Last Dance

By Andrew Swearingen

The salty smell of the harbor in Baltimore hits my nose, and I know exactly where and when I am.

I trip over my own feet, still woozy from the jump, and catch myself on a newspaper stand. To my great and pleasant surprise, my hip doesn’t ache after nearly slamming into the sidewalk. Reintegration is never easy, but it’s always a delight to be back in my twenties.

I turn my focus to my target. Drake reintegrated at 9:32 a.m. in this timeline. My watch says it’s nearly 5 p.m. Not nearly as much time as I hoped to track him down. There never is. It’ll be a tough arrest to make, but that’s why the bosses dragged me out of retirement. They needed one of the best. Of course, they sent me to catch Drake. The best.

I spend the next hour calling up old friends on a pay phone, asking if they’ve seen my target. Most haven’t heard from him today. Others don’t pick up. I forgot how hard it was to get a hold of people before the era of smartphones. A few friends ask if I’m okay, no doubt knowing that Drake and I weren’t on speaking terms by this point.

I slam the receiver, knowing that every minute I lose makes it that much harder to find him. It’s clear who I need to call next.

“Lacey.” Her name escapes my mouth without thinking. It’s the first time I’ve spoken it since her funeral.

I punch in her number. One of the few I can dial from memory. The thought of her voice sets a storm of butterflies churning in my gut. Would she even talk to me?

Mercifully, it’s Miranda, Lacey’s roommate, who answers. She always thought I was a nice guy, even after the break-up. Miranda is reluctant to share details at first, but she eventually lets slip something about a dinner reservation with Drake at Bertha’s and plans to go dancing.

I grab a taxi, going over the details in my head. None of this makes sense. Drake’s record with Temporal Investigations was immaculate. So why would he steal reintegration tech for an unlicensed jump? There are no significant events happening to alter or observe. Maybe he thinks he can invest in Amazon on the ground floor. But TI would notice the ripples almost immediately. So what is so special about this day?

I slip in to the restaurant, grabbing a seat at the bar and ordering a plate of crab cakes. Desperately wanting to top the order off with a beer, I hold off, needing to stay sharp. I’m wary of some kind of trap. Drake is too smart to be out in the open without some kind of cover.

The giant mirror behind the bartender gives me a chance to discretely search the immediate area, but this place has so many little rooms and nooks that it’s hard to get a complete look. I catch a glimpse of my own reflection. My thinning white hair has been restored to its former blonde glory. The wrinkles showing the passage of time have vanished. I’ve worked hard to avoid being tempted by the allure of the past, but it’s certainly a seductive prospect today.

“Michael?”

I catch a glimpse of her curly dark hair and caramel skin in the mirror, but it’s her emerald green eyes that I recognize first.

“Lacey…” I turn around from the bar, forcing my feelings down. She stands in front of me, her hands folded across her chest, wearing a bright yellow sundress and a glowing smile.

To my great surprise, she reaches out and hugs me. My years of discipline and experience go out the window, and it’s like no time has passed at all. I place my hand on her shoulder, but that’s as much as I allow before the embrace ends.

“Well, it’s good to see you too,” I say, exhaling a nervous laugh.

“It is, Michael.” Her gentle laugh drops into sigh. “I know it’s been a while.” She pauses, fidgeting with her hands.

“It’s fine. You said you needed… some time.”

She nods. “That meant a lot to me.” She rests her hand on her chest. “I meant it when I said I wanted to stay friends.”

The glint of the diamond ring on her finger catches my eye, and I know immediately why Drake jumped to this day.

I take a moment, managing to stammer out one word. “Engaged?”

She looks at her hand, then back at me with the slightest twinge of sympathy. “Yeah,” She folds her hands again, obscuring the ring from view. “Drake proposed.”

I expect to feel jealous or angry, but I don’t. Instead I see the happy gleam in her eye. Her smile. All of it undimmed by the ravages of time and cancer and years of chemotherapy. She is filled with a happiness I never could have given her.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean to—”

I hold up my hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I put on a mostly genuine smile. “I know you two will make each other very happy.”

“Thank you, Michael. That means a lot to me.” She unfolds her hands, letting her ring shine. “Do you want to come see Drake? Our table is just around the corner.”

I consider this for a moment.

“Nah.” I say. “You two should enjoy this day together.”

We embrace one last time before she leaves to rejoin Drake at their table.

I grab a napkin and write out a note.

“Congratulations, Drake. Enjoy the dance. I’ll catch up to you later today. Best, Michael.”

I order a bottle of the house’s best wine to be sent to Drake with the note. And, after a moment’s consideration, I order a beer for myself.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Swearingen is an aspiring Sci-fi writer, living in the hidden kingdom that is Southern Illinois. He spends his spare time playing board games with his wife, wrestling with his dog, and has on numerous occasions saved the city from invasion by mutant koalas. (One of those isn’t completely true, but we’ll let you guess which one.)

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