A day in the life

Admittedly, the first time Samuel T. Fisher woke up to find himself sitting fully dressed on the foot of his own bed, it was a bit awkward. Sam was not a sleepwalker; the matter of fact was that there was an entirely different Samuel Fisher gazing at our drowsy friend.

“I'm taking over for the day.” this new Sam opened.

“Really? That's it? No 'Hi! How you doing? How's the missus? Oh, by the way I'm you.'? I was hoping I'd be a little more cordial to myself, ya know?”

“Yup, looks like you're a jerk.” The new Sam grinned, causing the other to breathe an internal sigh of relief. If he hadn't played along matters would have been grave. As it was, things had to be pretty serious to even attempt time travel. He trusted his own judgment, though, whatever it happened to be based on.

When Sam emerged from his morning shower he was greeted this time with, “Aren't you going to offer me some breakfast?”

It was this Sam's turn to grin. “So it actually does work that way.” He had been preparing to offer his visitor breakfast at that very moment. This new Sam knew exactly what was going to happen and when. “I guess that means we shouldn't have to worry about surprises.”

“Looks like it. Honestly, though, I just ate so I'm going to head off to work early.”

---

Sam smiled. He had a day off. Sure, he had to work an extra day later on, but he rather liked the idea of an 8-day week with a break in the middle. He couldn't leave the apartment for fear of being seen, but he could catch up on his reading, his grading, maybe even some cleaning. The apartment did need it, he decided. So after a lazy morning he broke out the vacuum. Halfway through vacuuming his living room, his heart stopped when he realized he could probably be heard upstairs. There was too much at risk to even chance that and he cursed under his breath while quickly shutting off the machine.

He knew he should have thought things through more fully before using the time device. He knew any scientist worth his mettle would have told him to destroy the plans and never look back from day one. But Sam really couldn't help it; once the idea was in his head he couldn't stop it. The time device had to be built to prove that it could work. Now that he had used it, he had to do absolutely everything possible to prevent any kind of paradox. It was likely that since time travel was even possible any paradoxes would be prevented by the universe. However, Sam thought it unwise to make any assumptions about the nature of the universe that might result in an end to existence if he was wrong. Besides, even if the universe was paradox correcting, it might just be that the quickest way to resolve any paradox created by Sam would be to kill him off. He rather liked living.

At lunch Sam graded. He smiled as he thought of what his students would say if he told them he could travel through time. He laughed to himself knowing half of them wouldn't even be surprised. He enjoyed playing the part of the mad scientist in class to make things interesting. Enough of them believed the facade that they probably wouldn't think twice if Sam told them he'd broken conventional theory. After finishing his meal and his work, Sam went back to bed. He'd need the sleep for tomorrow, or rather, today.

Around 5:30 the Sam who had gone to work that day came home and woke the sleeping Sam. Conversation is a bit awkward when you know that one party already knows everything that is going to be said, but silence is worse.

“How was work”

“Oh, you know, the usual. How was housekeeping? Did you finish the vacuuming?”

They laughed uncomfortably. No matter if they made fun of it, that had been a big mistake. Sam had to be more careful in the future.

“You know, according to some philosophers, we don't technically exist anymore.”

“Yeah, well, I've never had much respect for those particular theories. They seem to assume that one unique entity can not occupy more than one space.”

“It's good to finally hear that come out of somebody else's mouth. I've been saying that for years.”

After dinner, the Sam who had gone to work undressed and went straight to bed. It had been a few too many hours since he slept. The other put on a special shirt and jacket. He'd installed a video camera inside one of the buttons, just in case. He wouldn't need to use it, the other had told him exactly what to do. It was just good form, he decided, before fastening the last button.

By the time Sam was ready to go, his visitor was fast asleep. Or maybe he was the visitor now. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He took a deep breath and stepped into the bathroom closet. A flash of light and there was only one Sam again.

In the early hours of the following morning, Sam got a phone call. The school was going to be closed for a day or two while they fixed a gas leak.

“It's interesting.” the voice on the other side of the line said. “We have no clue when it started but it appears to be coming from your classroom. You wouldn't have done anything yesterday which could have ruptured a line?”

“Not a thing.” he replied. “I had class outside yesterday.”

“Sounds like you were lucky, then. If the leak started during the day, it could have taken hours to even realize it was happening. You know how many odd smells go though the science hallway. Well, enjoy your day off for what it's worth. Got some extra time to grade it looks like.”

“Thanks.” and he hung up.

Mortimer

To call it a mansion would have, perhaps, been too much. It was certainly a large house with marks of dignity, but of a tired sort. The stretching wooden walls had paled. The immaculate ceilings, while still impressive, held no great charm anymore. It is the kind of house that had given all it had to generations of occupants. In this fashion, the only current resident resembled the house. He too glowed of a lost glory. He lived what some would call a quiet life within its walls; primarily occupying himself with reading and writing. What he read seemed to be a bit of everything. What he wrote was signed in a name that was not his own. Occasionally, he would take leave of his domicile but when he did it would be for a matter of weeks. Very rarely would he have a caller, but when he did they only stayed a matter of hours. The guest rooms had been bare for years.

This particular morning, however, there was an uninvited visitor inside the house. The current occupant was preparing his breakfast at the time. The intruder was slow, almost hesitant in his movements towards the kitchen. He didn't make a sound as he gripped cold metal in his hands in anticipation. The resident, on the other hand, was happily chattering away to himself.

“That fire's certainly burning cheerfully now, isn't it? Now where'd I put that fryer? I could have sworn that I hung it... Oh of course! How muddle-headed of me. Now let's see... two, no four eggs should do it. I should still have enough in the cellar. I shall have to see about procuring some more of those soon, though. Now, I wonder where I could...”

The voice tapered off as the man exited the kitchen in search of his eggs. The intruder began to quicken. Rounding two corners, he found himself in the kitchen. The man had not closed the cellar door. He stealthily entered the dark basement and nestled himself into a corner at the top of the stairs. He drew his firearm and took the safety off. Even if the old man heard the click, he'd just think it was the crack of the fire. All he had to do now was wait.
Suddenly, the door closed and latched behind him.

“Really, boy? Who keeps eggs in a cellar?” came a voice from the other side.

Silence.

“I apologize," said the owner when he realized he wasn't going to get a reply. "I suppose I am really being quite rude. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Mortimer Wilkins, owner of this house. I would ask your name, but I doubt that you would give me a truthful response, given your current situation. However, if you'd like to come out of there and join me in a civilized meal, I'd be happy to oblige. It has been quite a long time since I've had good company, and eggs are really only good when they're fresh.”

Still no response, save some rustling about.

“Oh, I assure you that you're quite trapped down there, I'm afraid. Place is designed to keep cool in the summer, you see. Built right into the earth so there's no direct contact with sunlight or outside air. Right comfortable in the summer... 'fraid it's a bit chilly in the spring, though. Could catch a nasty cold in there on a day like this. Are you sure you won't join me for breakfast?”

There was a silence; then, “Sir, I believe you are confused... or perhaps mad. That you would consider sharing a meal with-”

“Nonsense!” he cut him off. “I see no good reason why two gentlemen such as ourselves couldn't do just that.”

Bewildered by this turn of events, and presented with the reality of his situation, the intruder gave in. “Very well. I would join you for breakfast in return for being released from this prison you've made for me.”

“Splendid! Although I must make sure that my safety is assured upon opening this door. If you would be so kind as to toss your firearm to the bottom of the stairs I will gladly let you out. I won't have you shooting me today.”

“Of course” he replied, quickly undoing his belt and tossing to the bottom of the stairs; the buckle making a satisfying thunk when it hit bottom. “I am unarmed, feel safe to open the door.” When the door opened he immediately fired twice into the opening. When he paused to make out details through the smoke he was met with a sharp blow to the forehead and a quick removal of his gun from his person.

“I told you I wouldn't have you shooting me today. Did you not believe me?”

Silence again. The morning light coming through the kitchen windows revealed the would be assassin for what he was. Young, that was to be certain. Probably twenty five or twenty six. Scruffy too, although by his clothes he tried to appear refined. Unfortunately, they fit all wrong and he was without even a belt. As it was, the best way to describe his appearance was 'out of place'. His body language now mirrored this. He didn't know whether to hang his head or stand in defiance. As it was, he was displaying an uncomfortable mix of the two. It did not suit him.

Mortimer suddenly smiled. “Anyways, our breakfast is getting cold. I hope you won't think me a horrible host but I made your eggs over easy. I know some people prefer them cooked otherwise, but I can't think of a better way to have a breakfast. Please, sit.” he gestured to the empty place at the table as he took his own seat.

The stranger looked at the table, then made a glance at the door.

“I hope you wouldn't think of running out on a warm meal.” Mortimer said, putting his hand on the gun he had taken. “That would be quite ungentlemanly of you.”

The stranger seated himself at the table.

“Now that's more like it!” Mortimer smiled again. “So tell me, what brings you to my humble abode? Oh, and please eat. You look awfully scrawny."