Frogs croaked in a rhythm as if timed to a metronome, and fireflies flickered in the rushes. On the deck, a glass of wine in hand, Carey watched the darkening sky and rising crescent moon. Then she turned to the glow of her laptop. It was attracting insects, in spite of the citronella candles all around.
Setting down her glass, she opened a browser and checked the price of cryptocurrencies — Bitcoin, Ethereum, Litecoin. They were all down, and had been for months.
She turned toward the kitchen and called to Allen through the screen door. “Honey?” She could see him at the island counter, preparing dinner. “This crypto market is flat-lining. Steem has tanked. I think I’ll cut my losses.”
Allen smiled, a lemon in one hand and a knife in the other. “At last, you’re coming to your senses. I was never a crypto fan, babe. Just do a mix of tech, and some bonds for ballast. You can’t go wrong.”
The voice of reason. She should have listened to him from the beginning. “Okay. I’ll start selling off tomorrow.”
The aromas of garlic, thyme and simmering chicken wafted her way. Her stomach rumbled.
Before going in, she checked her email. There it was — confirmation of purchase for her ticket to the Steemfest conference in Krakow. Yet another investment in this tumbling crypto market. Her cheeks felt hot for a moment. What a chump she was. Allen didn’t know about Steemfest or how much she had actually sunk into cryptocurrency before it became clear it wasn’t going to pull out of the nosedive. Well. It would make no sense to throw good money after bad by booking a flight. Maybe she could sell the damn ticket.
Allen was arranging wine and dinner napkins on the table. “Dinner is served.”
Carey blew out the citronella candles, packed up her laptop and went inside to the table, where Allen had plated two fillets of chicken. A tower of steamed broccoli accompanied each one, aromatic and drizzled with lemon sauce. “You’re amazing, Al. This looks fantastic.”
They clinked wine glasses and began to eat. Carey savored each bite of lemony broccoli and garlic-infused chicken. And yet guilt gnawed at her. He was a giver, her husband. He worked hard, leaving early for the office each day and letting her stay home to work on her novel. She had wanted her cryptocurrency investments to be her financial contribution to the household, and their marriage. The gains had been amazing at first. Now she was admitting defeat, and preparing to take a huge loss.
After a few moments, Allen sat back to take a sip of wine. “Penny for your thoughts?”
What was there to say? Thank you for taking care of your pathetic wife? “This is delicious, honey.” She raised her glass to him. “I don’t deserve you.”
Late that night, after Allen had gone to bed, Carey stood in the living room looking out over the pond, glimmering under a sliver of moon. Her finances were a wreck. If her book didn’t sell, then what? Would she have to go back to work, writing copy for some marketing firm? Commuting 20 miles each way from their home in the woods to downtown Minneapolis? The darkness seemed to settle upon her like a dead weight.
A sound fluttered from the corner of the room. A mouse, perhaps. Or the cat. She listened. There it was again.
“Felix? Here kitty!”
There was no answering meow, but the sound came again. A muffled movement, more human than animal, like someone moving around inside a sleeping bag.
“Hello?” Fear tingled up her spine. She heard breathing. She could scream for Allen, but he wouldn’t hear. The man slept like the dead. She reached around the armchair and fumbled for the lamp. If she could just get some light….
“Oof!”
Oh for frick sake. There was someone there. “Who is it? What do you want?”
More movement. “I won’t hurt you.” It was a man’s voice, deep and resonant.
Giving up on the lamp, Carey opted for escape. She began moving slowly toward the doorway to the kitchen. She thought of weapons. Knives in the drawer. The potential of blunt force use of the fire extinguisher.
“Please. I’m… stuck.” The voice was petulant. Her mind raced. What was a man doing in her house? Where was he, exactly?
She stopped in the doorway, uncertain. “I’m turning on a light. You make one move, and I’ll kick the shit out of you. I’m a black belt, and you don’t want to mess with me.” It sounded good, anyway. She stepped backward toward the kitchen, watching for movement, and flicked on the light switch.
There was nothing there. The living room was empty. She turned and ran.
Allen moaned as she shook him. “What is it, babe?”
“There’s someone in the house. I heard a man’s voice.”
“What?”
“Just come with me. The guy is in hiding somewhere.”
Allen threw back the covers and stood. He was wearing only boxers. Carey glanced down at them and shrugged. This was no time for modesty. She handed him the baseball bat from under the bed, then walked behind him as he moved through the house.
They explored every room, surveyed every closet. They checked the shower, the guest bedroom and the kitchen pantry. The search revealed nothing except Felix, who yawned and stretched from his cat tower in the den. The doors and windows were all locked.
“There’s no one here, honey. You must have been dreaming. Let’s go back to bed.”
She nodded. That was it. She was losing her mind.
At breakfast, Allen looked at her with concern. “Bad night?”
“Yeah.” She poured another cup of coffee. She felt drugged, out of balance.
“Maybe you should kick back today. Or get some fresh air.” He patted her shoulder, as if at a loss for how to help or comfort her, and left for the office.
Carey put the dishes in the sink and sat down in the breakfast nook with her laptop. Her book wasn’t going to write itself. But as soon as she sat at the desk, the sounds started again. The muffled movement, like a moth in a jar.
“Who’s there?” For God’s sake, her house was haunted.
The man’s voice. “Can we talk?”
“Who are you?” She stood and moved slowly to the living room, with the same tingling chill on her neck she had felt the night before. The room appeared empty.
“My name is Richard. I’m not from here, from this time.”
She released a short barking laugh, not at all amused. “Where are you, exactly… Richard?” Light from the window shone through falling dust motes. The baby grand sat in the corner, as if waiting.
“That’s just it. I’m kind of nowhere at the moment. Stuck between dimensions.”
Carey squinted. The light that reflected off the mirror glass over the fireplace shimmered oddly, as if shattering across a prism. She could almost see something there. “Look. I don’t know what you’re doing in my house. I just can’t believe….” She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.
“I know. Hey, I won’t be here long. I’m on a temporary mission. Or, I was. It’s actually a failed mission at this point.”
She watched the faint shimmer. “What mission?”
“Okay, here’s the thing.” He laughed. “Bear with me, okay? So, in the future, we can travel back in time. I’m from fifteen years from now.”
Carey scoffed. “This is bizarre and ridiculous. I’m leaving.”
“No! Carey. Listen. Would you please try something? I actually think we could see each other, because I see myself in this mirror. Just step over here and look.”
Carey hesitated, then took a few steps forward. Moving around the shimmer among the dust motes, she looked into the mirror. And there he was. A man, smiling vaguely from behind her like a ghostly hologram. Her breath caught and she spun around. But he was gone.
She turned back to the mirror and found herself gazing into his eyes. He smiled like a person who is easily amused.
She glared at his reflection. “Okay tell me why you’re here.”
Richard took a deep breath. “So, in the future we can return to the past, but there are rules. We can’t commit a crime or harm anyone.”
Carey shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
Richard sighed. “My mission was your ticket. For the Steemfest conference. That conference is when everyone sees all the new applications, the blockchain development, and the value of the Steem cryptocurrency. It’s the birth of a movement, like Woodstock in the 1960s, and the dot com era in the 90s. And it’s a catalyst for the other coins. Everything just takes off.”
She blinked, and saw the doubt in her own eyes. Here she was talking to the reflection of a man from the future about cryptocurrency, and the aftermath of a conference that had not happened yet. This was not real. “Okay. But why do you want my ticket?”
“Because… I didn’t go to the conference back then, and I missed it. Everything. The realization about cryptocurrencies and the future growth. And the opportunity to get my book published.”
“Your book?”
“Oh. Yeah. One of the coolest things launched at the conference is a crypto-based publishing house. But I didn’t know anything about it, of course. So I self-published my novel and, well, it never went anywhere. If I had only known….”
Carey thought of her own novel. Everyone in her writing group loved her work and said she was really talented. But could she ever capture the attention of a publisher? Was it possible this crypto publisher was the answer?
Richard looked at her as if he might have something more to say. “I was planning to steal your ticket, Carey. I thought it would be okay to take it, since you didn’t want it.” He looked down, a tinge of red inflaming his ethereal cheeks. “But, it’s still technically a crime, I guess. And… I didn’t make it all the way through.”
“Oh. I see.” Somehow she found herself accepting this explanation. She looked at his kind face and apologetic smile, and could almost imagine them being friends if they knew each other in this time and place. Allen would like him. “I’m sorry it didn’t work, Richard.”
“I have to go back, Carey, but you should use that ticket. You won’t regret it.” Richard’s words echoed, as if through a tunnel. He was fading. His form turned translucent, crystalline. “Goodbye.” He waved and was gone, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness and quiet.
On the plane to Poland, Carey contemplated her unanswered questions. Where was Richard now, in this time? And what if he tried again to return to the present to attend Steemfest, but with a more pure motivation? Was it really possible to go back in time to alter one’s future?
At any rate, perhaps he had succeeded in one thing — altering her trajectory toward financial difficulties and a troubled marriage.
In the seat next to her, Allen smiled and took her hand. “Thanks for taking me along to the conference. Seems you have a little faith in this crypto thing after all?”
She laughed. “Let’s just say I’m holding on for dear life.”
Out the window, the wing of the plane rose up through a mist-shrouded day into a light-filled sky and clouds glowing bright.
Thank you for reading my story. This story was a submission for a Steemfest ticket giveaway contest. This story won the contest, and I did go to the conference in Poland!
Image credit: Original image by pixundfertig on Pixabay, altered with an image purchased from Shutterstock.