1971
The papers I am looking at says that this is New York, and the year is definitely 1971. My head is spinning and I cannot remember how to breathe. I fall back to the ground, resting my head on the cold concrete. I must be dreaming and in no time I will be back to my bedroom, and to my warm bed. I exhale slowly, and I repeat in my head over and over again, "My name is Helen and I am from California. And, it's the year 2019". I have to wake up in my own home, but the cold is so real to disregard. The smell of fresh grass and wet soil is undeniable. This place is as real as my own existence. Then, I smell something different; an odor of heavy iron and salt. I implore my tired body to stand up. My arms are weak and my face is cold. I train my eyes to see through the darkness but all, I see are the silhouettes of the trees. I go back to the newspaper again and scrutinize the pages. There is a bold title in the middle of the paper, that I did not see earlier because I was too focused on the date and place. it says "Serial Killer Claims New Victim" A chill runs through my whole body and my heart starts to beat faster. I feel like I am trapped and a familiar fear takes over me. I do not know why I feel this way, but it's like I know things I shouldn't know. These things are meant to be secrets. I pull myself up and I try to balance my weak legs. I look around me, searching for a clue that would lead me out of this nightmare. I walk a few steps when I see the body laying on the ground, unmoving. I move forward until I am standing before the dead body; blood is everywhere and the face is unidentified. The young lady is dead! Then a realization hit me; I have to get out of here before someone sees me. I start to run. I have to be anywhere but here. I cannot afford to be accused of killing someone I do not know. I am in trouble as it is! Trapped in a different time, and a different city.I run into the streets, lights are overwhelming. I try to breathe slowly and join the tide of people. I just keep walking, thinking of different scenarios but nothing can explain this situation. Am I part of a scientific experiment? I think of going to the police, but what would I tell them? I do not even exist in public records; it is freaking 1971 for God's sake!I find an open 24/7 coffeehouse, so I decide to stay there for a while. If I knew me a bit well, I'll find a hidden 20 dollar in my inner jacket's pocket. I buy a coffee and a muffin, and I slid into a booth by the windows. My mind wonders to the park again, where I left the body and the newspaper. I wish I had it with me now! To my good luck, which is an irony looking at my paranormal situation, I see the same newspaper on the table of the booth next to me. So, I grab it and go back to my seat. The Article says "Unidentified suspect is in a killing spree, claiming a new victim. It is the fifth victim to be found in Central Park in three weeks. All five of the victims are females around the age of 25." The body I saw in the park must be his sixth, I think to myself a chill running through my body, "The police department has not shared more information and said that the investigation is still ongoing and some details better kept from the public for the sake of the investigations." The situation is grave! My mind is heavy with thoughts and there is this permanent feeling that I know something I should not know! The clock on the wall says it is around 2:00 am and the coffeehouse is now empty. The lady working the night shift is cleaning cups. I look back through the windows and wonder if my parents had already noticed my absence?
"Do you need anything else dear?" the Lady smiles at me, "Are you away from home?" she asks."
I am 18 years old" I blurt out.
The Lady, whose name is Karla per the name-tag on her shirt, starts laughing showing yellow teeth and a pierced tongue. "I know!" she says with a huge grin on her face, "Do you need anything else dear? I just brewed fresh coffee."
"Yes! please" I say with a small smile.
She brings my coffee and places a muffin before me, "On the house" she smiles. I thank her and I go back to my window. The signs of a new morning are dancing on the horizon. I put my head on the table and close my eyes; maybe if I close them now and drift to sleep I will go back home, to my family and to my own safety zone.
A cold hand touches my face and I jolt knocking something to the ground. I open my eyes to see Karla's smiling face. I am still in the past, this is still New York!
"My shift is over and my friend here," She points at a young guy in his early twenties, "will help you with anything you need."
I nod slowly still feeling dizzy. She says her goodbyes and leaves the coffeehouse. The young guy already moved back to the counter. He brings me coffee and a huge piece of waffle, then he goes back to his business. Then I heard sirens wailing and police cars speeding down the street towards Central Park. Without thinking, I just spring out of the place and run after the cars. I run as fast as my feet could manage. The cold breeze freezing my face and making the task of breathing harder to accomplish. They must have found the body! I need to go there and see what is going to happen now!The moment I reach the park I see an ambulance and police cars everywhere. Police officers going through the place, some of them are trying to keep people away from the scene. The huge tree is standing tall! In my mind's eye I see its silhouette from last night. The body is there! I cross the street and I walk to where people are gathering. A lady is crying and the man next to her is calming her down. The faces are somber, it is like the wintry sky has fallen onto them. The eyes are telling stories of horror and fear. You can feel the terror radiating off their bodies; the energy is pulling everyone's spirit to the void. Death is, indeed, an unknown world to the livings and that's what makes them dread this moment. I look around me searching the faces, and that's when I see the familiar face. The face of someone I know! The eyes are unmistakable. He looks young, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. Nonetheless, he has the face of the man whose picture is placed on the wall in my living room. He stands there for a few minutes and then he starts leaving, so I follow him. I need to reach out to him and to tell him my story. He might think I am crazy but I need to tell him. I will find ways to convince him that I am sane! He marches all the way across the street, heavy steps but fast. I walk quicker, then I run and when he is about to turn around the corner I call his name.
"Martin!" He slowly stops; hesitant! But then, he turns all the way, looking for me. I wave as I walk to him. His expression is quizzical as if he is trying to conjure the familiarity out of my face. "Do you know me?" his deep familiar voice asks me.
"Yes... No... I mean I do but not in this life!" I manage to say.
He looks at me with a stoic expression. His eyes are looking over my face, then he says, "Are you hungry?"
I hesitate for a few seconds then I just nod. "Then come!" he smiles, his familiar warm eyes looking at me. And, like that we just start walking.
"What's your name, I may ask?"
"Helen" I answer.
"What a beautiful name!"
"Thanks." I smile at him.
We do not talk for the rest of the way. Then, we get to this building in a very beautiful neighborhood. "This is my place" he says, "I was about to make breakfast when I noticed that I don't have milk so I went out to buy a gallon, when I noticed the commotion down the Central Park. What a tragedy!" he explains.
Right there I was about to tell him that I have seen the body last night in the park, but I looked around and thought this is not the right place to do it. "Come in! I'll make breakfast and then you can tell me how do you know me."
I just follow him inside the building and, then into his flat. We get to the kitchen, and he invites me to sit down as he started making breakfast. We do not talk until we are both seated and eating our pancakes and bacon.
"Tell me" he implores.
I tell him everything. About the park, the body, the newspaper, California, 2019 and the fact that he is my grandfather. He stays silent for a few minutes, eating his food and then all he says "Interesting!"
"Do you believe me?" I ask him.
"I wouldn't say I believe you," he utters, "but, the reality is relative."
I don't question him and I don't demand any further explanations. Because that's my grandfather and this is the way he has always been; peculiar!
"Would you help me figure things out!" I ask him after a while.
"Of course, I would." he cheerful answers, "Come with me! I'll show you something."
We both walk into the next room and, I stand to look at a large mirror hanging on the wall. I see my reflection and then I see my grandfather standing behind me holding a thick knotted rope in his hands. Our eyes meet and without hesitation, he wraps the rope around my neck.
"Now, you can forget all about it and go on to the future." He whispers calmly.
I struggle, trying to breathe. I push against him, my nails digging into his skin as I grapple for dear life.
"Please" a muffled whimper comes out of me, "I am your granddaughter, you named me Helen. We are in California."
But he is unwavering, determined to be God and take away my life. My eyes are shutting down, my limps are weakening and I am drowning into darkness. I wake up in the attics, in our house. A dairy in my hands and the lines inside it are blurry to my eyes as tears are falling down. I am at home! I am not dead!
I look closely at the writing before me as it goes "She said, she is from California and her name was Helen. She looked beautiful in her dress, and she was warm like California. She made me want to leave New York and move to the west. Which, I did! I have moved but she was dead. I killed her! like the rest of the other six women. However, she was different! Somehow, I liked her. I might be changing! I might be a human after all." My grandfather's handwriting is clear before me.
My grandfather was the serial killer and, I was named after his last victim. Or... was I the last victim!
End
Art: Adam Riches
