The Door to the Past

The Door to the Past

The photo had suffered from the years, tattered from being carried by Milton, who liked to have it next to him in a pocket, as if that somehow maintained the connection better. In it, Darla was leaning against a little convertible, her bright smile painfully youthful. Twenty years on, it still broke him, seeing her face.

He placed his hand atop the shirt pocket just to make sure it was there, to make sure she was with him, as he stood looking at the door’s frosted-glass pane. Behind it, shadows moved, and lights flickered, but nothing was clear to the eye. It was the door to the past.

“Mr. Williams, is everything okay?” Dr. Wynn said, her voice tinged with corporate concern.

Milton nodded, paused to feel certain of his voice. “How does it work?”

“Through some very complicated and proprietary technology, to be honest. But we’ve designed it with a simple door that swings open from the past to give our customers a sense of familiarity. Time travels forward, so a person from the past can come here, but we can’t travel back there. It’s gone to us… but not to the people who live in that time.”

“But I can get a message to her… you’re sure?”

Dr. Wynn was used to this question, to the doubts about the technology. “Yes, quite sure. You simply write out a message to the person from your past and slip it under the door. The door, of course, is a physical metaphor for a quantum time curve, but that’s exactly why we made it look like a door, so you don’t need to be a physicist to grasp the concept.”

Behind that door was everything he’d lost, the years without Darla, the dreams stolen from him. The love. Milton took a deep, nervous breath. “Let’s proceed.”

Dr. Wynn watched him sign the letter and address it to Darla. He looked at her for approval—they always did—and bent down to slide the envelope under the door. It was whisked away, and that was that.

“What now?” he said.

“Now we wait for her. Sometimes it takes a day; sometimes they don’t show at all. It’s difficult for many people to believe.”

“What if she doesn’t respond? What then?”

“Try again. She has to believe you, but as I told you, you cannot reveal events that haven’t happened yet in her time. That’s very important, a paradox we don’t want to contend with.”

Milton fell silent. The woman he’d lost so many years ago was about to get a message from him asking her to travel in time to join him in the future. Even to him it sounded insane. He’d shared a moment that had passed between them in the letter to assure her it was him, but would that be enough? Would it be for him if the situation were reversed?

Even if he’d been permitted to, how could he tell her that in less than a day she would be dead if she did not walk through the door? He simply wasn’t up to reliving that tragedy.

Loss is devastating, but when coupled with regret it becomes a haunting thing. He shuddered to think that this last chance might not work, that the future would be as empty as these last two decades had been.

He had that helpless look of all of their customers who were trying to connect with lost loves, the bulk of their business. Dr. Wynn mustered a smile, the same she’d used a hundred times before. “Why don’t you wait in the lounge? It’s very comfortable and there’s even accommodation should you wish to lie down.”

Milton shook his head. He wanted to be there when she walked through the door. “I’ll just wait here,” he said, and seemed to mean the exact spot he was rooted to.

“As you wish, but please know the lounge is available twenty-four hours a day. Now, however, I’m afraid I need to leave you, as I have another travel request to process.”

“Is there any way to monitor what’s happening back there… or then, I guess I should say?”

“I’m afraid not. There are limitations when dealing with the past.

Milton nodded silently, and stared at the door, willing it to open.

“Good luck, Mr. Williams,” she said and exited the room.

The next hours were agonizing, each tick of the clock a fretful dagger twisting further and further into him. And then an envelope was slipped under the door.

Her handwriting. Are you serious? You send me a note that you’re in the future and you want me to join you there. What’s going on, Milton? Why are you contacting me like this?”

He scribbled a reply imploring her to trust him. Just walk through the door; that was all she needed to do! This was their second chance.

But no response came. A short while later Dr. Wynn entered and checked the time, as if that actually mattered in her line of work.

“Mr. Williams, is everything okay?”

“I don’t think she believes me.” Her note hung listlessly in his hand.

Dr. Wynn sighed. “Sometimes we have to go to extremes.” She paused, coming to grips with her thoughts. She penned a quick note and handed it to Milton. She had a fine hand, easily distinguishable from Jackson’s scrawl.

This is Dr. Althea Wynn vouching for the message from Milton Williams as being authentic. Please walk through the door at once. It can’t wait! She even stamped the message with her seal.

Once again, the message was whisked away, but this time there was no waiting. A deafening sound of a massive energy burst shattered the calm, enough energy to enable the door to swing open across time. And there she was, as beautiful and vibrant and alive as he’d remembered. His heart pounded in his chest, and he reached out for her as she crossed the threshold…

But something was wrong, very wrong. The walls of the room curved inward upon him, and he was pulled down and down and down into a blackness as inky and bereft as death, as a hole in space-time formed. He felt as if every fiber in his body was being stretched to unnaturally long strands, every molecule within him squeezed beyond endurance. In the moment before he was sucked away, he saw the look of shock on her face, something like fear… and then he was gone.

The wormhole closed with a snap as Darla closed the door behind her. “Where is he?” she asked Dr. Wynn.

“I sent him into the future, eons and eons into the future. There’s no way he can return.”

“Oh, thank God!”

“I’m sorry about the notes,” Dr. Wynn said.

“Yeah, I was expecting a call,” said Darla. “I’d been practicing for it.”

“I wasn’t sure we could trust your voice, knowing he was your murderer.”

“If you hadn’t told me…”

“But that’s all behind you now, so to speak.”

“Yes,” Darla said, a smile spreading on her face, “Some things are best kept in the past.”

“Or far into the future,” said Dr. Wynn.

Darla’s laugh echoed in the room, perhaps even beyond.

The End