180 Days in Montauk

"Not feeling well," I mumbled, then went up to my bed. There was a light knocking on the door a few minutes later and my aunt walked in.

I rested my forearm over my eyes. "Does she know?"

Cynthia paused before responding. "Yes. For a while now. It was difficult. When did you figure it out, Finn?"

"This afternoon. I just, I don't have the words or even the concepts to discuss this. How is this possible?"

Cynthia sighed. "Duhnagaham was right. I should have talked to you about this. He's always right about things like this. He's the people person. I should have listened. I'll explain everything I know."

She did. If she wasn't sitting on the edge of my bed, tangible and real, it would have been impossible to believe. But I couldn't be Thomas, doubting the wounds of the Lord. She was right here and I was in love with her evidence, who was downstairs, probably sneaking treats to Dink. They were both here. I could physically touch either of them. This must be what it feels like to go mad.

In the early morning of the 180th day, I sat on a hillside, watching them. It was a warm day for early October, the breeze off the water was comfortable instead of chilling. They didn't want me there. For them, it was all too clear how painful this was going to be. My heart was going to be destroyed regardless of the outcome. I pretended to agree and went anyway, watching from afar.

They spent the night getting drunk and smoking some weed, much like the night she arrived. Cynthia wore an oversized blouse, slacks and sandals, all in muted reds. Jennifer wore a retro Cream shirt that I bought her, some jeans and sneakers. Both wore belts packed with gold coins.

As the time approached, I felt a hand sneak into mine and looked over at Siobhan. I had no idea when she'd arrived. I checked the time on my phone, hoping zero hour wouldn't come and we could avoid the hand of fate. The minutes ticked away, and I thought we'd escaped it. My heart cracked as the air shimmered above them and an incandescent, electric blue line suddenly appeared, vibrant in the nascent dawn. It grew in size, split into a circle and started to lower towards the ground. Sparks flew from edges of the circle towards the center, striking and going through both women. Shiv's grip on my hand grew stronger.

When the light was a foot above their heads, she pushed her other self out of the reach of the circle and stretched her arms up. Hitting the writhing blue current, she seemed to stare directly at me as she disappeared. Shiv wrapped her long arms around me as I shook, tears coursing down my face.

Our aunt, our benefactor, our protector was gone.

Struggling to my feet, I walked down the hill to Jennifer, whose tears matched my own. I pulled her to me and we cried together, clinging to each other, sharing our loss. I pushed back from the hug, kissed her deeply, stopping to dig in my pocket. I took out the ring and slipped it on her finger. She hugged me again and we repeated the kiss, a little less lost, a little less sad.

I looked at Shiv as she stood by herself, a sad smile on her face. Jennifer and I were near the water, my sister watching us from the hill, her back to the world as if keeping it at bay. She was stronger than I was. Always had been. I knew that she felt Cynthia's loss as deeply as I did, but there was no slumping of her shoulders, no physical signs of grief. She stood tall, defiant, between us and what might wish us harm. Jennifer and I had our George.

My family, Pete, George's children and grandchildren and some friends gathered in my backyard on a warm spring day. The light wind carried the aromas of the ocean and the gulls gave their forlorn call. The impromptu altar stood near the pier, waves gently slapping against the wood.

Duhnagaham offered his benediction and talked about the sanctity of marriage and true love.

The most important words to a groom at a wedding? For the long haul, it's "I do." Right then? Right there? It's "You may kiss the bride." So, I did. I took Jennifer in my arms and kissed my bride.

Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

The End.

CYNTHIA - Epilogue

I had started thinking of us as sisters. All the earlier Jennifer's that were sent back and had to live without Finn were kindred, but we led different lives. Similar, but different. Our goals though, were all the same. We wanted a future where our younger self could live the life we all dreamed of. We dreamt of towheaded children, raised on the shores of Long Island under the watchful eye of the man we loved.

Finn and my other, younger me would want for nothing. Neither would George's family. The belt of Krugerrands I had strapped to my waist assured me that I would quickly have a new identity. My family was long lived, so I figured I had another fifteen to twenty years left. I spent them catching Billy Joel in local bars and watching Harry Chapin develop into an artist.

My wagers were few, but spectacularly successful. I became a die-hard fan of my New York Mets, betting heavily on them in '69 and '86. I could have made a great deal of money on the Yankees in the '70's, but I have taste. Instead, I put my money into real estate, buying property in the Hamptons and Shelter Island. Gold was the greatest investment in the '70's, growing in value more than two-thousand percent, so I spent conservatively and hoarded. In 1981, I put much of my money into Apple. Buster Douglas knocking out Mike Tyson would have made me wealthy if I wasn't already. I had to spread that bet over twenty-three casinos across the world.

I knew most of the political scandals before they happened. The results of political campaigns were known to me before they were run. I backed the right people and collected favors like little boys collect baseball cards. Fairly quickly, I had power brokers at my beck and call.

Although I forced them to close the Montauk Project, I knew that they would just open up somewhere else under a different name. I did what I could and kept my neighbors and family free of those who pushed the boundaries of science without concern for undesired consequences. I'm not smart enough to figure out how that would impact Finn and Jennifer, but I think that I stopped that loop when I came back, anyway.

The nightmares of what happened to that poor dog slowed as I entered my final years and were replaced by dreams of the children of my younger self. Were they true visions or the yearnings of an old woman? I didn't know, and it didn't really matter. My body was ninety-three and the grains of sand in my hourglass were growing few.

I had led a lonely but satisfying life and prepared a better future for my other self. She would have the love that I never had, and that was enough. Having secured their future, I was content. I lay on my bed beside the large bay window, listening to the Atlantic lap at the shore. I saw shadows of my other selves standing beside the bed, so alike and yet each different. As I took my last breath, I rose to join them on our next adventure, leaving my tired body behind.

With apologies to William Goldman.

A few notes: In the world that this story is set in, the Twin Towers were built a few years earlier than in our world. The Montauk Project myth helped inspire both this story and Stranger Things. Camp Hero, Pilgrim State Psychiatric Hospital and Wardenclyffe (Tesla's lab) are all real. Matthew Inman, creator of The Oatmeal, is owed the lion's share of the credit for getting the funding for and awareness of the Tesla Science Center at Wardenclyffe.

Long Island is the epitome of suburbia, but it has its weirdness. Plum Island and the rumors surrounding the pine barrens on eastern Long Island could have both easily fit in the story.

Special thanks go to Todger65, Steve M., Alexotto, Yorkiechai, thewinedarksea, Lady_Sith and blackrandl1958 for their generous contributions in editing and commentary. This story has greatly benefited from their contributions and I'm grateful for their help.

No Men in Black were injured in the writing of this story.

I usually recommend the work of another author in the afterward to anything I've written. I'm going to offer two this time. Both are related to 180 Days in Montauk. The first is another time travel story. It's fun, well written and I enjoyed the hell out of it. https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=3587794&page=submissions

The second is also part of the Siren's Song collection. It's a poem by Todd172 titledThe Bride. Discussions of GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) are always fun for sports fans. It's my belief that Todd can be reasonably included in any discussion of GOAT for Lit writers. You can find his poem on his Submissions page. While you're there, check out some of his other writings. https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=3292194&page=submissions