I’m not a man of violence. I, generally, abhor violence. How can man advance his culture and society if he resorts to violence? But when it came to my wife, or my children, I’m a damn caveman and I was ready to prove it on Reggie’s face.
I had my captor by his shirt, my fist bunched and pulled back, the burn of confusion, fear, and rage in my core.
I punched him in the shoulder and pushed him away, disgusted at both of us. I turned back to the door and tried to figure it out.
A hand came across my shoulder and pushed two buttons. The ship stopped shaking and the door opened.
I glanced back at Reggie, who had some sort of futuristic gun in his hand. He gestured with it for me to get out.
It was too late.
The van was gone and there was no sign of Corrine. A tow truck was removing Reggie’s muscle car and Corrine of 1999 was sobbing into the arms of her father. A police officer was making measurements and scratching his head.
Reggie brushed past me. He walked over to Corrine and her father. He put his gun to her head.
A bolt of electricity shot out and both Corrine and her father crumpled to the ground.
“No!” I repeated, rage bubbling up through me. Something clicked in my head, and I thrust my arms at the ground. A wave of rage, in the color of indigo, shot out from me.
The next thing I knew, I was being lead away from the scene of the wreck by Reggie. Corrine and Coltrane were arguing behind me.
I spun around out of Reggie’s hold and rushed out of the range of Reggie’s ignorance field. I rushed to Coltrane and Corrine’s side.
“What’s up?” Captain Corrine asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said and decked her.
“What the hell man?” Coltrane said.
I stuck the gun in my belt and slung my unconscious wife over my shoulder. I sprinted back to Reggie, who looked as stunned at Coltrane.
“Take us to your ship.”
Reggie hesitated so I stuck my gun in his face.
He grabbed my shoulder and lead us to his ship.
“This is unexpected, Mr. Wainwright.”
We went to the control panel and I put Corrine into one of the seats.
“I don’t want her here,” Reggie protested.
“Tough.” I finished strapping her in. “You can explain now.”
Reggie punched a few buttons and typed a few codes and three screens lit up.
“This archive picture is of you in 2015, on your way with your wife, to a New Year’s Eve party. In the background, I want you to note the men and women dressed in gold and black.”
I looked as I did now, I expected, although slightly more rumpled in my tuxedo. Corrine looked lovely with her shiny black hair and her flame red dress. We held hands. He zoomed in on the troops.
I studied them.
“Their eyes look normal.”
“Yes. They are not yet dead. The invasion hadn’t started and no group had messed with time or space at that point.”
“So that’s a real piece of history?”
He grimaced at that term.
“Nine tenths of perception.” I finished for him, “So I’ve heard. Why were you trying to kill my wife?”
“That person,” he said pointing, “is not your wife.”
We relived the brief temporal possession discussion that we’d had before, and this time, Reggie added a bit of key information.
“Temporal possession kills.”