Unhappenings Read Free Page B

less by a stern looking man in a uniform. I can only imagine the expression on my face as I looked up. Standing beside me were two police officers, one male, one female. For a fraction of a moment, I allowed myself to perceive them as campus security, but the guns on their hips snapped that image into proper focus. Behind the woman stood a man about her height, rotund, with a comb over that drew far too much attention to his hair loss. This was Dr. Ainsley, a professor I had the previous year. His lips, barely visible through his excessive mustache, were pursed, and his eyes narrowed. Broadening my field of awareness, I could see dozens of students, most strangers, taking an interest. One caught my eye for a moment. She wore a charcoal beret, and in the fraction of a second it took me to realize that I recognized her but couldn’t quite place her, she ducked into the stacks out of my line of sight. Her identity immediately dropped to the bottom of my list of priorities as I refocused my attention on the trouble I was apparently in.
    As I said, I have no idea what my face looked like in that moment. I do remember the look on the face before me, and whatever shock I was feeling was somehow mirrored there. His mouth hung open, an unfinished idea (probably involving my rights) perched on his tongue. He turned to his partner, whose expression went from bored to confused, then he looked at me again. Dr. Ainsley continued to stare daggers.
    The male officer addressed Dr. Ainsley. “This is him?” There was an edge of impatience to his voice.
    “That is he,” said Dr. Ainsley with slow deliberation.
    The officer looked at me again. His shock morphed into a frown. Confusion, laced with irritation. “You’re sure?” he asked, maintaining eye contact with me.
    “Quite sure.”
    Still looking at me, he pulled a tablet from a holster on the hip opposite his gun. He began to manipulate the screen. “What time did you say the break-in occurred?”
    Dr. Ainsley audibly sighed. “1:15.”
    “1:15 a.m.,” confirmed the officer.
    “Yes, of course a.m.!” blurted Dr. Ainsley.
    The officer turned on the professor and held the tablet about ten centimeters from his eyes. Ainsley lurched back startled, then slowly leaned forward, squinting at the screen. After a few seconds, he asked, “What am I seeing?”
    “Security feed. From four angles. That’s a convenience store about five klicks from here.” He paused. “Please note the time stamp.”
    Ainsley’s jaw dropped. “Surely,” he sputtered. “Surely that can be faked.”
    The officer took back his tablet. The thump of his finger tapping the screen in rapid sequence was the loudest sound in the broad chamber where I sat. He held it out again. “The five witnesses I count will probably say otherwise. These three I have already IDed by facial rec, and this one,” he said, leaning in closer, and gritting his teeth, “is me.”
    Ainsley opened his mouth, shut it, opened it, seethed, spun on his heel and stormed from the building. The female officer watched him go, then, wide eyed, shrugged for some sort of explanation. Her partner put his hand up gently to ward her off for the moment.
    He crouched down next to where I still sat and said, “Mr. Walden, I apologize for troubling you.” Then, more quietly, almost a whisper, “And it’s nice to see you sober for once. Try to keep your nose clean, okay?”
    I nodded dumbly.
    “Good man,” he said, patting my back. Then they walked out, two dozen silent stares following them.
    At that moment, I was certainly the least confused person in the building, and even I had no idea what was really going on. But this much was clear: at some point in my recent past, I had been in two places simultaneously.
    At some point in my near future, I was going to travel through time.



have never been especially fashion conscious. With respect to my own appearance, I have always preferred to keep everything simple, tidy, and generally