Jyvur Entropy's Blog, page 16
June 16, 2021
WWW Weds: All My Friends Are Releasing Projects! :D
A weekly meme hosted by Sam at Taking on a World of Words.
What Did You Recently Finish Reading?I finished reading the pre-alpha version of my friend Nik’s visual novel!
Yes, I’m counting a visual novel as reading. If y’all only knew how much this man agonizes over every single word, character voice, character arcs, plotting. Real writing goes into visual novels (and all video games).
I’m super proud of him for finally launching the pre-alpha version of Down Dockside! An erotic furry visual novel.

I’d already read the intro to the story. But seeing it come to life with character artwork and backgrounds was just incredible.

The story itself is amazing. Lots of worldbuilding in a steampunk-esque Asian-inspired fantasy world. Aska, the protagonist of Down Dockside, is a prostitute hoping to make a new life for himself.
To play the pre-alpha version of the game (and also just support an amazing creator with brilliant plans for future furry VNs) you can join his patreon. It comes not only with access to the game, but you get updates like concept art, character art, and art that is cool but doesn’t quite work for the game. You also get access to Nik’s official Down Dockside discord server. And let me tell you, Nik is an amazing discord mod. He mods for my discord and that place has been hopping since he came on board. He comes up with all kinds of fun events and knows how moderate to keep the community welcoming and active.
Anyway, support my friend’s video game! Patreon here!


My friend Pixie Stormcrow just released her book ‘The Muse’s Touch’ on Inkitt’s Galatea app.
Galatea is an interactive app that is, actually, a lot like a visual novel. I’ve never tried the Galatea app before, but I’m having a ton of fun reading Pixie’s book on there. I’ve read a tiny bit of The Muse’s Touch years before when it was still on wattpad. It’s so cool to read it in a new format.

I also ordered myself a paperback copy, because I need a Pixie Stormcrow book on my shelf!
This is a sexy paranormal romance. To read a great review, check out what Emily Hurricane has to say about the book
I’m also currently beta reading a contemporary romance by Pixie Stormcrow. It’s still in the first draft state, so I’m really honored she invited me to beta read it for her!
What Do You Think You Will Read Next?[image error]I took a break from Emily’s Bloodlines series, but I need to jump back in! I still have books 4 and 5 to read
My new resolution is going okay so far
So I made this resolution. I made a decision to just relax and stop letting myself think negativity constantly, because when I do that it makes me act like an asshole.
No, really, like a massive asshole.
Not just on the internet (although fuck have I said and done some weird things on the internet) but in real life too. Real life assholery includes: road rage-screaming matches in the street road rage, verbal altercations at the grocery store, verbal altercations with randos out in the world, clashes with coworkers, cutting off every single person who ever liked me or wanted to connect with me, talking shit about everybody, being angry and unpleasant generally, and the list just sort of goes on from there.
So I act like that and then cry that I’m lonely and unhappy.
Bish…what?
Anyway I’m just really trying not to be like that anymore.
So far I’m doing okay with it. Although I recognize that the first time I hit an external stress factor, that’s when this new positivity resolution is really going to be put to the test. I’m sure I’ll slip up here and there.
Which maybe everybody is like “Big deal, you’ve managed not to be a negative fuck during a very low stress moment of your life. Big whoop.” Nah nah nah…you do not understand. I can stress out over NOTHING. Two weeks ago, I was having panic attacks going “My life is too nice and I don’t deserve it!” I can literally stress out over how not-stressful my life is. The stupidity is strong here.
I’ve been having all my usual “But shouldn’t you worry about…” thoughts, and I’m just pushing them away.
Yesterday, I went to the grocery store and I actually enjoyed going to the grocery store. In the past, I would look for anything to get annoyed about. I decided I was going to have a really nice time shopping at the grocery store, and…then I did. And I still can’t believe I did that.
Y’all do not know what the inside of my head is like. It’s no fun in here. I only notice the negative, only think about what I don’t have, and just kind of keep up a constant stream of self-berating as my internal monologue. And when I’m not doing that, I’m thinking about Columbine and the suicide photos and realizing that I never fantasized about firearm suicide until I got interested in Columbine. I mean….or I’m horny and thinking about sex. For the past three years, after since my late twenties when my sex drive ratcheted itself up by about 1000 percent, the inside of my brain is like: fuck I’m horny, shoot yourself in the head bitch, why is everything so awful, I’m so awful, everything is wrong with me, everything is wrong with life, doing it with a gun would be really quick, oh my god, why the fuck am I so horny, someone kill me. I should kill me. There’s no point in anything. I’m so sad and still so horny. I’ll never be happy. I don’t even want to be happy. I fucking hate everyone.
I’m finally just really over living inside of that thought environment. It isn’t nice and it makes me act fucking retarded.
I mean, I don’t think I can do anything about the sex drive thing, but the negativity I can fix. I really wish I could accurately convey how unpleasant it is to constantly waffle between thinking about the Columbine suicide photos, how much I hate myself and being alive, and wanting to fuck. It’s the absolute worst combination of thought cycles.
I just really really need everyone to know how horrible it is to be a 30-ish woman. It is unpleasant and uncomfortable to have such a massive spike in sex drive out of nowhere.
Having a huge sex drive spike coincide with a period of awful depression and suicidal ideation was the worst. And to anyone who hasn’t been through that combo: I just want everyone to know how strange it is and how uncomfortable and unpleasant it is.
But you know, I’ll do what I can, I can take the negativity out of that thought recipe.
Right now, I’m really happy and just not worrying about ‘what bad things might happen?’
Like, if bad things happen, I’ll figure it out then.
June 15, 2021
Indie Book Gush – The Muse’s Touch by Pixie Stormcrow
Are we ready for a big ol’ book gush? Because I’ve been waiting to slather this book with all of my love. The talented Pixie Stormcrow was kind enough to give me a digital ARC of this baby a while back and I am officially a lifelong fan and reader of hers (Bound By Red is my next one queued up!).
View this post on InstagramA post shared by Emily S Hurricane (@eshurricane)
Anyway, The Muse’s Touch. Basic premise is that erotic romance author Paige has a sexy-as-hell muse in her dreams, Shade. She draws inspiration from their steamy bdsm games while she sleeps, and writes all kinds of delectable stories based on him.
The twist? Shade is a succubus named Davin, and he’s real. He visits her dreams to feed on her essence safely instead of drawing from having sex with people in real life. But he’s been…
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June 14, 2021
Ch 11: Don’t Be Scared of Me

The highest that anyone had ever scored. Cole replayed it in his mind, the wide, anticipation-filled eyes of the scientists who’d run him through the emotometer.
The same bearded man from the conference room had been the one to conduct his interview, drawing answers out of Cole, asking him to expand when his responses were too clipped. The man had been all business, all perfunctory data-taking. That is until Cole had stepped out of the emotometer, the strange capsule that had sent hot tingles riding through his body. Then the man’s eyes had danced and a smile that was almost manic caused his lips to shake at the edges. “This is incredible. We’ve never gotten anywhere close to that level of decisiveness.” He ran a hand through his hair and paced back and forth in the hallway outside the lab. “I’ve got to get Mary and Judy. We have to do this soon.”
“Soon?” Cole asked. “How soon? Thought this was gonna be a long process.”
The scientist shook his head and waved Cole off. “No, it has to be soon. Soon as possible.”
And now Cole sat in the conference room again, less than two hours after arriving, and he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Somehow it hadn’t given him the rush of excitement he’d expected. He still felt empty and aimless, even now that he had a clear goal to aim for. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. All he could think about now was saying good-bye to his family. He knew his mom wouldn’t take it well…
“Ready to go?”
Cole snapped his head up to see Scott standing in the doorway with Ingrid hovering behind him. Darting to his feet, Cole snatched his backpack off the floor. He shuffled over, and followed as Scott led them back out through the lobby.
“Bye!” Teresa called from the desk. “See you tomorrow.”
Cole lifted a hand and dropped it without looking her way.
“Yes, see you,” Ingrid murmured.
On their way back to the car, Ingrid walked slowly, peeking over her shoulder at Cole. He stiffened under her scrutiny.
Up ahead of them, Scott talked about the positive results of the evening. “Great news, isn’t it, guys? Judy is ready to pull the trigger on this project. You both have hardly any hesitation. You’re prime candidates for this.”
“I’m not a guy.”
“What?” Scott asked.
“I’m not a guy,” Ingrid repeated in a louder voice. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, pushing past Scott. “I’m a female. You shouldn’t use a male descriptor to apply to both males and females. It’s a form of erasure.”
Cole grit his teeth together.
“Sorry,” Scott replied. “Didn’t mean it that way.”
Once inside the car, Cole pulled his phone from the front pocket of his bag. Ingrid settled into the seat next to him, sighing as she shut the door. Cole was going to find out more about her. He wanted to know who this girl was.
“Cole?” Scott said with a wary voice. “You should be keeping internet use to a minimum. Judy doesn’t want anything to mess with your emotometer levels.”
“Texting my mom.”
Ingrid shifted over, dropping an elbow onto the middle seat, and angling her neck to catch a glimpse of his screen.
Cole turned away in an attempt to shield his screen from view.
“No, you aren’t!” Ingrid snapped. “You’re googling me!”
“Yep.”
“Knock it off!”
“And you’re not gonna google me?”
` Ingrid straightened up, tugging at the hem of her dress as it rode up her thigh. “I won’t if you tell me more about yourself.”
“You first. What’d you do?” Cole put his phone back in his bag and pulling together his courage, turned to meet her gaze.
She glared at him.
“Guys-I mean, ah, people, let’s be civil.”
Ingrid ignored Scott, turning up her nose and scoffing in Cole’s direction. “Want to know what I did? I defended my relationship.”
Cole raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? How exactly did you defend it?”
Ingrid rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “I flew a little off the handle, okay? Tatiana Tiara thinks she can have any guy she wants. She deserved to be a little embarrassed for a second.”
Laughing as realization hit him, Cole pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, that was you? You leaked her herpes photo? That was messed up.”
Scoffing, Ingrid crossed her arms in front of her chest. “She should know better than to mess with another woman’s relationship.”
“If you say so.”
“And you?” she asked pointedly.
“And me what? You already know what I did.”
“Yes, and I’m a little freaked out over it. I need to know more. I need to know you aren’t some kind of psychopath.”
“I’m not. Completely rehabilitated. The state of New Jersey’s correctional department can verify.”
A stiff silence filled the air between them. Cole turned away, looking out the window at the sights of Boston. It didn’t seem like a very impressive city. He knew he’d only seen a small part of it so far, but he was still struck by how different it was from New York City, the only other major city he’d ever been to.
For the remainder of the drive, Scott talked about the plans for the next day. He explained that two rooms were booked for them at the Marriott. All they had to do was give their names at the desk. In the morning, Scott would meet them in the lobby and drive them back over to Speculative.
“You should both contact your families tonight.”
“Um..why?” Ingrid asked.
“Like I said, Judy wants to pull the trigger on this thing quick. Whoever you want to see you off, get them down here quick. You gu-people will be riding the Tardis as quick as we can get you briefed and teach you how to use all the tech. Dunno how long that’ll take, but if I had to venture a guess I’d say you won’t even make it to the weekend.”
Ingrid exclaimed wordlessly, something between a yelp and a throaty scoff.
“The weekend?” Cole asked. “But it’s Tuesday. You think they’ll send us in the next three days?”
Scott chuckled. “If you’re ready tomorrow, Judy will send you tomorrow. If you’re ready the day after, she’ll send you then.”
“That’s too soon! I don’t…” Ingrid trailed off.
“You wanted to do this, right?”
“Yes. It’s only that I thought-”
“Try to be ready. Call your families. Give them the news. Invite them out to say goodbye. You knew you were signing up for this.” Scott dropped them off in front of the hotel. “See you at eight sharp,” he said cheerfully. “Your rooms are right next to each other. That’ll be good if you two want to get to know each other a little more. Try not to talk each other out of this, will you? You wouldn’t believe how hard it’s been to find two people this sure about time traveling.”
Cole glanced over at Ingrid. Her lips were pulled up into a disgusted little frown, as if she could hardly stomach the idea of spending more time with him.
“Got it,” Cole muttered. “Bye, Scott.”
He climbed out of the car, and walked around to the trunk. There was a soft pop as Scott unlocked it from the inside. Without waiting for Ingrid, Cole unloaded her bags, throwing two over his shoulder. He lifted her hefty suitcase with his free hand.
Ingrid slammed the car door shut and walked around to the back, her eyes widening when she saw that Cole already carried three of her bags. “Oh,” she murmured. “Thanks, I guess.” A slight pause. “I’ll carry that last one.”
Nodding, Cole handed the smallest of the bags to her.
They walked side by side, maneuvering the crowded sidewalk, before entering the most opulent hotel Cole had ever set foot inside of. He’d only ever stayed at crummy hotels. His family had always stopped at one when they went on their yearly trip to visit his grandparents in Texas. The drive was too long to do it all in one day. This hotel was nothing like those roadside stops.
“Wow,” Cole breathed, staring around at the smooth gray tiles, plush chairs, and the electric fireplace set into the wall opposite the reception desk.
“What?” Ingrid asked.
“This place is fancy.”
“I suppose.” She quickened her pace, striding up to the reception desk.
“Hello,” she said to the smiling woman behind the desk. “You should have two rooms for us. Ingrid Agard and Cole…” She trailed off, looking over at him for help.
“Cole Velardi.”
“What he said.” Ingrid turned back to the desk.
Cole shuffled his feet, standing behind her. Even with his new blue shirt, he knew it was obvious he didn’t belong here. Maybe Ingrid did. She looked so put together and proper. She had those weird fancy symbols on her luggage. The ones that looked like something you’d see on royal stationary. She obviously came from money.
Ingrid tapped her foot and placed a hand on a pointed hip. Yeah, she belonged here all right, tapping her foot and at ease, like she was better than everything and everyone else around her.
“Here are your keys,” the receptionist said, handing two plastic cards to Ingrid. “Room numbers are on the back. Take the elevator to the third floor. Your rooms are at the end of the first hall. There’s a complimentary breakfast in the morning.” She pointed to a smaller room adjoining the main lobby. Through the doorway, Cole could see clusters of small tables covered with crisp white tablecloths. “Breakfast is seven to nine. Enjoy your stay!”
Without answering, Ingrid turned away and marched over to the elevators. Cole followed, moving much slower than her due to the weight of her bags. Ingrid didn’t complain, but Cole could see the irritation in her body language, the way her wrists twisted about, her fingertips tapping against the palms of her hands.
The ride up to their floor was silent, as was the walk down the hallway. Cole kept on wondering if he should say something to her. Her brown hair swished over her shoulders as she walked. His eyes traveled down the backs of her legs. That dress left a good deal of her creamy, freckle-spotted thighs and calves exposed.
Ingrid stopped short, holding up one of the key cards to look at the number. She turned to look at Cole. “This is one room. That means the other is…” Her eyes flicked over the nearby doors, until she stopped and pointed at the one to the right. “That’s the other.” She placed one of the cards into Cole’s hand. “You can leave my bags here. Thanks.”
“I’ll help you bring them in.”
She wrinkled her nose, one eyebrow rising incrementally. “No offense, killer, but you’re not coming in my room.”
A surge of anger stormed through him, and his emotions must have been evident on his face, because Ingrid’s expression turned from haughtiness to fear. Her eyes widened and she took a step back.
Cole crushed his eyelids together and fought to gain control of himself. She was scared of him. That was why she was acting like such a cunt. He needed to remember that. He’d seen it in her eyes; she was actually afraid of him. And that was the emotion he’d once thought he’d wanted to see reflected in the eyes of others. He didn’t want it.
He set her bags down on the floor and rushed to the door of his room, fumbling to unlock it. He’d never used one of these fancy plastic cards before. The general idea was obvious. Hold the card up to the black scanner thing on the door and it should unlock. Cole was holding the card in front of the thing and nothing was happening. Feeling Ingrid’s eyes on him, his cheeks burned, and he waved the card in front of the scanner, growing increasingly irritated with each flick of his wrist.
“Cole,” Ingrid said softly. “Can I help you?”
Struggling to keep his voice even, he said, “No. I don’t need help.”
“I know how to do it though,” she insisted. “I’m going to do it.”
Before he could stop her, she stepped up beside him and snatched the card out of his hand. In one swift movement, she placed the card in front of the pad, a beep sounded, and with her other hand she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. She kept the door propped open with her foot and handed the card to Cole. “Here you go.”
He took it without looking at her, and made to edge past her into the room.
“Wait,” she said softly.
“What do you want?” he muttered.
“Um…I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Really, I am. I’m being a jerk to you. I’ve been a jerk all day. I always want to be nice…and I try…but then I’m mean instead. I don’t know why. I can tell today has been hard for you and I know you’re not some kind of rapist or something.”
He looked down at his hands, twisting them together. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he muttered. “I’m not like that.”
There was a pause. It felt so long. His cheeks burned more hotly with every passing second.
“We have to get along,” he continued quietly, dragging the toe of his sneaker over the carpet. “I don’t want you to be scared of me. Don’t be scared of me. I was glad when Clay and me got caught. I ain’t ever gonna try to do something like that again.”
“Cole, I’m…”
Pity in her voice. Pity. And he hated it.
“Okay, we’re done now,” Cole muttered brusquely. “Long as you know, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Without waiting for her reply, Cole shoved through the doorway and slammed the door shut. He tossed his backpack on the bed.
Hardly a breath had passed when there was a soft tapping on the door.
Cole clenched his jaw. “What do you want, Ing?”
Her words were soft and faltering. “Want to go out for a bite later? It’s only eight.”
Cole sighed. “For…for what?” he asked through the door.
A pause.
“We should get to know each other. We’re going to risk our lives together. We should try to be friends, right?”
Cole ground his teeth together. She was right. They both wanted to do something unthinkable, unimaginable. They were both time travelers. And they were going to have to rely on each other.
“And,” she continued. “You…you didn’t eat anything.”
“What?”
“At the Spec office. You didn’t eat. You pushed your food around and threw it away.”
His heart clanged. Why did she care if he ate anything?
“Sure,” her said. “Sure, let’s go get food.”
The words felt strange to say. He’d never spent much time with women. Planning to go out and get something to eat, it felt…intimate. Oddly intimate.
“Meet you in the lobby in half an hour?” Ingrid asked.
“Yeah. See you then.”
Half an hour. Just enough time to call his family.
Ch 10: The Ones We’ve Been Waiting For

“Step right in. Nothing to be scared of.” Ashley gestured at the metal tube set into the wall. Climbing the wall behind it like vines, there were more tubes and wires than Ingrid could count.
“Do I need one of those bib things? Like at the dentist?”
Ashley beamed, shaking her head. “Nope. It doesn’t work like that. There’s no x-rays, no radiation of any kind. This technology is proprietary.”
Placing a hand on the capsule’s opening, Ingrid felt the chill of the cold, smooth metal. The narrow cylinder was just big enough for her to fit inside. “Cole already did this?” Ingrid asked. She’d had her verbal interview and completed several paper questionaires while waiting for Cole to go through the emotometer. Ingrid had explained why she didn’t feel she had any attachment to this time. She hadn’t meant to divulge so much, but Ashley was so kind and welcoming. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to Ingrid with such a warm demeanor. The words had flowed freely from Ingrid, words about the hacking fiasco, words about how not everything about being fired was bad, at least she had some free time now. She’d hated how much time her fledgling career had stolen away from her. Back in college, she’d had time for her studies and her designs. She wanted to get back to those. She wanted to sketch and draw all of the dresses and blouses she dreamed of. She wanted to sew and embroider and create her own clothing line. Only, once she’d lost her job with Mattel, she hadn’t gone back to her working on her own clothing line. She’d only wallowed, and she’d been wallowing for so long, that she didn’t think she knew how to do anything else at this point. She’d been thrown off track and she didn’t know how to pull herself back on. She could be someone new in a new time. She could start it all over, leave her mistakes behind. Everything would be fresh and new, a new life of endless possibilities. Something most people would never experience. A person’s mistakes went with them. Every choice limited future choices. She couldn’t imagine how many doors had been slammed shut, locked tightly, now forever inaccessible, as a result of her impulsive, angry actions.
“Cole did fine,” Ashley said. “Stefanos texted me and said he did great. No issues. You’ll do fine too.”
“Did he…pass?”
Ashley opened her mouth. She smirked slightly. “Why are you asking?”
Ingrid shifted her lips back and forth. Moving her lips around was a nervous tick she’d had since childhood. She was usually better at keeping it in check. Not today though. “I’m just curious. If he passed, maybe I will too.”
“How about get in the machine and give it a whirl yourself? Don’t worry about Cole. If he doesn’t make the cut, we’ll find somebody else who does.”
“Sure,” Ingrid muttered. She lifted a foot and stepped over the small lip on the floor of the capsule. Twisting to the left, she pulled her other foot inside. The space was cramped, and she could hardly move without knocking her elbows into the metal interior.
“Ready?” Ashley asked with another of her vibrant smiles.
“Yes.”
“Right-o! I’m closing the door now. All you have to do is think about the possibility of being chosen for the experiment. Think about time travel. You have to think about time travel so the machine can measure your emotions around the idea. I’ll be in the next room with Jude and Stefanos. We’ll be watching the machine and the data that it’s collecting. This won’t hurt, but it might feel weird. Shouldn’t take more than five minutes. Could take less.”
“Wonderful.”
Ashley shut the door.
Darkness swallowed Ingrid. She felt the flash of her pupils dilating. A moment later, the metal wall in front of her blinked with lights and a screen clicked to life, showing a series of numbers and symbols that Ingrid couldn’t make sense of.
Her eyelids drooped, a feeling of warmth and sleepiness overtaking her. Thoughts ran through her mind, disconnected and dreamlike. In a blurred daze, she remembered Ashley’s instructions. Think about time travel. That was what she was supposed to do.
She shifted a bit, bringing her weight over to the right side of her body. She lifted her left foot. She allowed her pink heel to slide away from the sole of her foot, dangling it off one toe.
Time travel. She’d get to see a decade she never would have otherwise. No other human being born in 1991 would see the fifties, sixties, or seventies. Even the eighties would be cool. Ingrid wouldn’t mind seeing one of Madonna’s first shows.
The temperature of the capsule dropped suddenly. Ingrid’s lungs burned with a sharp intake of breath. She clenched her hands, trying to shake off the painful cold stiffening her fingertips. Her thoughts sprinted now. The pressure to make it big, go big or go home, the pressure to live up to her sister. The shame of the hacking scandal, her parents’ disapproving eyes. All of this would be gone. Gone, gone, gone. Nobody would know her in the decades before she’d been born. Nobody would think she was some horrible person. And maybe, just maybe, she could learn to not BE a horrible person. She shook away that last thought. She wasn’t horrible. She’d been letting the online commentary community get to her. Tatiana had deserved it. She’d deserved it. Tatiana shouldn’t have tried to compete with Ingrid. She was so so sick of being competed with against her will. In another time, she could relax and stop feeling like she couldn’t measure up, wasn’t good enough, wasn’t…real.
An otherworldly sound echoed in the small chamber, like something between a gurgle and the plop of something heavy into a still pool of water. The noise repeated upon itself, undulating and stretching out languidly. And then, all at once it stopped. The silence straightened her spine.
The screen in front of her eyes died away, leaving her in stark blackness once more. Her eyes flitted about restlessly. Sensation crept back into her fingers. The temperature rose steadily back to a reasonable degree.
With a hiss, the capsule’s door swung open. Ingrid blinked against the sudden brightness of the lab.
Grabbing hold of Ingrid’s shaking hand, Ashley quipped, “Let me help you out. Watch your step.”
Ingrid stepped out of the metal tube, her toe catching against the lip. She staggered. Ashley caught her by the shoulders. Flushing, Ingrid straightened up, shoved her left foot back into her shoe, and finished removing herself from the tube.
Ashley led her into the adjoining room, a small space filled with computer screens and large thrumming electronics. Judy sat in front of the largest screen, her eyes focused, her mouth set into something that was almost a frown, but not quite.
“And?” Ingrid asked. “Did I pass?”
Judy turned away from the screen, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She gave Ashley a knowing look. Ashley bobbed at Ingrid’s elbow, her eyes dancing with delight.
“Well?” Ingrid asked. “Am I moving on to the next round?”
“Pass?” Judy laughed. “You scored higher than almost anyone else who has ever stepped into the emotometer. Ashley’s intuition about you was right. You do want this quite a lot.”
“That’s right!” Ashley interjected excitedly. “I read your submission email. I knew your story. After reading about all that fallout, I knew you must want this. You do really want this! This might work! It might-”
“Ashley,” Judy warned. “Calm yourself.”
“Sorry, Jude.”
Suddenly feeling sick, Ingrid ran a hand unsteadily through her hair. Uneasiness set her skin to sizzle.
“Only one other person ever scored higher than you,” Judy continued. “Only one other person ever showed a subconscious resistance less than one percent.”
“Was that-”
“Yes,” Judy replied, a palpable energy dancing behind her words. “Cole. Cole was the only one to ever score higher.” She stood and approached Ingrid with outstretched arms. “I never expected a resistance percentage so low. Tomorrow we set a date, and it has to be soon. The resistance percentage could change. Stay offline. I’ve issued Cole a no contact order and I’m doing the same for you. We need to move fast.”
“Wait,” Ingrid said, shaking her head against her confusion. “Does this mean-”
“It does. You two are the ones we’ve been waiting for. And we need to move fast.”
Chapter Nine: To Manipulate Time

He should have realized this trip would include so much talking, so much interaction, so many new and inquisitive eyeballs pulling over him. He was done with it. Too many people. Too much attention.
A brief reprieve came when they turned out the lights for the movie. The film began with a clip of the building’s exterior, and an enthusiastic male narrator saying, “The innovation, the enterprise, the magic of Speculative Science. Science that should be fiction.”
More images flashed by, smiling scientists in labs working together, celebrities touring the facilities, all while that same narrator explained Speculative Science’s history and some of their less impressive achievements.
From there, the movie got into the good stuff.
A man maybe a decade older than Cole approached the camera unsmiling. His hair was short, his hairline receding. His skin was a medium-brown. His mouth was set into a frown, the lines of which extended through the entirety of his face, pulling at his flesh until even his eyebrows drooped. Cole wondered if the guy had ever seen a good night’s sleep.
Behind the frowning man two dozen scientists walked around the perimeter of an enormous machine. The machine towered above them at a height of around thirty or so feet. It was topped with a metallic dome, dotted with glistening rivets. The sides of it had several small doors, only two of which were open. The others were shut tight. In the center of each door, there was a circular handle, like the type that would be found on a submarine.
“Time travel,” the man began, his voice flat and emotionless, not matching the bright lights and upbeat candor of the busy lab behind him. “It has intrigued humans since the moment it was first dreamed up. Time was once thought to be an abstract concept, but with Einstein’s theories of Spacetime and time dilation, we now see time in a new way. As much a part of the natural world as light or air, it can be manipulated, isolated, controlled. Through our research, we’ve discovered that time is not only affected by gravity and speed, but also by consciousness.”
The scene dropped away, replaced by an impressive graphic of spheres in different colors. The words ‘quarks’ ‘protons’ and ‘photons’ labeled the different balls. The man jumped into a brief explanation of quantum theory, something Cole knew a little about. There hadn’t been a lot to do in prison, and the library had been one of the few places he was safe. Nothing had helped him at night, but during the day, when he wasn’t in class or locked in his cell, he read in the library, and he read about everything. He recalled that quantum theory explained the universe at the smallest scale. Photons could act as both a wave and a particle. A photon behaved differently, depending on whether or not it was observed. Quarks could be found in the protons of atoms and quarks were able to pop in and out of existence randomly.
“The link between consciousness and the physical world,” the scientist went on, “is proven in how photons change their behavior under observation. Now, we’ve found the way to harness that link, and we believe that we can use it to manipulate time. All we need are two participants willing to risk everything. The more the prospective time travelers want it, the more likely the time travel is to succeed.”
Cole’s head spun as the video played out, going through more of the science, more of the possibilities. Speculative Science wanted to attempt time travel, but it was risky. Like a quark, a time traveler might very well pop right out of existence.
The video ended with the entire Speculative Science team standing in front of the domed machine again, all of them smiling, save for the man who’d done the majority of the explaining. He stood to the left, his arms folded behind his back, frowning.
A young woman spoke to the camera now. She grinned, clasping her hands together in front of her and speaking directly to the camera. “Time travel comes with some risks. All great leaps of science do. Marie Curie was killed by her own discoveries. And how many other scientists have been injured or killed in the name of science? We won’t pretend it’s all adventure and rainbows. It’s not. The chances of survival are not known. We can not measure the risk. We assume the risk is quite significant. It could take us some time to find volunteers. When we do find them, they must be wholly committed. They must have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Is that you?” She tilted her head and smiled, pointing at the camera. The team behind her waved, all except for that frowning guy, and the clip ended.
Cole straightened in his seat as the lights flicked back on. Anxious eyes flitted over to him. He could see the way they appraised him. They were trying to see if the video had scared him off.
“Now then,” Judy said, standing at the far end of the table. “What did you two think of our presentation? Thoughts? Questions?”
Ingrid set down her plate and looked around at the team. Cole noticed the way her lips tightened up, pulling together in the same little pursed sneer she’d directed at him in Scott’s car. “The video says you can’t measure the risk,” she said. “I’m just wondering how big you think it is. Is it like fifty-fifty? Or are our chances of death bigger than that?”
“If they were bigger, would you still want to do this?”
Ingrid’s lips moved slowly up and down, like she was chewing on the inside of her mouth. She released her lips with a muffled popping sound. “I’m not sure.”
A man to the left of Cole cleared his throat. Cole’s eyes darted over to him. He was probably in his early forties, with dark brown hair and bushy beard. He settled back in his chair and studied Ingrid. “Let me ask you this,” he said. “What makes you want to do this experiment?”
“I don’t know. I guess, I feel like everything’s over for me. I screwed it all up and I don’t know how to bounce back. I have…done a lot of mean things. I want a new beginning. I want to get away from who I am.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the man spoke again.
“Maybe your career won’t ever bounce back, but there are other things in your life you’ll miss, no? Your family? Your friends?”
Ingrid shook her head, her full bangs moving against her pale forehead. “I’m not close with anyone in my family, and friends…” She trailed off, staring blankly ahead. “I’m not great with friends. If I don’t get to do this, I’ll be crushed.”
Her words hung there for a moment.
Judy whispered something to one of the younger women, a strange smile lighting up her eyes.
Ingrid twisted a lock of brown hair and continued. “If the time travel kills me, it’s not like I’ll know I died. I get to die thinking I’m getting a second chance. It’s a win-win either way.”
“That’s the spirit!” Ashley chirped.
“Very good,” Judy agreed. She stood up straighter, now setting her sights on Cole. Every set of eyes in the room followed suit.
Cole’s heart sped up, his skin tightening under the burn of their collective stares.
“And your thoughts, Cole?” Judy prompted.
He didn’t plan his words. They simply sprang out of him. “What about time paradoxes?”
Some uneasy glances were exchanged among the Speculative Science team members.
Judy spoke with an apologetic frown on her face. “We aren’t sure. This is where our team is split. Some believe in the ‘river with many branches’ theory of time travel. If you go back in time, you’ll be not entering, but forming, a completely new timeline. Ashley, Stefanos, and Jessica are the biggest proponents of this theory. It’s the many worlds theory. If that is the case, then paradoxes are not possible. If we send you back in time, you can’t affect this version of reality, because you will no longer be in this version of reality.”
“Wait,” Ingrid snapped. “Then how will you check to see if it worked? Isn’t that the point of sending us back to sometime after 1950?”
“Ay, there’s the rub,” a man across the table groaned.
“You ask a valid question,” Judy admitted. “If that theory proves to be correct, we’ll have to rely on our back-up plan.”
“Which is?” Ingrid’s tone was accusatory and direct. Cole couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. Here she was in a room full of accomplished scientists, people who could give her a new life, an escape from whatever awful deed she’d done, and she was grilling them as if she had every right to.
The bearded man spoke again. “We believe we’ve invented something that might be able to communicate between parallel worlds…for a short time.”
“And after that?”
“After that? After that you’re on your own. This is the point of sending two people. If the world you enter is vastly different than this one, you will have to rely on each other.”
Cole gathered his courage and spoke again, wincing as he heard the warble in his words. “Not everyone here believes in the many worlds theory, right? What are the other options?”
“Some of us think there might be the chance of time paradoxes,” the young woman beside Ingrid piped up. “But we don’t think you guys will be able to do much damage. We’re willing to risk it. Then there are the ‘movie reel’ time travel dudes. There’s some overlap here with the ‘many worlds’ crowd. They think you can’t alter time, even if you wanted to, because all of time has already happened, but is, at the same time, happening.”
“Happening and already happened,” Cole repeated numbly.
“Yep. Time is a movie reel. All of the scenes in the movie are in the reel. In a sense, they’re all happening. But then, they’ve all already been filmed. You can only progress through time in a linear way. That doesn’t mean time itself is linear.”
“That sounds awful,” Ingrid said. “It’s so fatalistic. If everything already happened, that really takes the meaning out of life.”
Judy shrugged. “Not really. Doesn’t mean you didn’t make any choices. Just that you already made them. It’s cool if you think about it. You both haven’t been born yet and already died all at once.”
Ingrid crossed one leg over the other. She tapped her heel and a silver ankle bracelet jangled with each frenetic little movement. “Weird,” Ingrid muttered. “Weird, weird, weird.”
“Sounds like you guys don’t know much about time travel,” Cole said quietly. “You don’t know if we stick with this reality, make our own, or go into a new one.”
“That is true,” Judy agreed with a nod. “We have a lot to learn still. Are either of you rethinking this? Do you want to back out? Don’t be afraid to tell us if you are. This is a big ask and a big risk. Better to tell us as soon as possible, so that we can move forward with the search process and find the people who will be the right fit.”
Cole glanced over at Ingrid. He was sure she was going to call it quits. Briefly, their eyes locked.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she announced, eyes locked onto his. “I have my heart set on this.”
His gut clenched. Her eyes were so green, looking right into his. His neck snapped down. He looked at his lap as he spoke. “I’m still in.”
There was a brief silence and then the sound of a foot tapping against the commercial carpet.
“Very well,” Judy said. “We’re ready to move forward with the first of the screenings. Cole?”
“Yeah?”
Judy didn’t say anything until Cole forced himself to look up at her. His cheeks burned as he tried to ignore all the sets of eyes watching him, judging him.
“Would you like to be the first to test with the emotometer?”
Cole nodded. “Why not?”
And for the first time since he’d arrived in this strange place, he felt a tremor of excitement once again. He rose from his chair and followed Judy to the door of the conference room, dumping his plate of uneaten food in the trash as he went.
His blood thumped in his veins, running the gamut from searing hot to icy cold. He had to pass this test. He had to want it.
He did want this. He did.
Chapter Eight: Ride the Tardis

Cole had said he didn’t need any help, but Ingrid saw the way he stiffened as Scott drove through the crowds of reporters thronging outside of the tall glassy building. They filled the small sidewalk, and some had spread out to the other side of the narrow one-way street, milling about in front of an old church with a decrepit-looking cemetery in front of it.
Ingrid reached over and poked Cole in the hand. He snatched his hand back and stared hard at her through the smudged lenses of his glasses. Her heart gave a confusing flutter. She couldn’t tell if she liked him or not.
She chose her words carefully. “You’re really famous, huh?”
He shrugged, looking out through the windshield. Scott veered the car into the parking garage. The reporters parted to make way for the vehicle, but several took the opportunity to snap pictures of the car’s inhabitants. Cole winced. Scott drove them down a cement tunnel, and a moment later, Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief as they came to a gate. It was a ground to ceiling green-tinged metal barrier, much more than the usual plank of flimsy wood that came down in front of a car at the attendant’s gate.
“This will keep those reporters out, right?” Ingrid asked.
“Hopefully,” Scott said. “Don’t be surprised if a couple of those cockroaches weaseled their way in though.”
Ingrid almost said something about Scott’s mixing of metaphors, but decided against it. She shot a wary look at Cole and then asked the question that had been on her mind since their encounter at the airport. “Why do they care about him so much? Aren’t there like fifty school shootings a year or something?”
Cole glared at her, but didn’t say anything.
“Yeah,” Scott mumbled, holding a badge up near the top of the windshield, waiting for the swiveling camera to catch on it. “Not sure. Probably because of the videos.”
“What videos?”
“Can we talk about something else?” Cole muttered. “Aren’t you somebody too?”
Ingrid shifted in her seat. “Who? Me?”
Nodding, Cole slumped down farther in his seat with his arms crossed, not looking at her.
A light on the gate’s camera flashed. The gate slid to the left, allowing Scott’s car to enter. He pulled in and drove through the rows of cars.
“That reporter knew who you were,” Cole said quietly. “She said something like ‘they picked two winners.’”
“So?” Ingrid demanded.
“What did you do? Sounds like you did something.”
“I didn’t plan a mass murder,” Ingrid snorted.
Scott pulled into a parking spot directly in front of a discreet door. It was set into the dingy concrete of the darkened space, almost imperceptible.
“You did something.”
Ingrid glared at him. “I don’t think I like you.”
“Most people don’t.” There wasn’t a hint of inflection in his voice. He stated it like it was an objective fact, nothing to get upset about.
“Okay, people,” Scott announced. “Looks like we’re in the clear. Let’s move before they sneak in through the cracks.”
They climbed out of the car, their doors slamming in the silence of the parking garage.
Scott held his badge up again in front of a scanner next to the door. There was a faint beeping and then a buzz. Scott pushed the door open. Ingrid followed him inside, with Cole trailing behind.
They walked down a fairly innocuous hallway. Ingrid looked around at the deserted rooms, many of them with doors propped open. Her heels clacked over the scuffed linoleum. Overhead, about half the fluorescent panels had burnt out. Two of the remaining ones were lit, but flickered violently, giving the hallway a shaky, frenetic appearance. The space smelled of chemicals and plastic. All elements considered, it was nothing at all what Ingrid had expected.
At the end of the hall, they took a left, and continued down another short hall, this one with thin commercial carpeting, like the kind you’d see in a public elementary school. Ingrid had only visited a public school once, for her cousin’s holiday concert, but the strange scratchy carpet had stuck out on her mind. When she’d commented on her, her mother had told her that all public schools had carpet like that, cheap and durable.
They rounded another corner, this time entering a large lobby much more opulent than the dingy hallways. The gleaming room shone with chrome and marble. One wall was all windows, giving them a view of the street. The journalists still milled about outside.
“They can’t come in, can they?” Cole asked.
“They might try,” Scott quipped. “A few were in here earlier.” Scott waved to the two people sitting at the desk in the center of the large room. Other than the three of them, they were the lobby’s only occupants. “Abigail, sign in Ingrid and Cole, would you?”
The young woman gave him a pointed stare, raising her eyebrows. “They got their IDs?”
“Come on, Ab. I already checked ’em out.”
“I doubt it. You aren’t great with due diligence.”
Scott waved her off.
The elevator dinged, the shining doors sliding open.
“Already checked. Put them in the book, please.”
Abigail rolled her eyes, while the man beside her popped his gum and leaned back in his chair. He smirked and shook his head, watching Abigail mutter to herself and scribble their names in the book in front of her.
Ingrid stepped into the elevator behind Scott and moved to the back to make room for Cole. He kept his eyes down, his hand clutching the tattered backpack hanging over his shoulder.
Scott selected the floor, and looked over at Ingrid with a smile. “Hope you guys are hungry. The big bosses gave us the go-ahead to order a whole bunch of grub. We got Italian and Chinese up there. Do you like Italian?”
“Sure,” Ingrid said. “Hey, should I have brought my bags with me?”
Waving a hand in the air, Scott replied, “Nah, I’m supposed to drive you two to your hotel after.” He turned his attention to Cole. “What about you, big guy? You like Italian?”
Cole barely looked up as he answered. “I am Italian.”
Scott gave him an odd look and didn’t say anything else.
Standing behind the two of them, it was impossible not to notice how abnormally short Cole was. Scott wasn’t tall himself. He was probably an inch or so shorter than Ingrid, and he still towered over Cole. How had a guy like that survived in prison?
The elevator dinged, indicating they’d reached their destination, and the doors slid open to reveal an impressive lobby, although this one was much smaller than the one downstairs. The carpets were a deep navy and the walls were a light matte gray. The logo ‘Speculative Science’ gleamed on the wall in metallic paint. Below it, a smaller tagline was painted in maroon, reading, ‘Science that should be fiction.’
A woman with pink and blonde hair sat behind the desk. She smiled at them. Well, she smiled at Scott and Cole. She narrowed her eyes at Ingrid. She knew who Ingrid was and what she’d done.
Ingrid narrowed her own eyes in return. She wasn’t about to be intimidated.
“Everybody is waiting for them in conference room three,” the woman quipped. “Judy and Mary are here. They want to do the initial interviews tonight.”
“After they’ve been on planes all day?”
The woman knotted her eyebrows together. “Mary doesn’t want to waste any more time. Not after the last two.”
Scott grunted. “What a mess. Hey, why are you covering the desk, anyway?”
Rolling her eyes, the woman replied, “Criti didn’t want to stay late. Kept whining about the kids.”
“You can probably shut the phones down now.”
She shook her head. “Press keeps calling. Judy says if they don’t get the chance to talk to a human, they’ll start trying to come up to the office. I’m not doing much. I just keep telling people that no decision has been made yet, and that we’ll be making the media rounds once we do.” She gave a cheeky smile and looked from Cole to Ingrid. “Buckle up, you two. You’re moving through the screening process way faster than the last two. It’s gonna be a busy few days.”
Ingrid nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “What happened to the last pair?”
The woman’s voice was neutral, but Ingrid felt the dislike emanating from her. “They didn’t make the cut. They didn’t want it enough. Their hesitancy registered too high on the emotometer. They don’t get to ride the Tardis.”
Cole chuckled at that.
“Tardis?” Ingrid asked.
“It’s a joke. We can’t actually call it that for legal reasons. We also couldn’t make it look like a phone booth, but man did we want to.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’m not surprised.” Her face hardened and she shuffled a stack of papers in front of her.
“Teresa,” Scott murmured. “Be nice.”
“Being as nice as I can.”
Scott reached across the desk and cuffed her lightly on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
Teresa nodded and busied herself with the stack of papers on the desk.
“This way, guys,” Scott said, raising a hand in the air and motioning his fingers forward.
He led them through a doorway on the opposite side of the room. From there, they traveled down a bright white hallway. Ingrid’s eyes trailed over the pictures lining the hall. There were pictures of machines, group photos of smiling scientists in goggles and lab coats, and smiling celebrities posing with the Speculative employees. The wall of the hallway stopped short on the left side after a few steps, opening up into a room that could only be described as a cubicle farm.
They made their way through the winding maze of cubes. Several heads popped up like gophers. Ingrid met the eyes of everyone who looked her way. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Cole still had his shoulders hunched and his eyes on the ground. She wondered how he was able to take in his surroundings when he never looked up.
Down another hallway that branched off from the open area of cubicles, and a turn at the end, and they reached conference room three. Ingrid steadied herself, feeling a sudden rush of anxiety, before following Scott inside.
A long conference table sat in the middle of the room and a group of a dozen or so milled about, talking and eating. Most of their eyes turned in the direction of the door as they entered.
“Here they are!” a smiling older woman announced.
There was a smattering of comments from the crowd, and a couple of ironic whoops.
Ingrid wasn’t sure about this group. They seemed like the grown version of the weird kids in high school, the ones who geeked out over stuff like Lord of the Rings and those anime cartoons nerds always liked.
“Come on in,” the woman said, approaching them with a beaming smile. She held out a wrinkled hand covered in gaudy rings. “I’m Judy. Thank you both for coming.”
“Thanks for having us,” Ingrid muttered without enthusiasm.
In the periphery of her vision, she saw Cole nod curtly.
A girl with pigtails and thick plastic hipster glasses bounded over. “Have some food! We need to do the first questionnaires tonight and maybe the emotometer. Eat up, you two.”
In a daze, Ingrid followed the girl to the table and allowed a paper plate to be thrust into her hands.
“We’ve got Italian on this end and a bunch of goodies from our favorite Chinese place down the other end. Boston is great for food. I’m from Arkansas. So glad I moved to the East coast. I never knew Panda Express wasn’t legitimately Chinese food until I came here.”
Ingrid nodded and piled some food onto her plate. She looked over her shoulder at Cole. Several of the employees had crowded around him, extending their hands and jabbering on. He muttered a few one-word answers in response. With his hands thrust into his pockets, he kept his eyes trained on the ground, his hair hanging down into his face. Unease shifted in her stomach. Maybe he wasn’t the typical edgy kid. He certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying all the attention. A vague sense of guilt ebbed within her. She’d been wrong to assume he’d be an obnoxious attention-grabber. She hoped the testing wouldn’t take too long. The guy was obviously overwhelmed and he’d been so motion sick from the plane. He should have some time alone to collect himself.
After Ingrid’s plate was full, the girl with pigtails led her down to the end of the table and Ingrid took a seat beside her. “I’m Ashley, by the way,” she said.
“Nice to meet you.”
“This is Steven, China, Cassandra.”
Ingrid smiled tightly as each of the employees introduced themselves to her. Several came over to talk, asking her why she wanted to be the first time travel, asking if she’d miss anything or anybody. “I want a fresh start,” she repeated again and again.
After ten minutes of curious eyes and questions, Ashley waved the gaggle of people away. “Give her a minute to eat,” Ashley laughed. With her eyes alight, she turned to Ingrid. “Didn’t you fly all the way from California?”
Nodding, but barely hearing her, Ingrid kept her eyes on a fidgeting Cole seated at the opposite end of the table. He pushed lasagna around his plate, while employees approached him and introduced themselves asking similar questions to the ones they’d asked Ingrid.
Ashley shifted in her seat and brought her mouth close to Ingrid’s ear. “He’s a weird one, huh?”
Ingrid looked up at her in surprise. “He’s…well…he’s a little weird, yes. I think he might be…um…nice though.” She sounded so stupid. What was she doing defending this guy?
Ashley flipped one pigtail over her shoulder. “Nice, huh? You get a chance to talk on the way over?”
“I-I just met him,” Ingrid stammered. “I guess I don’t know if he’s nice.” She watched Cole shove a hand into the pocket of his jeans and awkwardly talk to his shoes as the Spec employees crowded around him. The tips of his ears were red through his brown hair that desperately needed a good wash. “I feel a little bad for him,” Ingrid whispered. “I think he’s shy. He looks nervous.” Her heat gave another confusing pang as the poor man dropped his plate onto the floor. His face flushed scarlet. He scrambled to pick up the lasagna from the floor.
“Think he’ll make the cut?” Ashley asked.
“I’ve no idea. You all are the ones running the tests. It’s your choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ashley laughed. “The time travel will only work if the people involved really want it to work. We’re desperate at this point. That guy is a public relations nightmare and we’ll still send him if he scores high enough on the emotometer.”
“What is that? You all keep mentioning this emotometer.”
“It’s real cool,” Ashley said with a devilish grin. “The emotometer is an incredibly high-powered instrument that measures brainwaves, specifically those related to emotion.”
Ingrid stared blankly at her.
“It can measure emotions,” Ashley gushed.
“Weird.”
Ashley wiggled her eyebrows. “If we didn’t have that, we could always get one of the mind-readers from our superhero division to tell us what you’re thinking.”
“Those magic powers you guys make? You really have people who can read minds?”
Taking a sip of soda, Ashley held up two fingers. “Only two,” she clarified, setting her cup down on the table’s glossy surface. “We can’t control what powers people get. It all has to do with their personality, their values, their dreams. We didn’t make magic. All we did was harness something that already existed, like Edison harnessing electricity. We found a way to capture the link between the human mind and the physical world. It’s all very-”
“Are you over here spilling trade secrets, my dear?”
Ashley flushed.
Standing at her elbow was the same older woman who’d welcomed them into the room. She flashed a brilliant smile down at the two of them.
“Sorry, Jude,” Ashley said sheepishly. “I get a little excited sometimes.”
Judy patted her on the shoulder. “It’s alright. But remember your discretion.”
“Sure, Jude.”
“I’m about to start our presentation. Will you get it ready for me?”
“Right-o.” Ashley hopped to her feet and scurried out of the room.
Smiling again, Judy and settled down into the seat beside Ingrid. “How was your flight?”
Ingrid noted the woman’s sharp hairstyle, her too-white, obviously crowned teeth, and her pressed pink pastel suit. This was a woman in charge. Ingrid remembered the initial email from Speculative Science. Judy’s signature had been at the bottom.
“My flight was okay,” Ingrid replied. “Long.”
“You must be tired. We won’t keep you long tonight. But we do have a few things to get through. We have a short presentation. It’s a video our marketing team made. It will explain what we’re hoping to accomplish in more detail.”
“And then there are interviews?”
“Yes. The initial interviews will be tonight.”
“Sounds great to me,” Ingrid murmured.
Across the table, Cole looked up for the first time all evening, meeting her eyes. She gave him a faltering smile. His eyes darted away, falling back down to his lap.
“Tell me, Ingrid,” Judy asked. “Are you ready to be a part of history?”
“Sure,” Ingrid sighed. “Why not?”
“Will you miss anything about this time?”
“No. Nothing.” And it was true. Her reply rang true in her bones. She was ready for this.
In the doorway, Ashley clapped her hands together. “Everybody find a seat and put a lid on it!” She turned off the lights and on the wall closest to Ingrid an image appeared. It took Ingrid a moment to recognize it as the Speculative Science logo. The chattering died down, and each of the employees found their way to one of the chairs around the long table.
“We all ready?” Ashley asked the group at large. “Ready to get started, Jude?”
“Go ahead, Ashley.”
Ashley looked out over the room with a huge smile and eyes full of excitement. “It’s showtime!”
June 13, 2021
My Wedding and Honeymoon
So, I never thought I would actually get married. I just started calling my dude “my husband” probably about 8 years ago to get everybody else to shut up about it. Then I did the perma-girlfriend thing for a good long while.
But this Tuesday we got married for real and then we went on a really nice little honeymoon/family vacation with his parents, his sister, and sister’s boyfriend.
Anyway, pictures



I love that last picture the most I love that he and I are exactly the same height and can look right into each other’s eyes. Although….I forgot to factor that into the decision to wear heels. So with the ‘you may now kiss the bride’ moment, I had to in the moment figure out how to scooch down without making him look short. That would be why my toes are hanging over the edge of my heels. Just shoved myself down as low as I could in the moment XD I also just love how cute he looks in his nice new suit. The pictures came out great.
We had a teeny tiny ceremony at the courthouse. His parents and sister came. Then we went out to lunch. It was small and I loved it
I was really kind of mopey and weird leading up to the wedding, and while we were on our honeymoon, I had a lot of time to think about it: “like bitch, what exactly is your problem?”
See here are some honeymoon photos.

I had all this time relaxing on the beach to try and figure it out: what the fuck is my problem?
And I think I have it sorted out (kind of). I think I finally made some sense out of all the threads I feel.
So, I had a very bad 2020 and a bad start to 2021, and my relationship wasn’t doing so well for a minute there. And when it all blew up, like the asshole I am, I blamed it all on my dude. “We have all these problems and we barely connect ever because you don’t care about my feelings and we should just throw in the towel already.”
And I can see now, that wasn’t the truth at all. The truth is I am a difficult person. I have a lot of emotional baggage that I’ve tried to deal with in various ways. What I didn’t understand was that as much as my man loves me and wants so much to make me happy, you can’t really connect very well to someone when you’re constantly worrying about them having some kind of an emotional episode. For years, he left me alone to “do your own thing” because the poor man is autistic, and let’s be real, I don’t think neurotypical people can handle me half the time. Leaving me alone to sort myself out was a really understandable reaction he had to my years of weird moods, delusions, binge drinking, and manic agitated states.
Then like an absolute dickhead, I was mad at him for the fact that our relationship had become so stale, for the fact that I felt so lonely.
I mean, when you constantly act in ways that drive people away, you’re probably going to end up lonely.
For some reason, he’s always loved me anyway, and he wanted to marry me anyway.
Poor thing.
Somewhere around my mid-twenties, I traded in one set of problems for another. I cut my mom out of my life and that was a really good decision. But my younger sisters sided with her and now it’s been years since I’ve talked to anyone in my family.
After I cut my mom off, I found reasons to cut everyone off. I no longer have any of the same friends. I do not make new friends. When I really like people, I keep myself from being around them too much. I’m really nervous about actually forming any connections with people in real life.
I went from letting everyone treat me however they wanted to viewing everything that everyone ever did through the worst possible light. Everyone’s actions were suspect. Everyone had bad intentions.
And this was save for a handful of people here and there, who could never do anything wrong. These were the people I fixated on. My coworker with blonde hair who loved country music who talked shit about me constantly and still I followed her around like a puppy and tried to dress just like her making cringey comments like “twinsies!” and stalked her instagram constantly. Other people we won’t mention that I fixated on.
When I cut ties to my mom, something weird happened with how I form attachments and relationships with people. And I still don’t have it completely sorted out, but I know this much: I started keeping everybody at arms’ length, including the man who really really loves me, and I started fixating really unhealthily and obsessively on people who obviously weren’t compatible with me at all. It’s a really weird self-sabatoging sort of thing. I’ve been doing it for about 6 years now.
Well, look I’m getting somewhere I promise.
Why was I so moody and weird leading up my wedding and honeymoon?
I tried to put it into words and what I came up with was “My life is so perfect now. I have everything I ever wanted. I hate it. I have so much anxiety.”
In the fall, my dude got this new job. It was a job that boosted us up into a completely new standard of living. After we decided to reconcile, he asked me if I wanted to become a homemaker.
I’ve been doing that and I like it a lot, but I’m just constantly stressing out about the dummest thing: I don’t feel comfortable being this happy and having such a nice, easy life.
My dude and I put a lot of effort into fixing the problems with our relationship. We made a real effort to start connecting with each other again. And it’s been so wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to him.
So there’s that and then there’s the fact that just….overnight I have no financial worries. None. I can just spend my life cooking and cleaning and…being happy?
It’s really hard to just accept that my life is great now. I feel like I should be on edge, stressing out, trying to figure out what’s going to go wrong next.
A few days before our wedding, I asked my dude if I could take his card and go shopping for the honeymoon. He gave me his card and I went out and spent an absurd amount of money. I came home and handed him receipts. I expected him to be mad. And he goes, “That was a lot. It’s fine though. It’s for a special occasion.”
I was weirdly disappointed by his reaction. I realized I was trying to upset him. But I didn’t know why.
I thought about all of this while we were in Maine and I think I’ve figured something out.
The reason I cause myself trouble and can’t just relax when things are good is the same reason why I’ve been having trouble having normal relationships with people: it’s all self-sabotage.
My husband asked me “What do you think will happen if you just relax and enjoy your life?”
And I couldn’t figure it out at first. I just had this vague feeling of something bad will happen. He kept pressing “What bad thing would happen?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “People will be mad at me.”
“People get mad at you now, because you sort of act like an asshole. You go around kicking up hornets’ nests. You’re afraid of making people mad at you?”
And I said, “It’s better if you make it happen and get it over with. Otherwise you’re stuck in that tense part, waiting for the bad thing to happen. Waiting for it is the worst part. Feeling like everything might be okay and being afriad of letting your guard down, then you do and everything blows up.”
“This is because of your mom,” he said. “But he’s not around anymore. Nobody is going to yell mean things at you or say they hate you or hurt you or any of that. Enjoy your life. Be happy. Stop going out and making problems for yourself because you think you’re more comfortable when you’re stressed out and upset.”
He’s completely right. I feel like everything awful will happen if I just relax. And I guess it’s because when I was a kid, that was true. I stopped worrying for a morning. My mom burned my sister’s arm so badly she had to go to the hospital. I wasn’t watching the dog when he peed on the rug. Then my mom took his chain leash off the wall and beat him until I was sure she was gonna kill him. Every time I stopped worrying, every time I relaxed for a second, something horrible happened. I was the oldest kid, I was the one best at keeping her calm. She confided in me and hung out with me. Even though I was afriad of her, I watched movies with her and sat in her room with her. During these times, I had to watch everything I said and did so carefully. What set her off varied so much from one day to the next.
And sometime around late elementary school, I stopped relaxing completely. I was always on edge, always worried, always panicked. And then I started causing fights with her on purpose. Then I didn’t have to wait in that awful tense place of ‘oh-god-when-will-it-all-go-wrong?’ because I was the one alleviating the tension. I was the one who snapped those taught strings.
I think my husband is right: it started back then.
But I don’t have to keep being like this.
I did so much thinking and I am making a decision, here and now, and it is this: I am going to relax and be happy.
I think volunteering will ease some of the guilt I have about my new socioeconomic status. So I applied to become a volunteer ESOL tutor in my city.
I also think just being a much better partner moving forward is something I have to do.
I do not deserve the man who married me. But I could become a much better partner to him.
I’m looking for any reason to be stressed out, because relaxing and being happy feels so dangerous to me. It feels like I’m letting my guard down and something horrible will happen.
What sense does it make to be so worried about something horrible happening that I keep going out of my way to make horrible things happen?
I’m sort of a shitty person right now, but I don’t have to stay a shitty person.
I’m going to stop letting all this baggage give me an excuse to act like an asshole.
I have all this guilt feeling like I didn’t earn the nice life I have. It’s true. I did not earn it. I do not deserve it. But I want to get to a place where I’m closer to deserving it than I am now.
And I think that starts with just chilling the fuck out. I’m gonna be happy. I’m gonna stop sabotaging myself. I’m going to retrain. my brain to be comfortable being happy, so that my default isn’t miserable.

This guy loves me and married me, and I’m really happy he did.
Chapter Seven: A Scared Bunny Rabbit

Cole walked behind the other two, the fat dude from Speculative Science and the tall, skinny girl being considered along with him.
Ingrid was pretty, with full bangs and large jade green eyes. Ingrid’s face was expressive and every ounce of disgust she’d felt for him had been plastered across it. A lot of people had that reaction when they first met him. There was something else though. Her eyebrows drew together and her pretty green eyes looked sad when he’d sighed and pointedly ignored her veiled insult about the no fly list. She was rude. That was definitely true. But she’d looked sorry for her rudeness almost right away. That had to be some sort of a good sign. Right? Shuffling along behind her, Cole tried to get his tumbling emotions under control. He hated to admit it, but it was true. He was a little freaked out by Ingrid. A little intimidated by her. He hoped he didn’t have to keep on a brave face while she sent knife-like little insults his way again. He hadn’t even been able to maintain eye contact during her brief moment of snark at the gate. His gut was still roiling from her scrutiny and sass.
They made it through the airport without incident. Ingrid’s bags weighed on his arms. His muscles strained beneath them. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d offered to carry her bags. It might have something to do with the way she craned her neck down to speak to him, probably without realizing it. She had to be around five foot eight, making her about half a foot taller than him. Carrying her bags was a way to remind her that he was a man. He might be a small man. He was still a man, and he had more upper body strength than she did. Fuck, did his arms hurt though.
It was in the airport parking lot that it happened. Before Cole could make sense of what had begun, a crowd had descended, closing in around them, shouting questions, hands up high with phones documenting the whole thing.
“Cole Velardi, what have you been doing since your release from prison?”
“Are you planning to go back in time and finish what you started?”
“Why are you being considered for this experiment?”
Shutting his eyes, he pulled his arms close to his sides, trying to shrink into himself. Flashes of memory coincided with the flashes of cameras around him. His court date, walking into the courthouse behind Clay. Most of the reporters focused on Clay’s face, Clay’s reactions, but the ones who couldn’t get close to him swarmed in on Cole, demanding answers, answers that Cole didn’t have. People often had this strange idea that just because a person did something they knew why they were doing it.
The heat from the crowd of bodies closed in on him, and his residual nausea from the flight gurgled in his belly once more. His feet felt fluid, like they weren’t really standing on solid earth. The cacophony of voices collided together, stinging his ears.
A hand latched onto his arm and pulled him forward. He stumbled. He opened his eyes.
It was Ingrid pulling him, all while glaring at the crowd of reporters she’d charged through. “Back off,” she snapped. “Get away from us.” She looped her arm through his and quickened her step, pulling him over to a shiny black car where Scott fumbled with a set of keys.
“Everybody go home!” Scott shouted. “Nothing to see here. Is that Mark? Take that cheap camera and get lost! Spec has a restraining order on you. You already know that. Hey, who leaked on us?”
“You know Spec is springing leaks all over the place,” a man’s laughter-tinged voice answered. “Tell your volunteer to give us an interview.”
“Cole, do you still want to kill people?”
“Have you been keeping in touch with Clayton?”
Cole kept his head down, allowing Ingrid to guide him.
She tugged at the handle of the door, but it didn’t open.
A red-headed woman holding up an iPhone jabbed Cole in the shoulder and put her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel her breath. “What do you hope to achieve with time travel? Do you really think you’re the best choice? Why are you the best choice?”
Ingrid whipped around, sending knives flying with her eyes. “Get out of his personal space,” she growled.
The woman stammered, but took a step back.
“Scott!” Ingrid shouted over her shoulder. “The door’s locked.”
Cole peaked up just enough to see that Scott was trying to hold back the growing crowd of reporters, holding up both hands and throwing around legal jargon. He jammed a button on the jumble of keys in his hand and a moment later the car beeped, its lights flashing.
Ingrid yanked open the door and gave Cole’s arm another tug. Taking a step back, she pushed him forward.
He scrambled into the car and slammed the door shut. He leaned back, taking a deep breath that caught in his throat, dragging it through his heaving lungs. He dropped the bags on the floor and put a hand to his heaving chest.
Outside the vehicle, cameras were still flashing. Two reporters, men in their late twenties, had made their way to the front of the car and were eagerly filming, speaking to each other with smiles and focused eyes.
Cole hated the sensation of eyeballs raking over him, like pitchforks of judgment.
Scott was still trying to chase the reporters off, threatening to call the police if they didn’t move so he could back his car out.
One of the women in the crowd had started in on Ingrid. Somehow she knew who Ingrid was too. “Ingrid Agard? Wow, Speculative really chose a couple of winners. Is 2017 really such an awful place to be?”
“Get a life. Don’t you have any real news to report on?”
“Are you concerned about the risks of the experiment? What will you do if it fails?”
The door opposite Cole snapped open and Ingrid climbed in.
The same woman who’d been badgering her leaned into the car, her fingers on the car’s edge. “Give us a quote. Tell us how you’re feeling about all this.”
Ingrid shoved her face directly into the red-headed woman’s, and Cole saw the red-head’s face register fear, although she didn’t back up. “Here’s a quote: Move before I slam the door on you.”
“But if you could just-”
“I’m serious.” Ingrid reached for the door.
The woman scrambled back before Ingrid could make good on that threat.
Ingrid slammed the door with such force that the entire body of the car shook.
Cole folded his hands in his lap, watching Ingrid discreetly through his hair. She wore a frown, her plump lips twisted up into a haughty pout. Her eyebrows were low and her gaze was hard. Her chest heaved under the fabric of her flower-printed pink dress.
Scott opened up the driver’s side door and hefted himself into the front seat, still yelling at the reporters as he closed the door. “Can you guys wait until the official press release? Seriously. No patience.” He looked back over his shoulder and leaned on the horn. The sharp blare caused the crowd of journalists to back off a bit, and Scott hurried to put the car in reverse.
Cole’s muscles remained taut until the car was on the highway and Logan Airport disappeared behind them.
“Sorry, guys,” Scott sighed. “Mark ain’t wrong. Spec is full of leaks. We’ve got so much cool stuff in the works and people get excited. They like to talk. Especially Ashley. If she wasn’t such a great scientist, the confidentiality issues alone would have gotten her fired by now.”
“It’s fine. We’re okay.”
Cole raised an eyebrow, noting the way Ingrid answered for both of them, but didn’t correct her. She was right after all. They were fine.
Ingrid sat up straighter, twisting in Cole’s direction. Her lips were still set in that displeased little frown. “What was with that back there?” she demanded. “You were like a scared bunny rabbit or something.”
He looked away and didn’t answer. She didn’t know him, and he didn’t need her judgment.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” she quipped snottily. “Happy to be of service.”
“Would’ve been fine without you,” Cole muttered.
“Really? Didn’t seem like it.”
Cole said nothing. He’d dealt with women like her before. Some women didn’t know what to make of a quiet guy like him. And yeah, maybe he wasn’t just quiet, but also nervous and shy in some situations. Women always wanted men to be like Clay, loud and take charge and not afraid of anything. They turned into cunts when they met a guy like Cole, short and prone to freezing up when thrown into an unexpected situation.
“Does that happen to you a lot?” Ingrid asked. “Reporters hang around trying to get quotes?”
Cole crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Hello?”
“Sometimes,” Cole answered begrudgingly. “Not a lot. Just the week I got out of prison. Then they mostly left me alone.”
“When did you get out of prison?”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure,” Ingrid murmured. “Sorry.”
There was a brief silence, awkward and tense, stretching horribly in the small space of the backseat, and then Scott cleared his throat, veering the car to the right and taking an exit. “Be prepared for another round of that in a few minutes,” he warned. “The vultures have been circling Spec headquarters all day.”
Cole’s heart stabbed painfully into his rib-cage, thumping so loudly it echoed in his ears.
There was a soft poke in his left shoulder. He lifted his head to see Ingrid staring at him curiously.
He met her eyes and she gave a tight smile, as if she wasn’t exactly sure if she wanted to smile. “Stick close to me,” she whispered. “We’ll get through it and be inside the building before you know it.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t need you. I’m fine on my own. I’m not a scared bunny rabbit.”
She frowned, something unsure in her light green eyes. “I’m trying to help,” she said tightly.
Looking straight ahead, he said, “I don’t want any help.”
And that wasn’t true, but it was what he was supposed to say.
A man shouldn’t want help. A man shouldn’t be afraid.
Even if he really was. Even if all he wanted to do was cling to her arm and let her guide him through the crowd.
Chapter Six: School Shooter?

The best part of flying was finally getting off the plane. Ingrid watched the rows of other passengers stand up and fill the narrow aisle. She’d been cramped into this awful little seat for over eight hours. The baby in the row in front of her had cried loudly and the old man next to her kept using both armrests, forcing her to keep her elbows tucked in at her sides. But finally, they’d landed at Logan Airport. It was early evening and she’d been on the plane since that morning.
She waited in her seat as the other passengers collected their bags from the overhead bins and the mass of harried humans filtered slowly down the length of the plane and out of the door. She didn’t want to shuffle slowly down the aisle with the rest of them. She’d wait until the space was clear. Then she’d go.
Ten minutes later, carrying her four bags, she hustled through the airport, weaving in and out through all of the people who walked so much slower than her. Ingrid was always in a hurry, even when she had nowhere in the world to be. Now she did have somewhere to be, and so her normally very quick gait was even quicker, her sensibly short pink heels flying across the dirty terminal floor.
The woman from Speculative Science had said a representative would meet her at Gate 42. That’s where the other person being considered would be waiting. From Ingrid’s short conversation with the woman, she’d gotten the sense that this other person was somewhat of a celebrity. Mary had said briskly, “Scott will meet you at the other volunteer’s gate. We want to have someone waiting for him. There’s some concern about press giving him a hard time and a Speculative Science rep standing at the gate might deter them. Such vultures. Well, but you already know all of that, with your history…”
Yes, Ingrid did know that. She wondered why a celebrity would be keen to give up their life. Of course she’d end up paired with an attention whore. That’s all they probably wanted: attention for a publicity stunt. She hoped they weren’t wasting the scientists’ time. That would be something. Get everybody all riled up about some big name just to duck out after they got the attention they craved. Ingrid was anxious to be packed up and time traveling already. There was nothing left for her in this time. Her career was gone. Most of her friends were gone. She was twenty-six years old, living with her parents, with no plan for the future. Time travel made sense for her. Rather than having a plan for the future, she could have a plan for the past.
She juggled her bags, moving one from her left arm to her right, and skirted around a slow-moving family standing talking in the middle of the crowd. People were so inconsiderate. She hastened past a series of luggage and souvenir shops, and on the very opposite side of the airport, she found Gate 42.
Ingrid paused at the edge of the gate’s waiting area, where the linoleum turned to carpet and rows of chairs were clustered together back to back. She set down her bags and smoothed down edges of her bangs, knowing they must be sticking up all over the place.
She scanned the area for the Speculative Science rep. She hadn’t thought to ask what Scott would be wearing or if he’d be holding a sign. She should have thought to check him out on social media. Over at the flight attendant’s station, two women and one man, all wearing dark blue shirts, snapped to attention. One stood at the edge of the door that led down the tunnel to the plane, one retrieved a wheelchair from a closet off the side and started to unfold it, and the third snatched up a walkie, speaking into it and then listening intently as a voice crackled through in response. Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, Ingrid could see the small Spirit airline plane that waited at the gate, idling as the flight attendants prepared to greet the passengers. Ingrid watched the door with curiosity. Who would this celebrity be? She tried to imagine which celebrity might pull a stunt like this, and she was sure that it must be a publicity stunt. How annoying. A flicker of a thought and the whisper of an emotion raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Astrid pretending her finger was hurt just before the start of a big performance. She had been seven and Ingrid had been ten. “Mom, I won’t be able to play right. My finger! I can’t bend it.” And Astrid had always been like that. Life with her was the Astrid show and nobody even remembered-
“Ingrid Agard?”
Snapping her neck to the left and shaking off the remnants of irritating memories, Ingrid appraised the source of her name.
A short, heavy-set man with a disarming smile held out his hand. “Scott,” he said. “I’m here to bring you over to the Spec office.” He reached forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She took his hand, trying not to cringe as she felt the sweat accumulated on his palm. The day was warm for October, but still. Gross. She forced a smile onto her face. He released her hand and she pulled her arm behind her back, wiping it on the back of her light pink dress.
“Everybody’s stoked to meet you,” Scott said. “We’re thinking we’ve finally got a pair that might work for the experiment. And man, everybody is dying to finally run a human trial. We tried sending stuff back, but how do you check and see if it worked? Know what I mean? For all we know, all the junk disintegrated.”
“Disintegrated?” Ingrid’s voice was a pitch higher than usual. She pulled at a hanging thread on the edge of her skirt.
“Ah!” Scott groaned. He shut his eyes so tightly that his forehead creased. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He opened his eyes and looked at Ingrid hopefully. “But you knew it was risky already, I’ll bet.”
Ingrid parted her lips, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say.
“They’ll tell you all about it,” Scott continued, stepping aside as two women in athletic wear hurried forward, calling out to their friends coming through the boarding door. “Oh awesome. They’re unboarding,” Scott murmured. “Hey, we should keep our eyes peeled for press. Somebody leaked the name of this guy and we know a few of the outlets want to confirm before they print anything. There’s already a crowd hanging out around Spec headquarters.”
Ingrid swiveled her head and neck, scanning the area. She didn’t see anyone who looked like press. Then again what would someone from the press even look like? She didn’t think they’d be holding up a big flashing camera or anything. They’d probably just blend in. Everyone in the immediate area looked like regular travelers. “Why are press after this guy? Who is he anyway?” She tried to keep the edge out of her voice. The last thing she wanted was to deal with some spotlight hog. People who needed eyes on them at all times were exhausting. She couldn’t take the way they drained the energy from the room.
Scott frowned. “Nobody told you, huh?”
She shook her head.
“You might not even have heard of him. Cole Velardi?”
Ingrid turned the name over in her mind. It sounded vaguely familiar.
“Don’t freak out, okay?” Scott instructed. “Our team was able to talk to a few people over at the prison. And, I know I know, confidentiality, but we didn’t want to pick somebody with a few screws loose. He’s reformed and all. As reformed as a school shooter can be.”
Stiffening, she tried to figure out what to make of this information. A fizzling spark of anxiety snapped and popped in her bones. “School shooter?”
Scott shut his eyes tightly again. “Darn it,” he muttered. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
Ingrid stared at him.
He shook his head and opened up his eyes, scanning the crowd coming through the terminal door. “Listen, if he isn’t all there, he won’t get picked. But you’ve gotta understand that only people who don’t want to be here anymore are good candidates for the experiment. We can’t have any hesitation.”
“But you want to pair me with a school shooter?”
Scott screwed his face up, without looking at Ingrid. “Not an actual school shooter. They got turned in before they did anything. The guy’s never hurt anybody. Just an edgelord who got a little too excited and cooked up some bombs.”
“I can’t even…”
“Hey, help me look for him. I’m looking for a white guy with dark brown hair and glasses. Oh, and he’s short. We’re looking for a short guy.”
“Of course we are,” Ingrid sighed.
People were still pouring through the door. An elderly couple. A few families. She searched for solitary travelers. Adjusting her bags in the first seat closest to the flight attendant’s kiosk, there was a young woman with purple hair and piercings. In the row of chairs across from her, there was a young couple chattering, a middle-aged woman with bleach blonde hair, and a teenage girl in a hoodie scowling. Where was this guy? Not only was he on her nerves with how much of a big deal everyone was making, but now he was keeping her waiting. And when she did meet him, he’d probably be the irritating sort of human being who laughed at his own jokes and thought he was so intellectual and edgy.
There hadn’t been many edgy kids at Ingrid’s private school. Trench coat wearing weirdos were a decidedly public school phenomena. But there had been two guys in her geometry class who played the part as best they could. They wore black nail polish even though it almost always lost them demerit points or landed them in the Dean’s office. She recalled one spring day in her junior year. The taller of the two-Alex, that had been his name-had raised his hand to ask their teacher a ridiculous question about the ethics of going back in time to kill Hitler’s mother. He’d sounded so disgustingly pleased with himself. The more the girls in class scoffed and rolled their eyes at him, the more graphic his hypothetical murder had become, until the Dean himself was responding to their teacher’s harried page to the front office. And the smug intellectual wannabe had smirked all the way out of the room. What a pain in the ass. Bet this Cole guy is the same sort of smug pain in the ass. How else would a school shooter be?
“Huh,” Scott said. “I don’t see him. Hope he didn’t miss his flight.”
Of course the sort of condescending edgy jerk who would plan a school shooting would also be inconsiderate enough to keep them waiting. Criminey. Why couldn’t she have gotten paired with a woman? Ingrid looked back over the door, and her eyes widened. The very last of the passengers were straggling through, and in the small of crowd of half a dozen. She saw him. That had to be him. Slumped over, eyes on the ground, with longish, unkempt hair, so dark brown it was almost black, coming down past his ears, but not quite long enough to put into a ponytail. He was the shortest in the crowd, barely over five feet. He clutched his stomach and moved slowly.
“That’s him,” Scott confirmed cheerfully. “Come on.”
Ingrid followed Scott in a daze, and they made their way towards the disheveled man.
“Cole Velardi?” Scott asked.
The guy reached out, grabbing hold of the back of a terminal chair and nodded weakly.
“You okay there, bud?”
“Motion sick,” Cole forced out. His words were sharp and stilted.
Ingrid noted that his acne-covered cheeks were a shade too pale. His forehead slick with sweat. Her irritation wavered. Only a little. He looked so small and weak.
“First time on a plane, right?” Scott asked. “Yeah, that happens to some people. Sit down, we’ll take a minute.”
Cole dropped down into the nearest chair and reached up taking hold of his head, his elbows on his knees. Poor thing. He looked like he was about to keel over from nausea. He didn’t look like a mass murderer. His hair could use a good wash. His jeans were faded and ill-fitting, much too big on his small frame. His boots were untied, and his glasses were slipping down his nose. He looked like a typical geek, especially wearing that stiff blue dress shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck. It looked odd with his jeans and boots. He appeared to be an awkward, timid guy. He didn’t look violent. And not a hint of black nail polish.
“At least you didn’t have a long flight,” Scott offered. “Ingrid here had an eight and half hour flight. She came all the way from California.”
Ingrid tried to smile, but her mouth twisted. She didn’t want this guy Cole to know anything about her or where she was from.
Looking up at her, his deep brown eyes red and shimmering, he gave a weak nod.
Ingrid’s throat tightened and her mouth went dry. Very dry. Something fluttered…tightened…he was so cute and small. She was struck by something unexpected in his eyes. She had the feeling of suddenly being privy to something very genuine, but also very sorrowful. This man had the type of eyes that were wholly expressive. She felt her lips part and she struggled to say something.
And then, his eyes flicked away. He broke the eye contact and pushed his hands down into his pockets.
Irritation prickled at her. He was brushing her off?
“Surprised you’re not on the no fly list,” she said. She heard how passive-aggressive she sounded. She needed to dial it back, but only a little. “I mean, you know they’re so strict with that thing.”
Scott turned to give her an odd look. She kept going.
“Sounds like we’re stuck with each other. I’m Ingrid and to be honest, I’m not exactly thrilled with your history.”
Cole’s eyes narrowed. He stiffened. His eyes didn’t leave his lap as he muttered, “Nice to meet you too, Ing.” His words had a tinge of sadness to them.
Her irritation ebbed. He looked so pitiful. Maybe she shouldn’t be so mean to him. Did the first words she spoke to him have to be so hostile?
Scott looked from one to the other, not saying anything.
“Nobody calls me Ing,” she managed lamely.
Cole took a shaky breath, still sweating and clutching his gut. The thought came again: poor guy.
“I suppose you can call me Ing though,” she murmured. “It has a neat ring to it.”
Cole turned his head, giving Scott a pointed look. “Is she with your company?”
Shaking his head, Scott replied, “No, Ingrid is the other candidate. If you both turn out to be good matches, you’ll undergo the experiment together.”
Something new settled into Cole’s features as he looked back in her direction. He didn’t look directly at her face, although he appeared to be appraising her.
“What?” Ingrid demanded.
Wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow and rising slowly to his feet, Cole shrugged. He picked up his own bag and then extended his hand, gesturing to the three bags slung over Ingrid’s arm. Without thinking, Ingrid handed two of her bags to him and he threw them over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” Cole answered finally. “Sorta thought you’d be a man.”