Rewind

"You are certainly 'something'," I snapped. "What I cannot understand is why everyone else is fast forwarding and you and I are not. I can understand that you are controlling the 'remote', so to speak, but why am I unaffected when you are winding?"

"That's because you also have the ability to change timelines, even though your level of control is pretty damn pathetic. It is like when you rewound the party earlier to change the seating arrangements, you noticed that I did not rewind with the others, did I? I was tied into your timeline because I was in line of sight with you and we were so close together. You and I are not the only ones who can do this rewinding time, you know."

"There are others?"

"Sure. I've meet several with the ability. We tend to try and avoid each other, it messes things up and we all have our own agendas, don't we Bob? Maybe everyone has the potential to do it, or perhaps only those who have the right genes? Who knows, there's been no research that I know of, and I have looked."

"I wish I had never got involved, it seemed so simple a couple of days ago," I moaned.

"You poor sap, you need to get with the plan and exploit the potential of this thing."

"All I ever wanted was to get Terry back."

"It'll never happen. She's mine. Give it up. I brought Chantelle along just for you. And I think Manuel has had his eye on you all evening, he likes his men thin and pale and especially enjoys it if they are particularly uncooperative."

"You're a monster."

He laughed, it was a cruel laugh, without humour, holding only the promise of pain. He had manipulated time for his own gains since he was 10. They say power corrupts, whoever said it had a point.

"Terry's mine Bob, and there's no turning her back. I've spent longer working on her than any other woman, turning her onto me completely. I've worked her for six months, turning her against you and getting her to agree to having our children. With her brilliant mind and sexy looks and my skills, we will make a beautiful child, maybe several. I feel I need to leave a legacy behind me, time is so fleeting, you know. Terry tells me that at the moment she is at her most fertile point in this cycle and I'm going to take her again on this table in front of these people and especially in front of you. I have already impregnated her earlier today, and I've played the timeline through, it's a lovely bouncing baby boy, he's got my mother's eyes. But that rehearsal was without you, without the one man she used to love. I wanted to play it again with you watching and participating and Terry was, shall we say 'persuaded' that she wanted it too."

"Never, you won't get me to take part in your sick game. I'll take Terry away from you, if it's the last thing I do."

Clinton laughed out loud, as the action of the figures around us slowed to almost a stop, time was virtually at a standstill again. Terry was no longer between us, she was now lying naked on the table, the horrendous Baby Elephant I now knew as Chantelle was also hideously naked and was smearing tiramisu on Terry's flat stomach and rounded breasts, her nibbles standing proud in her excitement. It was like a nightmare. Looking around all the other guests were similarly naked, Manuel was smearing whipped cream on his rampant member, the horse-faced Doctor of Divinity defrocked and on his knees in front of him, licking his lips.

"The wonder of chemistry," Clinton interrupted my thoughts and I snapped my head back to his chair. We appeared to be the only ones still clothed, although he was now standing and had already unbuttoned his shirt and in the process of removing it.

"What's chemistry got to do with these sick goings on?"

"Everything Bob, I couldn't have got Terry to give you up without some chemicals to kill her feelings for you, to alienate you and drive you away; then new chemicals to make her want me instead of you and put her completely in my control. Then a further combination of ingredients to make her want anyone I chose her to be with. All thanks to Chantelle, the large lady there preparing Terry for our pleasure. Chantelle is a mistress of the art of chemical preparations, it was after all the only way she could get men to have anything to do with her."

"The pair of you deserve each other, you are both sick. I won't take any drugs, you can't force me."

"You've already taken them Bobby Boy, not as much as the others I'll grant you, as you didn't touch the wine, but it was in the starter and the fish course, all the courses the other guests have consumed. It just takes away the checks on your libido and makes you super horny. It'll be fun to see how you react to the stimuli. Chantelle is high on it too! She thinks you are so hot, lucky you!"

By now, Clinton had dropped his trousers and was completely naked, primed for action, and moving round the table to where Chantelle was finishing her preparatory ministrations to my eagerly waiting, furiously masterbating wife. The figures were almost moving normally, but rather like a slow motion replay, so we were still held in slow forward motion controlled by Clinton. No doubt Clinton wanted to get himself finally into position before restoring normal time and enjoying pleasuring my wife in front of my eyes.

"Wait!" I said firmly, moving around the table, the opposite way round to Clinton, carefully squeezing past the slow-motion movements of the over-excited Doctor and rampant Manuel. "Of course you are right! We are like gods with skills like these and we should make the most of them, no point in competing with each other and wasting rewind time. Why can't we be partners?"

"Glad to see you come on board, Bob Buddy," Clinton had that horrible sneer again.

We reached the position just behind Chantelle at the same time. I smiled at Clinton and held out my arms in friendship.

"OK, Buddy," as he stepped forward, holding out his arms.

I put my hands on either side of his face and kissed him on the lips. He was shocked at my action to say the least. Still gripping his head, I grinned as I kneed him as hard as I could in the balls. He gasped as all the air was driven from his lungs. Then I pulled his head down and kneed him hard in the face. I think I was smiling but could you blame me if it veered towards a sneer? I let him go and he arched over onto his back.

I shoved the Fat Elephant out of my way. With tears in my eyes I kissed my index and middle fingertips and pressed them gently onto my lost wife's lips. This Terry, lying here drugged to the eyeballs was no longer my pure baby. She belonged in Clinton's timeline, not mine, she was already carrying his baby, but at least I could take Clinton out of the equation and perhaps give her a chance to rebuild an independent life for herself.

I thought hard about fast forwarding myself 10,000 years. The characters about me came out of the slow motion state that Clinton had produced and started speeding up slowly, within seconds everyone in the room was a blur, then furniture in the room changed sporadically, before the room itself disappeared and became a different building. Soon that building disappeared altogether and Clinton and I stopped going forward in a barren concrete-floored wasteland, with tall elegant towers in the distance reaching up into the slow-moving reddish clouds. We fell three or four feet, clearly the floor level had changed over the millennia. I banged my knee and Clinton fell heavily and lay still. I was still dressed in my DJs and Clinton lay totally naked at my feet, completely out of it, his nose covered in blood.

I thought about another 10,000 years further on and this time the landscape changed dramatically again, now almost instantly, my skills at fast forwarding clearly improving. Now we stood on a grassy hillock, surrounded by tall trees. It was warm and sunny, about mid-morning or afternoon, the sunlight rays slanting through the thick canopy. This wouldn't do, I thought.

I fast forwarded a further 10,000 years. I blinked and my legs stood knee deep in snow, the wind was ferocious, a blizzard raged about us, it was absolutely freezing! Clinton moaned at my feet, lying deep in the snow. I ran away from him struggling through the deep snow before entering the shelter of the trees, where the snow covering was thinner and the going was easier, except it was dark in there and branches whipped at my head and face and tore at my thin clothing. Once I had estimated I had gone 100 yards or so I thought about rewinding thirty thousand and one year.

Everything around me changed in a blur, the Arctic landscape disappeared to be replaced by the interior of a shopping mall. I could hear piped music. I was sweating in the heated environment, with sunlight streaming through the glass roof, and due to my exertions running through the tundra and the woods, but I was still chilled to the bone and puffed out, dressed in my wringing wet and decidedly distressed tuxedo. I was shivering uncontrollably. I was cold, wet and could hardly feel my fingers. I looked behind me and there was no sign of Clinton. However, was he transported back in time and presently laying 100 yards behind me? That would put him in the car park. I ran down the corridor and out into the warm summer morning sunshine. There were only cars in that car park, no sign of my adversary.

I knew where I would find him, or an earlier version of him. One that wouldn't know me from Adam. He would be a fairly new arrival in Cambridge, late of Yale University.

I walked back into the mall. There in front of me was Terry, who was clearly concerned at my distressed appearance, and grasped my cold, clammy hand.

"Are you alright, honey?" Terry asked thinking I was ill. "What brought this on, sweetheart?"

She helped me sit down in the seat of a fast food area of the shopping mall. "You were fine a half-hour ago and now you are hot and cold, you must be running a fever. And why did you go home and changed into your tux? And you're soaking wet, is that ice on your trousers? And you have cut your head!"

I put my hand to my head and there was blood on my fingers.

"Honey, I need to find a toilet and get cleaned up. Can you quickly buy me a change of clothing? Some cheap jeans, tee-shirt and a jacket or top?"

"Sure, I can get some sale stuff from Sports Direct that will do for now. The toilets are over there, I'll meet you out in front of the loos in ten minutes. Honestly, honey, I leave you in the café for thirty minutes while I shop for underwear and you go crazy on me!"

I checked my wallet while I walked to the toilets, trying to ignore the looks I was getting from passers-by, and noticed that my credit card was not going to be valid for another seven months, in fact the account in my own name was created after we separated and therefore would not be created for another seven months or so. Fortunately, I had an old debit card in both our names that was current.

My finances are always up to date, I am rather anal about it. I check it on-line every couple of days, so I always know exactly how much we have in our (or more recently my) current account at any time, but that running total in my head was a year into the future and I had no idea how much we had available. I remembered that money was pretty tight for a couple of years or so before, due to the mortgage on the apartment. I would have to get to an ATM from my own bank soon and run out a mini statement.

My face and head had been whipped by frozen fir tree branches and my temple was cut within the hairline above and slightly in front of the right ear. I couldn't quite see it and didn't think it was too deep but there was some blood seepage. There were no paper towels, only automatic hand driers. I used some wetted toilet paper to clean up the blood. My tux was pretty well ruined. My court shoes had lost their shine and the leather somewhat crusted and would never again be much good, but they would do for now.

Outside, Terry provided me with a carrier bag of clothing. In one of the toilet kiosks I changed my ruined jacket, dress shirt and trousers and stuffed them into the now empty bag. I put on the new clothes, noting that I was a lot thinner then I had been a year in the past.

I had difficulty saying 'then' about a time and events in my immediate 'past' yet happened a year into the future. Crazy? That's what Terry had just suggested I was, and if she knew what I was anticipating doing later that day she would know I was.

Terry and I sat in the coffee bar area and I told her not to ask any questions but to simply trust me. Once she assured me that she would both trust me and in whatever I felt I needed to do, I told her I wasn't crazy but I had something vital that I had to put into action and I couldn't delay because two people had planned to hurt both of us, I had to stop them and had to do it now.

I told Terry that I couldn't reveal the source of my information, nor could I tell her what I was going to do. I added that I was probably not coming back for a couple of weeks or so, that I would almost certainly be arrested and serve some time in prison, but what I had to do was for both of us, for our future. What I was going to do was not legal, but not a crime under current legislation. I said that once I had done what I had to do and we were in the clear, I would tell her everything, if she really wanted to know, but until then it was essential that she had to know nothing. We kissed and embraced and I walked to the station, via the bank where I was able to withdraw sufficient resources for that day.

I caught the train to London and through the underground to Liverpool Street station before I boarded the next train to Cambridge, arriving there just after lunch. During the journey I searched for 'Clinton, Cambridge and maths' on Google through my mobile phone and found his details and his lecture itinerary. That was almost a problem, as the phone wouldn't activate at first. I had to call the mobile phone provider and activate the sim card, which meant another hit on my debit card. Fortunately, most of the functionality of the phone was restored, at least accessing the Internet was simple. The search revealed that Dr Clinton Curtis was considered a boy genius, with knowledge of mathematics and experienced in life way beyond his years. Yes, right! I could understand now how that had come about. He was lecturing that afternoon in Cambridge.

I caught a cab to the lecture venue and made my way inside the auditorium. He was standing on the stage at a lectern, lording it over the audience. He looked a whole ten years younger than I had seen him four or five hours earlier but it was him all right, I recognised the sneer for a start.

I approached the stage at the end of question time, smiling and holding out my hand to shake his. As he held his own hand out I punched him as hard as I could and flattened his nose, for the second time in my life, with a straight right and fast forwarded thirty thousand years.

He came with me, he had no say in the matter, this was science dictating that he was tied by proximity and sightline to my timeline.

It was still bitterly cold, but no blizzard here, miles from Oxford, the snow covering was light on the ground and there were no trees close by, the vista was reminiscent of an arctic tundra. We were on a flat plain, where I would have to go a considerable distance to escape his sightline. Listening carefully, I could hear running water nearby. I dragged the unconscious body towards the sound of running water, and about to push him over the edge of the bank into the stream. He woke up in a daze then. That wouldn't do. If he was conscious he could travel through time. With his experience, he'd regain the advantage.

I struck Clinton hard once again and he fell dazed down the bank. I ran away from his position just as fast as I could, back the way I had dragged him, to get out of his line of sight. I could hear the howls of wolves on the wind. I hoped they had the scent of blood, his blood, rather than my own scent of fear. I carried on running. The sound of wolves was louder and I hurried on. Then I fancied I heard a high pitched scream, but whether it was human or animal I knew not and cared less. I thought hard then of rewinding those thirty thousand years exactly.

The lecture hall was in uproar, as I fully hoped it would be. I knew there was a strong chance that I would go back on a completely different timeline and find that I hadn't removed Clinton from the equation in that world. I feared I might go back to a timeline where Terry didn't even exist or didn't know me.

As soon as I arrived in modern Cambridge I was arrested by security, so I thought with some satisfaction that even simple fact in itself was promising. There was no sign of Clinton, in fact there was never any sign of Clinton ever again.

Scotland Yard detectives did pull extra time from the courts in their questioning and kept it up for for nearly two weeks. The security cameras and video images taken of Clinton's lecture did show someone that looked the spitting image of me, wearing my new bright, cheap and cheerful clothing. They also showed Clinton being punched by me and that we both suddenly disappeared, which was eventually attributed to a glitch in the digital recording, with no evidence of tampering. Then, ten minutes later, I emerged from within a crowd of security men, students and organisers near the entrance to the hall.

I was severely chilled, my lips were badly chapped, my fingertips tingling painfully with the near onset of frostbite. The bottom half of my trousers were soaking wet and freezing cold. I shivered uncontrollably for quite some time. I was breathing hard as if I had indulged in extreme physical activity, but the evidence from onlookers was that I must have just been quietly milling about in the crowd since the incident, avoiding drawing attention to myself. There was no possibility that I had left the hall in the ten minutes since Clinton disappeared and I was discovered.

The medical evidence said I was borderline hyperthermic, with no explanation for such a state. Forensic evidence of my clothing proved even more of a mystery as a number of the isotopes contained within the water soaked into my clothes were unidentifiable. My knuckles were bruised, proving that I had struck Clinton, but that was not in dispute.

The only answer I gave was that I never left the geographic area of that lecture hall, that I had met Clinton only once before, merely hours before I struck him, but was unable or unprepared to identify where I saw him previously. My unshakeable contention was that I was somehow in the control of Clinton, possibly through hypnosis or drugs, and was angry at him. I said that I had an overwhelming impression that he wanted to hurt my family and myself and so I felt compelled to strike him in self defence. I maintained that I could only assume that Clinton was still in the hall as I had never removed him from the area where the stage was.

A blood sample showed that I had traces of an unknown drug, that fell into the category of date-rape scenarios, matched by a worrying number of recent cases in the Cambridge area, restricted to male victims. The verdict of the Crown Prosecution Service was that I was a victim rather than a perpetrator.

The police never did discover where Dr Clinton Curtis disappeared to and the disappearance of someone who was described as potentially one of the mathematic geniuses of all time was a mystery that would be much speculated on but never solved.

When his parents became involved, they had lots of evidence showing that their child was only 13 years and a few months old and the person shown on the stage must have been at least 30 and therefore an imposter who couldn't possibly be their son. Cambridge University must have been a victim of a con artist who had made good his escape during the confusion. The big question is, what happened to Clinton the boy genius? Further fuel for the overriding mystery of the 21st century, many books would be written on the subject but I never bothered to read any of them.