Time and Space

Welcome to 2058

When Paul awoke, he was in a very nondescript room – a hotel he thought. Like any hotel room you have ever stayed in, lacking only a door. A small television, microwave, and fridge along one wall, a king sized bed and desk on the other side of the room, a small bathroom, was all there was to it.

Paul sized it all up from the foot of the bed he had obviously collapsed on. His head hurt, and for a moment he thought he had drunk too much and made it here on his own. Suddenly the memories of the violent confrontation from the night before flooded back to his mind. He sat upright, afraid at first to touch, say, or do anything. Was it just a dream? The tender spot on his bicep told him it was real. Paul decided to snoop around. His suitcase was on the floor beside the bed, and was untouched, as was his wallet, bank papers and passport.

The bathroom was empty, except for the usual amenities. Paul splashed water on his face and as he was drying his face he looked closely at the glass for evidence of cameras. None. He walked slowly past the place where a door usually appears in a hotel room, and looked for any lever or button that would open the door, also without success. As he made his way toward the fridge, Paul realized how hungry he was and he hoped to find anything that would appeal to a man with a hangover. Opening the fridge he found it was fully stocked with fruits, juice, water and milk. In the door was beer, and meat for sandwiches – everything he could hope for. Still more suspicious than hungry, Paul walked to the microwave and T.V. Hitting every button on both, he appeared to be testing their quality, while also confirming to himself that this was real. It still felt like a dream.

Finding a channel with today’s sport highlights, Paul removed some fruit and a box of milk from the open fridge and sat on the bed once more. His new home felt less like a holiday, more like a prison.

An hour or so had passed before a commercial that was especially boring made Paul glace around his cell once more. The desk! Paul almost sprang to his feet as he made his way to the side of the bed and looked through the desk drawers. The top drawer had a laptop and pens and paper in it. Paul emptied these onto the desktop, and turned on the computer. As it was booting up, Paul opened the next drawer and found a file folder with his name on it. It looked official, with a red band around it. Tearing the band off, Paul found it had only three contents: a business card of a local banker, a simple piece of paper with three addresses on it, and a CD. The label on the CD said ‘Insert into Computer’

Paul sat back on the bed and took the computer and set it beside him. Inserting the disk, he leaned back – not knowing what to expect next. The entire scenario was so full of intrigue and mystery. Paul thought about his monotonous, simple life and wondered why he would be treated this way. The thought that it was unreal kept pushing to the fore, like a fat lady in a buffet line. He was a nobody, and had never had opportunity to get on anyone’s bad side, other than a couple of sarcastic remarks now and then – certainly not enough to warrant this type of elaborate ruse. So far it was so Hollywood-esque, there is no way that these things happen to real people.

Paul was a classic multi-tasker and never thought well in a silent room. The commercials on the television were now an annoyance and he continued his ponderance while he switched channels until he found a ball game. The Atlanta Braves were playing and were his favorite team, so he could now turn his full attention to the computer screen while the players took to the field on channel 42.

Expecting something spectacular can be devastating when a computer screen fails to deliver. In this case, Paul’s screen was a simple white screen with a list of options in black type on the left side of the screen. After all the drama that had happened today, he expected a video play-back, or a Powerpoint presentation with graphics flying in from all angles. A cursor blinked at the bottom of the screen, and there were four choices on the left: WHO, WHERE, WHEN, and HOW.

Although video would have been nice, these four words were exactly what Paul was thinking, save for the biggest question – why.

He reached out and hit the number 1, it seemed logical to start at the beginning. The cursor moved up a line and text appeared immediately. “My name is D and I am here to help you”. Paul scratched himself, and let out a little chuckle, like anyone ever helps you by kidnapping you and dumping you in a cheap hotel-room. Another line of text seemed to read his thoughts “your life was heading in a bad direction and I fixed that, you are safe ”.

Paul waited for more. Nothing. “Where the heck am I?” he said out loud as he reached forward and hit the number two. “Safe from who?”

The screen cursor – or “D” as he called himself – revealed that he was in an office building in Barrie, the address sounded like the historic downtown. And then the cursor stopped blinking. Paul hit the three, and the four, and kept hitting them hoping for more answers. The computer had frozen and was not responding. Paul stood quickly and grabbed the lifeless machine and held it over his head. He poised for a split second intending to hurl it at the floor when the wall disappeared.

The wall behind the headboard of the bed, simply vanished and Paul could see that his room was a small part of a very large warehouse that was empty, except for a pile of indistinguishable goods in one corner and nearby a man standing in the middle of a circle of desks with computer screens and monitors of every kind.

Paul stood bewildered looking out at his captor, who had on simple jeans and t-shirt and was wearing a headphone and glasses. He carried what looked like a small computer mouse, but he never set it down on anything. Paul took a step towards the absent wall, and the man held up his hand.

“The wall is still there” he said. “You can't see it, and we can talk through it, but don't try walking into it, my friend”.

“Who are you, where am I, what is this?” Paul blurted out as he reached out with one hand and touched the wall. He still held the computer in his right hand and he slowly lowered it to the bed as he stood with his mouth gaping open.

“Well, I have already answered the first two of your questions, but I suppose there is no harm in repeating myself” the man had a smile that was quite disarming, and he walked toward Paul and sat in a swivel-chair outside his desk enclosure. He moved slightly closer to Paul's prison as he talked and Paul could tell that he was an outgoing man, with a loud voice that carried, although he made efforts to speak quietly. “You can call me D, and this is a warehouse in downtown Barrie. I hired some thugs to bring you here, and I am quite sorry if they were rough on you, but you needed to come here, and I needed to have you here. I know you will think that this is all for my own selfish gains, but it is very much for your own benefit as well.”

Paul let out a sarcastic chuckle, and sat on the bed.

D continued, “again, I can't tell you how sorry I am, but if you look at the television in your room, I have some data for you.” Paul turned around, and the Braves game was over. The commentators were talking about the game highlights, and then they stopped. The two men on the screen addressed Paul directly.

“Paul, in the year 2008, your wife left you, and you sold your house.” Of course this caught Paul's attention and he stared intensely at the screen hardly believing what he saw and heard. The commentators continued, “after that you moved to a small town near where you grew up. You did nothing but work at a dead-end job, selling tires - until the day that your mind convinced you that your boss was trying to push you out of the company.”

The other one chimed in with his color commentary: “And why not Jim, look at the pace he was setting. Why in just five years he was assistant manager of a tire shop in nowhere-ville. You can't ignore that kind of commitment, you gotta focus.”

The Original commentator didn't miss a beat, he continued “that's right, you bought a gun, registered it in your own name and went to work and not only killed your boss, but his wife who was there to see him. You then felt so much remorse that you turned the gun on yourself.”

Color man: “Jan 7th, 2014 was your last breath, that's really gotta make you think, doesn't it Jim?”

The television turned itself off and Paul was left sitting and staring at a blank screen. There were so many questions in his mind. How can they know what happens and talk about it as if it were the past? If his last breath was taken, why is he breathing? Paul instinctively put his right hand on his heart when he thought this last question. He mouthed the word “Why” over and over without saying it out loud. Paul had forgotten about his ‘host’ and was trying to wrap his head around this new development when D said something.

“It's 2058 Paul.”

Paul turned around slowly and faced his captor. “It's what?” he asked, not even understanding the statement – it might as well have been said in Japanese. “No, it's impossible. I never fired a gun – I can't be that guy, I'm normal, just a normal guy.”

“Nobody thinks they are ‘that guy’ but someone has to be. Our history is flawless, and your history is a matter of public record. The year,” said D “today is January, 2058. I brought you into the future to save you from your past.”

There had to be a bright side, but Paul could not see anything right now. He slowly turned from the invisible wall and laid back down on the bed. He needed time for this to sink in – it was a lot to be hit with. As he laid there he knew something was different, he knew he wasn't home – he could sense the difference in the air. The food tasted different, the props in the room were too perfect to be normal. His eyes closed and he thought about praying, but fell asleep instead. Even his dreams seemed fake now.