A glitch in time

Leopold Lojka wiped his mouth, feeling a little sweat trickling down his chin. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he eased the car through the crowds. He breathed in –freshly baked goods mingling with the hot dust, sweat, and tobacco, and underneath it all the dampness of the river and the sharp scent of horse sweat and warm leather.

The car entered the Appel Quay, and Lojka’s stomach lurched. He glanced down at his hands still gripping the wheel. He frowned at the sight of a small cut on his left knuckle, fresh. He didn’t remember it.

Lojka stole a glance at the passengers behind him: Archduke Ferdinand, his wife Sophie, the Count. Their expressions were set, impatient, ordinary. No sign anything was wrong. Lojka shrugged and brought his focus back to the road, and the people surrounding them. He saw a flicker of movement at the curb, a person stepping forward, then a hard clunk as something struck the folded roof and bounced off.

Shouts erupted. Then, an explosion that rocked the street.

He yelled, wrenching the wheel. Sophie screamed.

Lojka hit the accelerator, weaving quickly through the scattered people. Behind him – dust, smoke, shattered glass where the motorcade has been.

“Your Imperial Highness, are you hurt?” he dared.

“We are fine,” came the Archduke’s stiff response.

They drove on in stunned silence and reached the Town Hall without further trouble. Lojka escorted his three passengers inside. His hat in his hands, unconsciously twisting it as he listened to Archduke Ferdinand address the gathered officials.

“What a fine welcome you have for me,” the Archduke said.

Nervous laughter in the hall. Heads down, no one made eye contact with anyone for long. Afterwards Lojka saw the Archduke in tight discussions with his staff. The tour was cancelled but a decision was made to visit the wounded in hospital. Half listening, Lojka’s attention fell on someone he hadn’t seen before. A tall man, in a sharp suit. Too modern, out of place, camera bag dangling across one shoulder. He looked calm, collected. In control.

Their eyes met briefly and then Lojka looked away.

He hurried back down to the car, to open it for his approaching passengers. He had missed the full briefing, he started the engine and pulled out, following the car in front. At the first turn looking both ways, he took the right, assuming they were heading back the way they’d come.

“Wrong way!” came a bark behind him.

Rattled, Lojka braked. He tried to reverse, hands shaking. Someone stepped forward from the curb, a pistol gleaming in his hand. Two shots cut the air, one after the other. A gasp from Ferdinand; a soft, collapsing sound from Sophie.

And then Lojka’s stomach lurched- hard- and he was back again, driving the car along the Appel Quay.

He tried not to panic. “Breathe, Lojka,” he told himself. He glanced behind him. There they were, alive, bored, untouched. Like nothing had happened.

The fresh cut on his left knuckle glistened.

Lojka gathered his thoughts, exhaling slow and long. He drove on, watching the gathered faces just as before, the smells of the street drifting up his nostrils. Then came the flicker of movement at the curb. The bomb struck the roof with the same loud clunk and bounced away. Without hesitation, he accelerated. And navigated the car through the throngs as the explosion went off behind him – dust and smoke and screams he already knew were coming.

Within minutes he pulled up safely at the Town Hall, in the exact same spot. He wiped his brow. Around him men ran about shouting the same words, making the same gestures, like lines in a play. Everybody around him moved just as they had before, yet he alone could choose. Testing, he stepped left instead of right. Raised his right arm just to see if he could.

He was the only one who remembered.

So, the question wasn’t if it would happen again, it was what he could change before it did.

Determined not to miss the briefing, Lojka hovered near the knot of officers and listened intently to their discussions. He caught the key detail this time – they were to drive direct to the hospital along the Appel Quay. No turn at the Latin Bridge. He cursed his inattentiveness.

Turning to leave, he scanned the room and saw him – the suited man. The tall figure with the camera bag, too modern for the Town Hall’s dusty air. And Lojka noticed something else. This man moved differently to last time, just like Lojka. But with the air of someone who knew where to be. Their eyes locked again. This time Lojka didn’t look away. For the first time the man frowned, momentarily caught off guard.

Lojka descended the steps and returned to the car, opening the door for his passengers as before. He slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. And with a new determination he drove. This time, at the turn he kept to the Quay – no slowing, no stalling. He allowed himself a smile of triumph.

It was that easy. He had saved the Archduke. Life could return to normal.

He let out a breath, let his eyes focus. Amid the throngs he caught sight of the suited man, too calm, too in control. His gaze not on the Archduke, but the car. And with a thrill of horror, Lojka felt the car slow down. He slammed on the accelerator. Nothing happened. He pressed down two or three times, heel to the floor. The car merely rolled along.

Up ahead, Lojka saw the man in the suit lift a flat, black device to his mouth; he spoke, quick and precise, his eyes never leaving the car.

Lojka was powerless. In the seconds the car slowed another man stepped forward, pistol already raised.

Two shots cut the air like a knife.

Lojka’s stomach lurched. Not again.

The next instant, he was driving along the Appel Quay, his passengers alive behind him. Lojka felt dizzy and sick. What was he supposed to do, if not save the Archduke?

There was little time to contemplate as he eased the car expertly along the road. He waited, knowing what came next – the flicker of movement, the hard clunk of the bomb on the folded roof. Automatically, Lojka hit the gas pedal and took off, scattering people, dust and debris in his wake.

As he pulled up to the Town Hall, his shirt was drenched with sweat. He slipped the car into the spot that had become his own, like the street had reserved it just for him. With shaking hands, he wiped his face with a handkerchief. He wanted to curl in a ball and cry.

But he could not delay. What could he change so time could finally move forward?

He looked to the Town Hall doors, his eyes searching for the suited man.

A cough behind snapped him back to his immediate task. He stepped out onto the footpath, opening the door for Archduke Ferdinand. He bowed deeply.

“Keep your head, Leopold,” he growled to himself. Watch. Listen. He hurried on behind them.

Once inside, his immediate goal was to locate the suited man. Within seconds, he saw the out-of-place figure—the ease with which he moved. The calm expression amid the bluster and anxiety. Unsure of his exact plan, Lojka edged towards him, taking care to keep the Archduke in his line of vision. He couldn’t afford to get his timing wrong.

The suited man was in conversation with an official, murmuring softly. His right hand in his pocket. No doubt holding tight around that black, glassy, thing. The official shifted, glancing away. In the same instant the suited man slipped the device out. Lojka’s breath caught. It was enough.

The suited man turned. Their eyes locked.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man muttered. “Not so close.”

Lojka had the advantage of surprise –but only for a heartbeat. The man’s mask snapped back into place. Calm as ever.

“Who are you?” Lojka demanded. “What’s happening here?”

“You are happening here,” the man replied. “As long as you remember what happens today, it won’t settle.”

The man tried to move forward, but Lojka blocked his way. Impatient, the man said, “Time can't move forward while your memory holds on to this moment.”

“I don’t understand,” Lojka said, frowning.

“You will. Now excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” The man slipped around him, brushing Lojka’s cut knuckle.

Lojka turned to see the Archduke heading for the doors. He hurried ahead to the car. Outside he saw the outline of the suited man turning the corner, towards the river. Breathless, he opened the car for the Archduke, Sophie, and the Count, slid into his own seat behind the wheel. He pulled away too fast.

Count Harrach rapped on the frame, and Lojka eased off the accelerator. He knew what was coming, no need to hurry toward it.

Should he follow the suited man?

What did he have to lose?

Lojka navigated the car with ease along the street, keeping the suited man in his sight. The flat device stayed in the man’s hand; now and then he lifted it to his mouth and spoke.

Lojka needed that device.

At the bridge, on impulse, he braked hard. He jumped out of the car, leaving the Archduke exposed.

“Lojka!” Count Harrach shouted behind him.

Lojka hesitated, knowing the risk he was taking –the price he could pay.

He didn’t look back, running swiftly to catch the man with the suit.

The man turned at the shout. He saw Lojka and immediately pressed a button on the device.

The world slowed. Lojka’s body slowed too, as if he were running through thick mud.

Two sharp, quick shots rang out behind him.

“No!” he gasped as he felt his stomach lurch.

By the eighth time Lojka found himself driving along the Appel Quay, he felt like jelly. His body keeping the score. Each loop left a new cut or ache –proof it was all adding up.

How could he keep doing this forever?

He had spent the last five replays chasing the suited man, to no avail.

This time he was out of ideas.

He weaved the car along, watching events unfold, knowing the exact time each would occur.

His body sagged.

Lojka pulled up at the Town Hall and dutifully followed the Archduke, Sophie, and Count Harrach. This time, he stayed in his place. He didn’t even look up at the suited man.

Walking back to the car, he let a tear fall from his eye. He sat down, chest close to bursting as the dreaded moment approached.

Lojka pulled away from the curb. As he did so, a sudden realisation hit him. The words of the suited man came back.

“You are happening here.” He had said. “As long as you remember what happens today, it won’t settle.”

Bile rose in Lojka’s throat. He knew what he had to do.

He kept his eyes on the road as his mind worked through the steps. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

If he could stop the suited man from further meddling... and let the day take him instead.

All too soon the car turned onto the bridge. Lojka scanned the crowd and saw the suited man. Unbelievably close. Eyes engaged on his device.

It was now or never.

He braked hard and dove out of the car, ignoring Count Harrach’s shout. He reached out, fingers closing round the flat device, pulling it from the man’s grasp.

The suited man looked flustered, scared even. Lojka ran to the parapet, a triumphant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He smashed the device against the stone twice, breaking the black screen, and hurled it into the river below.

“No," the suited man breathed, and stumbled forward to the edge, hands clutching at empty air. He looked down at the foaming river the device already swallowed from view.

Lojka was on the move. Back to the waiting car. Not to drive, but to die in the right place. The Archduke’s car had rolled to a stop, boxed in by the crowd. Ferdinand half-raised in his seat. Ahead, a conspirator stepped out, pistol aiming at Ferdinand's chest.

Lojka shouted and threw himself between the pistol and Ferdinand.

Two shots blasted the air.

And blasted Lojka’s body backwards. Pain drove through him like a hammer. He crumpled to the cobblestone, his breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. He waited for the familiar lurch in his stomach.

To be tugged back to the Appel Quay.

This time, nothing happened.

Shouts and yells surrounded him. Footsteps ran toward him. Blackness enveloped him; the day finally moving forward, leaving Lojka behind.