by J. E. Cammon
Footsteps behind the thick, metal door made the people about to attack him slink back into the shadows. A jaundice column of light split the darkness, pointing from the opened doorway. There were two people, just like last time. The woman was dressed in clothes that didn't say Detective, but she had shown him her badge as proof. The man's attire didn't say Officer, either, but his identification at least was pinned to his chest. His shoes were shiny and his clothes all matched. He was dressed identically to a bunch of other policeman he'd seen when they had brought him into the building.
“Hey, Caster,” the crewmen said as he approached. He was always the last to work because he always took the later train; he took extra time to access the archives every morning. But they couldn't start until everyone had arrived. It was only fair.
It was morning when he woke up, and the Detective was there waiting. She didn't look happy.
“What is that for?” Caster asked. The lab, it turned out, was filled with all sorts of inventions, big and small, but what interested him the most looked more like a sculpture than anything else. It had huge, circular rings, each smaller than the next, fit into each other. And in the very center was a fist-sized aperture, like an eye. The Machine was sitting near a glass wall covered in pictures.
“Excuse me, Mr. Knox?” the Nurse said. “You have a visitor.” Caster knew who it was before he turned around.
The Clerk sighed, finally stepping from behind the counter and walking up to the customer who was taking his sweet time.
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This was an exercise in challenging msyelf to write about something I don't much like: time travel. I like the latest product though, a simple man with the complex ability to step through photographs.