"It's time to change the present."
Those were the last words he said to me before I tentatively moved into the void. Those few steps were accompanied by a slight dizziness and tightness in my chest. I had only experienced the sensation once before, when my father had been taken against his will, in the night. I was a child then, only nine years old.
As I step over the shimmering blue threshold, I am enveloped in darkness, and my dizziness becomes disorientation. A few seconds later, the darkness dissipates, and I am surrounded by finely pressed suits and dress shirts in an array of dull colours, accompanied by the faint odour of cedar from the moth repellent rings on the hangers of each. I'm where I'm meant to be: John Arnold's closet.
Faint murmuring comes from the bedroom on the other side of the wardrobe door, the room that also doubles as Arnold's study. I remain crouched while my initial anxiety settles, and the disorientation from my journey diminishes.
The voices belong to a man and a young boy, father and son. Arnold's son is not meant to be here. As I reach down to my right hip and feel the cold metal of the concealed weapon, the tightness in my chest returns.
The presence of the boy cannot be allowed to hinder the mission; too much depends on this. I stand, careful not to rustle the surrounding garments, and put my left hand on the door handle. With my right, I reach for the weapon and draw it. I push the handle down, opening the door, and step into the room with my weapon raised.
The scene I am greeted with heightens my anxiety to new, intolerable, levels. I aim my weapon at the suddenly ashen face of John Arnold.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Arnold manages to stutter through his mounting fear.
I should have pulled the trigger by now; my mission should already be complete. My hand starts to shake, and I feel perspiration pricking on my forehead. Arnold, as predicted, is sitting at his desk. What had not been anticipated was his son sitting on his lap as they looked through an old photo album.
My hand is shaking more than ever now. I look directly into the eyes of Arnold's young son, and my stomach almost lurches into my chest.
"Take anything you like. I have money in a deposit box, I can get it for you. Just, please, don't hurt my son!" cries Arnold, as he wraps his arm tightly around his son.
"Don't move, Mr. Arnold. I am not here to hurt your son, and I am most certainly not here to take your money."
I've missed my chance, I should have fired the gun; He should already be dead.
Arnold's son looks up into the dark barrel of my weapon, speechless and sickeningly pale. From the pre-mission briefing, I know he is only six years old.
"Why are you here, then? What could you possibly want from me?" he asks.
"Mr. Arnold, I was sent here to remove you from history." I manage to say, trying to hide any signs of my growing reluctance to complete my mission.
"I don't...I don't understand," Arnold mumbles, his face full of confusion.
Slow, round tears roll from his son's eyes as he looks up at his terrified father's expression. Suddenly, memories of my own father flood into my mind, vivid images of our camping trips to Acadia national park. Hiking side by side to the top of Cadillac Mountain on a crisp spring morning to see the sun rise in the east. My hand falls to my side, I can't hold up the gun anymore. I exhale in defeated exasperation. I can't do this; a child should never witness their father's death.
I fall to the floor in a heap and stare across the room at the pair. Arnold hasn't moved, still trying to comprehend the events of the last few minutes. He lifts his son from his lap and impels him toward the adjoining bathroom.
I position the gun non-combatively to my side as tears sting my eyes. It was so simple; the plan was watertight, or so we'd thought. I have failed everyone.
Arnold walks towards me, regaining his composure more with each step. To my surprise, he drops to the floor and sits opposite of me, still trying to put the pieces together and make sense of my presence.
"Why are you here?" He says more sternly now. With an edge to his voice as he senses he is gaining the upper hand.
"I was sent to kill you, Mr. Arnold, to erase you from history," I say, violating almost every rule I have learned about such interactions. It doesn't seem to matter now.
"Kill me? But I am a nobody, you must be mistaken."
"Who you are now is irrelevant, Mr. Arnold, this concerns what you will be. You are considered by many to be the greatest threat to unity on Earth."
Arnold's eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he leans away from me, newly sensing the anger burning inside of me. "If that is the case, why didn't you kill me? You most certainly had the opportunity."
My eyes pan to the closed bathroom door, and my chin falls a few centimeters closer to my chest.
"Your son wasn't meant to be here, Mr. Arnold. Our intelligence told us you work alone and that you are infrequently interrupted by your family."
"That much is true, usually. Who sent you here?"
I feel my face flush, and my eyes fix more firmly on the door to the bathroom. My heart is jumping in my chest, and I can feel my pulse in my temples. How has it come to this?
"I can't tell you that, Mr. Arnold. Let's just say it is someone who knows you very well, someone who watched your corruption first hand"
Arnold follows my eyes to where my gaze has so firmly fixed; he must sense the anxiety his last question has instilled in me.
"My son sent you, didn't he?"
I raise my eyes to look into his. This is not how this was meant to go. The knowledge that his future brings him power and success is one thing, but knowing that Scott will stand against him will change everything.
"Yes. He left your side to start our resistance when he recognized your crimes against society. Years of political maneuvering subsequently failed, and we were forced to change our tactics. Since then, we have spent many years developing the technology to return to this day."
Arnold's demeanor changes, like a massive weight has pressed down on his shoulders. He shakes his head in disbelief.
"This makes no sense, what can I possibly do to cause this?"
"You're destined to lead this country, Mr. Arnold. You will one day be President. "At the time of your election, crime in society will be spiraling out of control. In an effort to curb this, you will use your power to authorize the adoption of genomic sequencing technology to isolate individuals with aggressive genetic traits. Prisons will be filled with the innocent on your watch."
Arnold's face becomes flushed, and veins stand out on his neck. He rises to his feet, his disbelief and confusion seamlessly transforming to anger.
"This is ludicrous! You're lying! You expect me to believe you have come back from the future to kill me because I imprison the innocent for a semblance of peace in this country? I'm a lawyer; it is against everything I believe."
"You will be convinced, Mr. Arnold; you are nothing if not malleable."
"You don't know anything about me!" Arnold bellows at the top of his voice. I notice out of the corner of my eye the door to the bathroom open slightly. I can faintly make out a shadow through the crack; Scott is watching.
I need to think of a way out of this situation, quickly; the notoriously short temper of John Arnold is on display in front of my very eyes. Scott has described to me his sudden bouts of anger and the irrational decisions Arnold has made in the heat of the moment.
"Scott has told me all about you, Mr. Arnold; I am fully aware of what you are capable."
With that, something snaps. He launches himself at me as I sit on the floor. I raise my hands to stop him, but his weight pushes me flat against the wooden floor and holds me down. The muscles of his neck are taught with rage, and his eyes are bulging with intensity.
"You do not dictate my future! Your lies are the ravings of a mad man! You broke into my house and confronted me. You held a gun to my head and threatened me with death. You have no right."
I can feel his weight shifting as he moves to wrap his fingers around my neck. I struggle, freeing my hands and flailing them to claw at his exposed face. He exerts more pressure on my neck, and I can feel my extremities tingle as I struggled to take a breath. My hand connects with the cold metal of the gun to my right. While Arnold presses harder on my throat, I try to reach for it. Finally, my fingers close around the barrel, and I manage to swing it in an arc towards his face.
His weight shifts, and he falls to his right as he grabs hold of my flailing arm. I roll with him, trying to shift my weight to gain a foothold in the fight. However, the momentum of the roll carries me over him, and my hand strikes the wooden floor with a sickening crack, sending the gun sliding out of my reach.
I scream in pain and curl into a tight ball, holding my shattered hand. As I look up through the stars of pain that cover my vision, I see Arnold standing over me. In his right hand, he holds the gun that I had brought to end his life in order protect the future. I stare at the weapon for some time, tears filling my eyes once more.
"You won't be telling anyone about this. You were quite obviously the wrong man for this job," Arnold says, spittle spraying from his mouth in his uncontrollable rage.
Suddenly, an idea rushes into my mind like a runaway train.
"I will remain here and prevent you from becoming the man you are destined to become. I have nowhere else to be!" I shout back at him, baiting him as best I can in my weakening position.
"You detained my father because of his genes. He'd never committed a crime; he never even had a parking ticket! You and your scientists decided he was too much of a risk to walk the streets. You took him from me!"
He raises the gun and points it at me. Now it is he that is filled with anxiety, and his hand that shakes. I can see his anger continuing to build.
"You don't have it in you, Arnold. You're just a puppet."
The shot rings out in the confines of the small room. I'm suddenly aware of warmth spreading across my chest and down the right side of my abdomen. I look down to see the small smoking hole in my chest surrounded by dark red blood staining my shirt. My breath immediately becomes labored and painful.
I look up into Arnold's eyes. His anger has rapidly dissipated to be replaced by fear and realization.
"You're done, Arnold" I manage to say.
I hear the door to the bathroom creak open, and Scott comes running out. He reaches out for his father.
"You shot him Daddy! why did you shoot him?"
I look at Scott, the boy that would become my friend and share my passion for equality and justice. The same man that sent me here to halt a future that treated both with contempt.
As my senses dull, I become aware that Arnold is looking out of the room, down the hallway. A banging noise is coming from downstairs, accompanied by shouts of "Police!"
I'd realized that everything Scott had told me about his father was true. All I had to do was push the right buttons, and he would make a rash decision. My fading mind is content that after this; Arnold will never be able to take up an elected office. He'll be lucky to avoid a jail term. With an unidentifiable body found in his bedroom with bruising on its neck and a bullet hole in its chest... in a house with no signs of forced entry. Self-defense will be difficult to argue.
Then my world becomes dark again, mirroring the darkness that welcomed me as I stepped across the void at the beginning of my journey. My last thoughts are of Scott and his future; I just hope I've done enough.