’s heart was a ticking time bomb. He gave a pointed look to Katie. “Can I borrow you a minute?”
Katie crossed to him, joining him in the corridor.
“Are you sure you’re not the genius?” he asked her as he closed the door, a smile tickling at his lips.
Katie raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I think you might be right about keeping the other me on life support,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain, but I think as long as he’s alive, there’s enough temporal stability in my— how do I put this in layman’s terms?”
He squinted, thinking for a moment. “As long as he’s still alive in there, there’s enough potential for me to be alive; to still exist here. But the moment he dies… well I don’t want to think what’ll happen, because that’s when the paradox will kick in. It might not just be me that disappears.”
Katie stared at him nervously. “So a whole lot’s riding on us keeping those machines on?”
“But it’s not as simple as that,” Sam sighed, “because I think the accident is affecting me, too, and it’s getting worse all the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, since the accident, I’ve had a headache, right at the impact point,” he said, gesturing to his temple. “And it’s slowly getting more painful. I’m worried that, given enough time, the fractured timeline is going to catch up with me and I’m gonna end up a vegetable too. So I have to figure this out fast.”
He rubbed his temple, as if to emphasise the point. “The truth is, I’m just… scared.”
As he paced the hall, Katie grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him towards her.
“I’m not gonna pretend I understand much of what you just said, but I want to help.” She leaned her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I don’t know what I can do, but I’m here for you if and when you need me.”
“Thanks, Katie,” Sam murmured, and momentarily wondered how a fifteen-year-old version of his sister could sound so grown up. “Listen, I’m gonna be spending the rest of the day with Professor LoNigro trying to work out some way of undoing all this. So here’s your assignment: make sure nobody turns off the life support, and keep a close eye on Dad. Watch for sweat, breathing difficulties, nausea. If he complains of pains or numbness – though he might try to downplay it. Be vigilant, alright?”
“Leave it to me!” she said with a determined salute. “And… break!”
Sam watched her go back into the ward with an encouraged smile on his face, which faded as he noticed the vision in his left eye clouding over.
How long do I have left?
* * *
Sam followed Sebastian LoNigro from his car, carrying a stack of folders and thick textbooks, while the professor lugged a chalkboard and a satchel bag filled with miscellaneous stationery.
“Are you sure you can carry all of those books?” he asked Sam, shooting him a concerned look.
“I’m fine,” Sam said with a grin, “I have a lot more muscle tone than you can see in these arms, I promise.”
“I look forward to hearing how that’s possible,” said the Professor. “This way, now.”
He led them to a wing of the hospital that Sam recognised as being used for teaching, as part of the university.
“I called in a favour with a friend on the faculty here,” he explained, “and secured us a disused office for a few days.”
“I appreciate this,” said Sam. “I didn’t want to stray far from… well, you know. Me.”
The professor gave him a curious look. “Twenty-seven years, you said before. Are you really in your mid-forties?”
“If I’m right about the date in my present, then yes.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s complicated. I haven’t been back to my own time in a while. Hard to keep track of things. But I think it’s ’99.”
“Fascinating…” The professor stopped at a door, leaned the chalkboard against the wall, and fished around in his pocket for a key. “I imagine all of this must seem quite primitive to you.”
Sam chuckled. “I’d go with ‘dated.’ Everything builds on what came before it. You just find more efficient methods to accomplish the same tasks.”
“Yes, good point,” mused the professor, as he opened the door. “Even an ancient hunter-gatherer society cooking meat over a fire would recognise the utility of an oven if it was demonstrated, I suppose.”
He flipped a light switch, and a dim bulb lit up a small room furnished with an empty desk and one chair.
“Well, this is cosy,” said Sam, hiking an eyebrow, “but it’ll do.”
He dropped his stack of documents onto the desk. “Let’s get cracking.”