Tuesday, February 7, 2023

Day 38 - A Long Line of Wyatts

A Long Line of Wyatts 
Matthew Ryan Fischer

 
“If I had known all it took to get you into bed with me was to save your life and all of existence I would have done it a whole lot sooner.”
Wyatt made a funny face. He was thinking too much about everything that had ever gone wrong or right between them and was afraid if he spoke he’d be too pensive and not flirtatious enough and the mood would be ruined.
Cassie understood. She knew him well and knew his faces too well
“It’s okay; you don’t have to say anything. Just take it as a compliment.”
“You don’t… You never have to do anything. I just…”
“I know.”
“It’s tough.”
“I know...” Cassie took a deep breath. “I know. I’m well aware. Of all the history and all the implications.”
Wyatt took a deep breath. There was something they had to talk about.
“Cassie…”
“Don’t ask.”
“Ask?”
“About the deal I made with Oslo and the Association.”
“Oh no, I’m well aware that I’m going to hate that.”
“But not me.”
“No. No. Not you. We can talk about that some other day or whenever it is that we have to stop Oslo from doing whatever he’s going to do with whatever you gave him. But, no I need to say something.”
“This sounds way too serious for us not having any clothes on.”
“Probably. But I should have said something before. Before this. It’s not fair what I did.”
“What you did? What did you do?”
“Cas… The Historian changed things. He rewrote things. It’s not fair, because I think I’m your Wyatt and you’re my Cassandra, but…”
“But we can never know.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“It seemed like a big deal.”
“God damn, Wyatt. People change every day. People rewrite their lives every day. And I’m not talking about what we do. I mean, people move, they lie, they reinvent. You think us in New Orleans is the same us as when we were in Los Angeles? You think “us” right now are the “us” before we ripped all out clothes off and jumped into bed? Every choice we make, we change. Everything that happens to us, every moment, we change whether we want to or not. Life is nothing but a million changes out of your control. All you can do is make the choice to hang on each and every time. I knew a million of you when were we together. Every day was a choice to be with the “you” that you were that day. Not the “you” of the past or the “you” of the future. I chose you in the present each and every time. Whoever you were that day. Whoever you were by the end of the day. I rolled with the changes. And you did too, whether you realized it or not.”
“You give really good speeches.”
“That’s not all I give that’s good.”
“Very true. But Cass--”
“No, I’m done talking about this. At least for now. Maybe you’re a monster and I’ll find that out someday. But truth is, the Wyatt from the past that I feel in love with wasn’t always the nicest guy. If that guy didn’t scare me off, I doubt this guy is going it.”
“Really good speeches.”
“You think too much. Now shut up and kiss me.”
 
 
Alexandra and Wyatt watched as the Library burnt.
“Do you think it worked?” asked Wyatt.
“We’re still alive.”
“Yeah, but we’re still here.”
“So some of it worked.”
“Some of it worked.”
“You think the Historian is dead?”
“I think I rewrote his book. I don’t know when or what that would changes that we would notice. If he saw it coming then his precious library wouldn’t be on fire right now.”
“I think Nestor is going to kill us.”
“Which one? The one with Donnie and Ares didn’t seem to remember you or the mission.”
“True, but I still imagine he can’t be thrilled we’d let the Arsonists have free access to a branch of The Stacks.”
“Partial access.”
“Partial?”
“I wouldn’t burn anything truly important.”
“Clever girl. Jesus. Sorry. You’re so much like her. It’s… it’s so easy to be casual with you.”
“No apologies. You seem just like him.”
“I am him.”
“Sort of.”
“So, time lines and paradoxes aside, we sort of did save the space-time continuum from a madman.”
“That we did.”
“So what now? You think our worlds are still out there? That we could find them and get back to them?”
“If The Historian could write enough contradictions down to create this ugly little knot, I imagine some editing could untwist it some. But we don’t have all this books and we don’t know everything he ever wrote. And it could take a life time to track and untangle it all.”
“So you’re giving up? On him? On… we not me but, you know.”
“Wyatt, we broken up. I saved his life a couple times in Vegas, but we weren’t getting back together. If this is my timeline that you’re stuck in, then perhaps he’s stuck in yours. Or who the hell knows. But there’s no guarantee any of this could be fixed and I can’t spend my whole life chasing dreams and false memories about a relationship that wasn’t meant to be.”
“God damn, you’re harsh.”
“I’m not talking about you.”
“Just someone a lot like me.”
“There are a million Cassandras and Alexs and Wyatts and who knows who else out there. I have a life. I’m alive. Maybe everything else I remember is waiting for me back in Vegas. If not, I’ll cross that bridge and figure out the next thing. But as long as I’m moving, I keep moving. Time goes in one direction.”
Wyatt had been in love with Cassandra for most of his adult life, even if he had only been with her for a few scattered years. Would it average a month a year across the decades? Less? Was he missing her or missing the idea of missing someone. Could he change time? Go back? Or would he grow old wishing and searching?
“What are the spellcasters like in Vegas? Lot of unlucky saps trying to win at the tables?”
“Oh my god you’re just him. You probably take in strays and wounded puppies too.”
“People need help, I help.”
“Are you asking for a ride?”
“I guess I am.”
Alexandra smiled. “Onward and upward. I control the radio, you buy the snacks, and we’ll get along fine.”
Wyatt caught a glimmer of Cassandra when he looked into her eyes and he fully understood what fools he and his counterpart had been in this timeline and his own. She was one of the good ones, the ones you hold onto and try not to screw things up with.
Wyatt smiled and Alexandra smiled back.
 
 
Wyatt had read too many pages. He had written on too many pages and made too many edits. His head felt like it was going to split open. There were too many options. Too many realities. There were too many paths and he couldn’t keep them straight.
Time was a mess and there were too many variables. Too many duplicates. Too many possible outcomes. 
Alex had pulled the strings and made a mess and The Historian couldn't see it coming. The Historian had written her out of existence and Wyatt had killed The Historian for that. Alex gave her life to save everything. The least Wyatt could do would be to sort things out and try to put things right.
What should be? What could be? What would be? Who was to say what was right? Who could tell if something was meant to be, or determined through fate or will or effort? Why was fate more important that chance, luck or chaos? Who was he to decide? To choose meant to pick. One over the other. There were so many options and no way to tell what the correct path was. To make one thing right, you had to change something for someone. To make one thing better, it meant someone else missed out on something.
Pick here, tweak there, rewrite a dozen times over.
Time was a stream. A blur. There was no focus. No single option.
He couldn’t stop himself from trying. The timeline was broken and changed so many times. But he was sure he could put it back together. Make it right. Better than right. Better.
That was it. He could make it better.
Wyatt began to write. A little change here. A little change there.
Time slowed, changed, redirected, edited, revised, but flowing. Still flowing. Waves and waves and waves, as the stream flowed out in all directions.
Did it happen? Did he make the change? Did it really happen? He couldn’t tell. It was all in his head, in his dreams and wishes and desires. One more change to make. One more revision. Then another. Then one more.
His book would be the correct one. He had written it down after all. No one would take it from him. No one would stop him. He’d make sure of that. He wrote himself a note to remember to write down that he needed stop anyone from trying. 

 

 
 
 
 
 
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