The Time Traveller (Part Six)

'What will you do?' I asked. 'If Simmington's procedure works, I mean. You'll be stuck in 2025 with no official identity, no history.'

Emily smiled. 'I've lived through the Victorian era, both World Wars, and the dawn of the internet. I think I can manage the bureaucracy of the modern world.'

Joanna laughed. 'We'll help you, of course. You can stay with us as long as you need.'

A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. I rose to answer it, knowing who it would be.

Simmington stood on the doorstep, looking considerably more dishevelled than when he'd left. He carried a small metal case and wore an expression of grim determination.

'You came back,' I said, stepping aside to let him in.

'Did you doubt I would?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'The thought crossed my mind.'

He smiled thinly. 'I've invested too many years in Emily's case to abandon it now.' He hefted the metal case. 'Besides, I'm curious to see if this will work.'

I led him to the kitchen, where Emily stood to greet him. 'You look terrible, James,' she said, her tone surprisingly affectionate.

'Crossing temporal boundaries isn't as elegant as fiction would have you believe,' he replied drily. 'Especially when carrying equipment.'

Joanna cleared the kitchen table, and Simmington placed his case upon it. Opening it revealed an array of devices that looked like nothing I'd ever seen before—sleek, metallic objects with pulsing lights and strange, shifting surfaces.

'What is all this?' I asked, fascinated despite my lingering scepticism.

'Temporal stabilisers,' Simmington replied, removing the devices carefully. 'They create an intense plasma-field that can anchor Emily to this specific point in the time-stream.' He looked up at her. 'Where are the photographs and the watercolour?'

Emily retrieved them from the living room. Simmington took them and arranged them in a triangular pattern on the table, placing one of his devices at each point of the triangle.

'The theory is simple,' he explained as he worked. 'These objects already have a strong temporal connection to Emily. By amplifying that connection and focusing it through these stabilisers, we should be able to create a permanent anchor.'

'Should?' Joanna echoed, concerned.

Simmington's hands paused in their work. 'There are no guarantees in temporal mechanics. He resumed his preparations. 'As I was saying, there are no guarantees. But the alternative is to let Emily continue drifting through time until the fractures become too severe.'

'Or take her to 2027,' I pointed out.

'Where she knows no one and has no connections,' Simmington countered. 'This is what she wants.' He looked at Emily. 'Isn't it?'

She nodded firmly. 'It is.'

The preparations took another hour. Simmington positioned the devices with meticulous precision, occasionally consulting what looked like a pocket watch but which emitted a soft blue glow. Finally, he stepped back, satisfied.

'It's ready,' he announced. 'Emily, please stand in the centre of the triangle.'

She did as instructed, her face pale but resolute. Joanna and I moved to the doorway, watching anxiously.

'What happens now?' Emily asked.

'I activate the stabilisers,' Simmington replied, adjusting settings on each device. 'You'll feel a sensation similar to your usual time shifts, but more... focused. It may be uncomfortable.'

'I'm used to uncomfortable,' Emily said with a wry smile.

Simmington nodded. 'Once the process begins, don't move. No matter what you feel or see, stay exactly where you are.' He looked at Joanna and me. 'The same applies to you. Do not enter the triangle, no matter what happens.'

We nodded our understanding. Simmington took a deep breath and pressed a sequence of buttons on the central device.

The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken. A low hum filled the room, building in intensity until I could feel it vibrating in my chest. The photographs and watercolour glowed with an unearthly light, casting strange shadows across Emily's face.

She gasped, her body going rigid. 'James,' she called, her voice strained. 'It's pulling me—'

'Stay where you are,' he commanded. 'It's working. The anchor is forming.'

The humming grew louder. The light from the photographs intensified, becoming almost blinding. I shielded my eyes, squinting to keep Emily in sight. She appeared to be flickering; her form becoming transparent, then solid again in rapid succession.

'What's happening to her?' Joanna cried, clutching my arm.

'Temporal realignment,' Simmington shouted over the noise. 'Her existence is merging into a single time stream!'

The kitchen was now filled with swirling light, papers flying from the countertops as an unnatural wind circled the room. Emily stood at the centre of it all, her figure shifting between solidity and transparency. For brief moments, I caught glimpses of her in different clothes—Victorian dress, 1940s utility wear, modern jeans—as if all her temporal versions were converging.

'It hurts!' Emily cried out, her voice seeming to come from everywhere at once.

Joanna stepped forward instinctively, but I held her back. 'Simmington said not to interfere,' I reminded her.

The professor hunched over his devices, frantically adjusting the controls. 'Hold on, Emily!' he called. 'The convergence is almost complete!'

Suddenly, the photographs on the table burst into flames—not ordinary fire, but a cold, blue blaze that consumed without charring. The watercolour followed, the paper curling and dissolving into motes of light that spiralled upward, encircling Emily.

'No!' Joanna gasped. 'The photographs—'

'It's all right,' Simmington assured us, though his face was tense with concentration. 'The physical anchors are being absorbed into the process. Their energy is what's binding her to this time.'

Emily's eyes were wide with fear or wonder—perhaps both. She reached out one hand, and I saw it pass through solid matter before becoming substantial again. 'I can see them,' she whispered, her voice barely audible above the humming. 'Charlotte... Emma... they're both here...'

The light reached a blinding intensity. I pulled Joanna against me, shielding her eyes as the humming rose to a crescendo. There was a sound like glass shattering, a flash that penetrated even my closed eyelids, and then—silence.

To be concluded…