Interference (Chapter 8)

((This is the last segment of Interference to date. I'll get back to it, but... for now, this is all I've got. :( Thanks for reading. Encouragement helps. ^^' Finishing Interference is one of my New Year's resolutions.))

September 15, 2089

Dear Diary,

Last night was the most magical night of my life. I had spent years dreaming about that day, and although it wasn’t exactly how I expected it, it was beautiful all the same. After these long four months, Alexander and I have said our vows. We've joined our families, and became one and intertwined with each other for the rest of our lives.
I spent the week with my family and friends and Alexander, as we put together the final touches of the wedding day. I thanked them all for being so supportive and understanding in the frenzy that was our planning. There was more family surrounding me then I'd even remembered seeing as a child. They were wishing me congratulations, pouring gifts upon us, wishing us good, praying and loving and giving wisdom.
As busy and stressful as it was, I had never been happier. This was the best time of my life. There was only one dark spot in the entire week.
I'd had a nightmare, the night before the wedding, September 13. In it, we lived in a luxurious mansion, some place I would have never chosen myself, with rustic decor and constant dim lighting. I was calling out for Alexander, and I was led to him by the sound of his shouting voice. I had never heard him so angry before. The dream was so vivid that I could feel my heart pumping loudly, rapidly in my chest, as I heard Alexander's voice raise, higher and higher, behind a giant wooden door. I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling, and I saw him screaming at a child, someone I'd never met in my life so far, and yet someone I felt intricately connected to in the dream. As the man I thought was my husband began to lift his hand, and I sped in front of the child, staring shocked into this monster's eyes. What had become of him?
He didn’t stop, and as his hand threatened to slam into me, I shot up, awake, unable to breathe. Immediately, I started to pray, asking for these thoughts to be taken away, praying that none of that nightmare would become true. It was just me being tempted to doubt, wasn’t it? God had given me this, He’d finally revealed the person I was meant to be with forever. There was no way to take that way.
The bad feeling hadn’t faded, but I still went back to sleep, gracefully dreamless sleep, which left me rested in the morning. It was the dawn of what would be the beginning of my life as Michelle Elaina Abbort. I prepared for it all day, and then the time arrived for us to go to the church.
When I finished preparing, and I stepped right outside the entrance to the sanctuary, I heard the rich sound of a real, antique organ being played, the music for the ones who walked down before me. My turn arrived, and my father linked his arm with mine, smiling with teary eyes as he walked his youngest daughter down the aisle. I felt all the dread from earlier fade, as my eyes met Alexander’s, as he waited for me to come to him.
I came beside him, and smiled, his expression mirroring mine as the pastor began our ceremony. Only partially listening to him, I dreamed of our future life together. We would be the perfect couple, exactly how we were meant to be, even with our differences. Although we have had, and I’m sure, will have, our disagreements, our arguments, I was so sure that everything was going to be just as tender and sincere as it had been so far. I was so sure that we would live our life exactly as God intended it to be.
“...Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres,” the pastor said.
The words rung in my head, as I applied them to our current and future lives together. Out of the holy word, what I knew was true, and I turned them over and over in my head. This is what love is, I thought. I knew this was how our love was and would be.
“You are to walk by each others’ side,” the pastor said, looking to both of us, before laying his eyes on me. “You are to encourage him and support him and help him in every way,” he said, a seriousness in his gaze, before focusing on the both of us again. “And the two of you walking side by side you will find in this relationship the completeness and fullness that God intended from the very beginning.”
I took Alexander’s hand, knowing he was probably feeling slightly uncomfortable by this point, with our untraditional ceremony. I erased the verses about being “unequally yoked” from my head, for the moment, thinking I would worry about heartbreak later, ignored the oldest members of my family who warned me. I knew this would work. He was perfect for me, I, perfect for him, and we were going to have that completeness and fullness.
“You have expressed a desire to be united in marriage, and I now ask you to take a vow. Do you, Alexander Hector Abbort, take your bride to be your lawfully wedded wife, and do you promise before God and these witnesses, to love her; to comfort her; honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her so long as you both shall live? Do you so promise?”
I briefly glimpsed at Alexander as he spoke.
“I do,” he replied, with such solemnity from him that I’d never seen before, which made me believe it was true. I couldn’t believe this moment was finally here.
“And do you take your groom to be your lawfully wedded husband, and do you promise before these witnesses, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as you both shall live? Do you so promise?”
“I do,” I replied. It was a promise I was determined never to break.
“Do we have rings?”
The ring bearer, my four-year-old nephew, my sister Amelia’s son, approached us with the rings. The room seemed to lighten a little at the sight of him. I even smiled as we each took our respective rings.
“I, Alexander Hector Abbort, give you, Michelle Elaina Nichol, this ring as a symbol of my endless love and commitment to you,” my nearly husband said, as he slipped the ring upon my anxiously awaiting finger.
“And I, Michelle Elaina Nichol, give you, Alexander Hector Abbort, this ring as a symbol of my endless love and commitment to you,” I replied, sliding the ring onto his finger.
“As a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has brought together let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.”
Alexander lifted the veil from my face and we kissed, sealing our marriage in view of God and all our witnesses.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
I looked at my new husband, in a daze, like the times in the park, all the wonderful days we’d spent, and seeing our life ahead of us. He looked back at me, smiling gently, as our family gathered around us.
Following tradition, we took pictures, real photographs, printing them and storing them for safekeeping at the church before we all headed to the reception. I scurried through the church, trying not to trip over my long, white, wedding dress, to the bathroom to change. I stared at myself in the mirror, this bright, smiling version in me in my angelic apparel, white as winter with a full, flowing skirt, detailed with tiny beaded flowers and lace over the bodice. I couldn’t believe that I was now a wife, to the most wonderful man in the world. He had to be made for me. He was made for me, and I for him. I silently prayed of thanks to God as I stepped from the mirror into a stall to change. The grateful words in my head felt strange, and the images from my nightmare, that had felt thousands of miles away ten minutes ago, flashed in my mind. I tried to remind myself, it was only a nightmare. I carefully slipped out of my dress, touching the silky fabric as though it were sacred, storing it safely, before changing into another one, just as white and elaborate, but much easier to move in.
A whistle of joking attraction greeted me as I exited. “Your husband is one lucky man,” said Natalia. I chuckled lightly as I started for the door with her. She laughed with me, and I remembered all those days we’d spent throughout the years, arguing and dreaming simultaneously about this day.
After one of our arguments, Natalia finally let me have my peace. She didn’t want a guy, or so she said, and if she ever had one, she didn’t want to get married; she just wanted to go through her life independently, and never let anything get in her way. I, on the other hand, may have agreed that we didn’t exactly need guys, but I still wanted to find the “one”. As much as she tried to convince me that I had to search for him, or as much as she tried to talk my head out of the clouds of fantasy, future life, I went on exactly the way I always had.
“Alright, so I don’t think I’ll want to get married in the future, or, at least I won’t need to, but if you want to, that’s fine. Go ahead. I’ll be happy for you.”
And now everything I’d dreamed of had come. And she kept her promise. I didn’t think it was unlikely that she would soon follow my footsteps, in one level or another.
My husband was now waiting in the long, sleek hovercar. I wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to ride in a limousine on wheels. But I didn’t care for the thought at that moment, when I stepped inside and looked into his eyes, and I was sure that was my future.
We held hands lovingly, chastely, as we were driven to the reception hall. Somehow, the silence was perfect, devoid of unnecessary conversation, as though we could read each others’ minds in the midst of our daze of love and togetherness. As soon as we got to the reception, however, it was impossible to be quiet. Dancing (both wild and slow, silly and sentimental), music, playful familial embarrassment from my side, rowdy conversation overtook us, and even my typically aloof husband seemed to be opening up.
My favorite part of the reception was when I danced for the first time as a wife. The soft, acoustic song that was played for us the night we got engaged was, appropriately, the one we danced to for the first time as a married couple. It was now my favorite song, and it would forever be our song in my mind.
Though the night was mostly light, the intensity of Alexander’s elusive past still managed to catch up with us, taking the form of his father, one of the few living Abborts attending our wedding. When everyone had started leaving, things beginning to tone down, as we ourselves prepared to go, he approached us. The man himself, though in a high, would-be honorable position politically, seemed sort of shady. Alexander darkened as came to us, trying to make our exit quicker.
“I’d like to congratulate you,” he said to us, standing in front of us, forcing us to stop. My husband nodded.
“Thank you,” he replied, curtly, ignoring the artfully bundled package in his father’s hands, a gift, I assumed.
“Take this. I’m sure you’ll be needing it soon.”
They shared a look I didn’t understand, asking and answering questions I didn’t yet know about.
“Good night, Alexander. Michelle,” he said to us politely, before leaving faster than he had approaching us. The vague exchange between father and son left me feeling quite unsettled, but I decided not to bring it up, as we rode in a different kind of silence to the place where we would spend our wedding night.

Troy

I closed the journal, unable to read any further at this moment. Not only was the next segment of her entry uncomfortable, but it reinforced all the fears that my mother wanted to ignore the day of her wedding. I knew I had to get to her before they would marry, before they would even begin a relationship, or else there would be no way for her to succeed.
Maybe the place Kainni and I had found was safe, though completely with its own set of terrors, but safe from the ones of the future. Yet it was incredibly selfish for me to stay here, when there was a possibility, though slim, that I could rescue someone, anyone from the kind of torture that my father put upon them. Especially my mother. I tried to keep down the memories, but it was like swallowing vomit, that would eventually come up and out, no matter how hard one tried.
Blood, screaming, shouting... falling, bruising, punch, kick, hit...
Her, standing in front of me... her, taking the fall...
The details managed to escape me. I couldn’t break down in the car with this man, this man so generous that I hardly knew. Not now. I had to save it. I had to... all the while, I knew, what I had to do, was the best I could do. I was only keeping others safe, I was only preventing further pain.
The knife, raising... in and out, blurry, unfocused... red... red... pooling on the ground... tears, crying... last words whispered...
I could never remember them. I could never remember exactly what she told me, at least not now. My hands were holding my head now, and I knew I was shaking, vague flashes of images coming in and out of my mind, as hard as I tried to keep them away.
“Hey, Troy? Hey, are you alright?” said Matt, trying to get my attention from the wheel, hopefully not looking away from the road to become aware of my condition. I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain my composure before I really lost it, sitting up and attempting to get into a less tense position.
“Y-Yeah... I... I’m... fine,” I lied, unconvincingly. Lying well, though I despised it, was one trait I sometimes wished I had.
Mr. Sawyer nodded, and continued driving. We'd had a conversation earlier tonight. He'd just wanted to get to know Kainni and I better, entirely, well, mostly, willing to house us and even his daughter's boyfriend in our times of need. It wasn't something that would happen very often where I was.
"So... are you two from around here? I'm just curious."
I shrugged. I had really wished Kainni had been down there with me at the time, because she was better at these sorts of things.
"Uh... just a little... ways away," I replied, as confidently as I could. He nodded.
"Well, I hope we can help you guys out as much as possible. You two can stay as long as you need to," he said. I tried to respond appropriately. It was so great of someone to do this. But I didn't want to be a burden to him, and more so, the thoughts of my mother kept creeping in. I had a ridiculous, unrealistic hope, that maybe, just maybe, I could still save her.
After all, Kainni's manual had said that one party gets the worst of the damage from time machine interference. I'd only snuck a glimpse of it when she'd dropped it the other day. That day had seemed weeks behind me. If there was any chance of saving her, I had to jump at it.
While I pondered these things, I absentmindedly answered Terra's father's casual, non-probing questions, though I was beginning to feel thoroughly probed toward the end of our discussion, for the simple purpose that I wasn't answering any of these questions honestly.
Kainni had come down at the perfect moment. I couldn't take this "small talk" much longer. I was good at conversation, and was much worse at giving false answers in one. I tried not to think of her face as I left. I told her the circumstances. And she was much safer, better off, without me. I... I would see if I could fix her machine too, see if she could head to where she needed to be. Otherwise my attempts at this journey would only be benefitting my mother and myself.
I was quite sure of why she was here. Her purpose was perhaps more noble than mine. The... technology... at my mother's time had not been developed enough for her to hypnotize anyone else. The only way she had been able to write the journal was all of her lapses in between... sessions. I swallowed, trying to keep back all the images in my head again.
"We're here," said Mr. Sawyer, cutting the engine on the car and unlocking the doors. He opened his door and made his way to the trunk, pulling out the travel bag of meager belongings I had collected the past few days. He carried it to Mrs. Sawyer's house, knocking on the door once, gently.
She arrived at the door a few moments after that. She looked the same as we'd come to see her the days before.
"Special delivery," said Mr. Sawyer, lightly. I chuckled nervously, though my current particular seriousness rendering me nearly incapable of feigning humor. Terra's mom smiled weakly. "Welcome back, Troy," she said, in her quiet voice.
"Nice to see you again, Matt," she said, regarding her husband? with a polite nod. I took the bag of necessities as Mrs. Sawyer held the door open. I walked tentatively to the guest room, while Terra's parents spoke to each other in low voices. They never seemed to speak any louder than a sensitive whisper, even in casual "conversation". I set down the bag on the floor as I stepped inside the familiar room. In my head, I saw Kainni there, I saw her hand snatch back the journal, remembered us on the bed, reading the sad novel, saw her talking, and me listening, like a old-time movie montage. D
Despite the fact that we had only recently "met", we had known each other a long time ago. And the few days we'd had together made it seem worth that wait to see each other again. I almost felt caught up with her. But I knew we really weren't. I knew there was so much more we needed to say. Words I couldn't bear to speak. Things she wouldn't want to hear.
I was entirely sure of the reason why we couldn't remember each other. Even after this too short time together again, I knew it would be easier to just go, if possible. I didn't know what she saw in me, despite our previous friendship, but there wasn't much in me to see. And if this went on any longer, I knew what would happen.
Maybe this different time could give us different fates, but I was still as much Troy Abbort here as I was in the future. I was still as capable, still as likely, to become /him/ here, as I was there. I knew what would happen if I stayed.
A door softly shut, signaling the leaving of Terra's father. I heard light, yet trudging footsteps enter another room, not a sound coming as her door shut, secluding herself once more.
Soon, it would be the time of opportunity. In my head, I made a map of the city I've seen, and the way to get out, the way to get to the forest and the freeway.


Kainni

After Troy and Mr. Sawyer left, I idled myself in front of the needless television, while Terra spoke with Shane. She'd helped him out of his room, and they'd eaten, while I pretended my appetite didn't exist, the second loss of Troy so present in my mind. It was not guaranteed, I reminded myself. I could still stop him.
I would, I could, I WOULD, stop him. There was no need for me to be so dramatic. I could do this. I knew how he felt about his mother. And now I understood. I burned, seethed, with an even stronger anger, fury toward Alexander Abbort, where I now knew all the blame rightfully belonged. Maybe my feelings for Troy were selfish; I knew his mother... if he saved his mother, he truly would be saving everyone. Nevermind that the same could have happened to another woman like Michelle. Even so, I might still be able to know the story. I could go back and prevent it too, if I knew of what happened before. If I were even able to... to remember that. Those blank spots in my memories, where people might have been, the things that I'd read were not just my own problem, came to mind. How many loved ones had I already lost?
I shuddered at the thought. What a terrible world. There had to be something I could do. Terra had retreated to Shane's room with him. I turned off the T.V., and as quietly as possible, I climbed halfway up the stairs toward her room. But I realized that this would be futile. What would it matter if she was related to me? What could I do if she was? Tell her to tell her child to tell her child and so on not to go to the government leader’s residence at “x” time in the future? I don’t think that would go over very well. I hesitated for one moment before continuing back down. No, there was no point in violating her privacy any longer.
Even if she was, maybe there really wasn’t a point. I bolted down the stairs now, my goal being the front door, when I heard the unmistakable sound of tears from somewhere in the guest room’s hall. It’s none of my business, I reminded myself.
But it wasn’t from inside the guest room.