The Egg Said Nothing (7 page)

“Smashed? Did it fall?” she asked, obviously concerned. I loved her for it.

“No. It was very secure. I have reason to believe someone smashed it. But, for the moment, that isn’t the relevant bit,” I said.

“Oh.” She sat silently in expectation.

“There wasn’t any yolk or anything. Apparently, the only thing inside of it was a disc. A computer disc,” I said.

“Did you look at it? What was on it?”

“A video of myself.”

“A video? Like a bad video?” she said, grinning.

“No, perv. It was a video of me explaining something to myself. From the future.”

“The future?” She smirked at me.

“The future,” I said. “Told you. You’ll never believe any of this.”

“Sure I will. There’s evidence, isn’t there? There’s the egg, which I’ve seen, and there’s a video that I could potentially see,” she reasoned. “So what’s on the video? Flying cars and teleporters?”

“Well, it was only from an hour in the future,” I said sheepishly.

“An hour? That’s sort of anticlimactic. What were you doing?”

“Well, I was directing myself to find a letter that I had hidden for myself in the refrigerator,” I said. “Honestly, though, I have no idea what’s on the video now. It seems likely that it’s changed.”

“Changed? You can do that?”

“I believe so,” I said. “The future I told myself about wasn’t all that great, so I started changing it. I think I’ve changed it. I’m definitely off schedule, at least.”

She seemed excited. “So, what did the letter say? Can I read it?”

“No. I don’t think so. You can check the fridge for it, if you want, but the copy I had was on the table in front of you. It’s not there anymore, so I think it had an impact on the letter when I changed things.”

She stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“The fridge,” she said simply. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched her walk away, realizing for the first time how mesmerizing a pair of jeans could be. I wished I could relive that moment over and over again. Though I tried to make it happen, it didn’t. She came back with a pile of papers in her hands. She sat down again.

“These?”

“That’s them,” I said. I watched her as she read, waiting for her to reach the part that called for her execution.

“A shovel, huh?” she said when she was finished. “You know, if I didn’t trust you, I’d be worried that you were going to off me right now.”

“Nope. I refuse to do it,” I said. “That’s why I’m changing things.”

“Good call,” she said. “Well, at least we’ve got a future together. I can stop worrying if we took things too fast so long as everything works out alright in the end.”

“There’s that. You want the rest?” I asked.

She furrowed her brow. “There’s more?”

“Yeah, the strange part is coming up.” I said, cringing at the confused look on her face. “So, you remember the part of the letter where I say that I don’t know how well my selves will react in each other’s company?”

She nodded. I pointed to the broken window.

“Wow. What the fuck happened? How did I not see that?” She went over to the window, examining it briefly.

“Well, I came into the living room to find myself making that video.”

“Like you didn’t know what was happening? And you were just making a video?” she asked, baffled. “That’s odd.”

“Nope,” I said. “I was watching TV. I stood up and turned around to find someone sitting at my computer. Upon further examination, I found that it was myself making the video I had watched earlier.”

“There were two of you?”

“There were two of me.”

“That’s incredible,” she said. “What’d you do?”

“Well, I asked him—me—what he was doing. He got pissed because I interrupted him, and things got physical. He ended up going out the window.”

“You threw him out the window?”

“He was asking for it,” I said defensively.

“That can’t be good,” she said.

“You know, it didn’t seem to matter. I turned around and another one was there.”

“Another one?” she asked. “Did you throw him out the window, too?”

“Hell yes,” I said.

“And did you turn around to find another one?”

I nodded.

“And you threw him out the window?”

“Well, that would have just been more of the same, right?” I said. “I whacked him with the shovel.”

“The shovel from the closet?” she asked. “The shovel your future self put there to take care of me?”

“That’s the one.”

“The one on the floor over there?”

“Yep,” I said.

She crossed the room and inspected the implement in question. “There’s blood on it,” she stated plainly.

“There should be. I smashed that fucker good.”

“And where is he now?”

“They disappear when they die,” I said. “It’s odd.”

“So, why is there blood on the shovel? Wouldn’t it disappear with the body?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “That is strange.” I stood up and walked over to her, crouching down alongside her. Ashley scooted away from me, towards the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked, alarmed.

“Um, I forgot something at home. I’m just going to pop out for a second. Be right back,” she said, edging closer to the exit.

“You think I’m going to hurt you,” I said, not even trying to hide the offense.

“No, I, uh, I forgot something. Honestly.”

“Why would I want to do that? You’re beautiful and wonderful. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I did what I could to plead with my eyes. Her face registered only fear.

“Please don’t go. I swear to you, I will never, ever hurt you.”

She looked me in the face, likely searching to see if I was telling the truth. I heard a sound from across the room. Her eyes went wide, and the sound of pounding footsteps echoed in my ears. There was an embarrassing scream, and I watched as the head of a shovel came down on Ashley’s face. She didn’t have time to cry out. There was a solid thunk; she fell limply to the floor. I crawled frantically over to her.

Her beautiful face was a mass of blood and bruising. Her nose was pushed into her face, clearly broken in several places. The skin around her eyes was brown and purple. Her teeth were smashed, the adorably chipped tooth lost in a row of jagged edges. I felt for a pulse; there was none. Tears streamed down my face. My beautiful Ashley.

She was dead as fuck.

~Chapter 11~

In which the narrator calls a telephone psychic.

“Come here, you bastard!” I yelled, climbing to my feet.

“Oh, fuck!” my double said. His eyes darted frantically, searching for an escape route. He knew as well as I did there wasn’t one.

“Look what you did, you bitch!” I screamed, my voice hoarse with exertion. I started toward him. He backed up towards the window and looked at it, brow furrowed in worry.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going to throw you out. I just want to talk to you a little.”

He didn’t seem convinced. I took another step towards him, holding my hands out innocently in front of me, doing my best to look like a poor, misunderstood and slightly deranged nice guy.

“Come on over here.” I gestured at the couch. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”

“It had to happen!” he said, stumbling over his words. “You know that!”

“Oh, yes. I know.” My tone was reassuring. “That’s all in the past. I just want to talk about puppies with you. What kind of puppies do you like?”

“We’re the same person, numbnuts! We like the same kind of puppies! You don’t need to kill me,” he said. “You need to kill yourself.”

“Remind me what kind of puppies we like again. I can’t seem to remember.”

He looked nervous, scared even. “We don’t! We don’t like a certain kind!”

“Right, right. I know that,” I said. “But if we were pressed, what kind would we like?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted.

“Oh, come on. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

“Fuck! I don’t know!” he said. “Chihuahuas!”

“Chihuahuas?” I asked.

“Yeah, fucking Chihuahuas! Just get on with it!”

“Get on with what? I’m only trying to talk to you about puppies.”

“No, you’re not. You’re getting warmed up to launch into a big psychotic speech,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I argued. “What sort of speech would I give?”

“You’re going to tell me about how we love puppies but hate ankle biters. And sometimes the things we love the most are the things that are worst for us. And, even though we love ourselves, sometimes we bite our own ankles. Just fucking get on with it,” he said.

He got my speech rather well, stole my thunder, really. I was at a loss for what to say; I had invested a lot in that speech. “So, what’s next?”

“You chase me towards the window around the right side of the couch, and I run towards the bedroom. I slip on the eggshells. You catch me, and...” he trailed off.

“And?” I asked.

He looked at his feet, mumbled something.

“What was that? I didn’t catch it.”

“You choke me to death,” he said.

“I do?” I’d considered making a break for the shovel, but now I didn’t have to. “Well, let’s get on with it then.” I started walking slowly towards him around the left side of the couch.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“You went around the wrong side! Go back!” he screamed, his face turning red with anger.

“Huh?” I asked. “Oh, look at that. I guess I did.”

“Stop fucking changing time!” he shouted and ran into the bedroom. I heard him slip and fall, then he was quiet.

“Are you okay in there?” I called out, sitting on the back of the couch, arms crossed.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. I heard a rustling as he got to his feet. He walked out of the bedroom, hands on his hips. “So, what, you’re not going to kill me now?”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like something I’d do,” I said.

“You’re being a dick. I hope you know that.”

“I’m being a dick because I won’t kill you?”

“Come on, I killed your girlfriend.” He pointed to Ashley’s lifeless body. I refused to look at it; her bruised and bloody face would send me into a rage.

“Oh, yes, you’re right. You did do that. Please leave,” I said.

He looked baffled. “Leave? You’re kicking me out?”

“I think it’s appropriate, given the circumstances,” I said.

“You’re really fucking things up. You know that, right?”

I walked over to the door and opened it. “Out you go.”

“Fine. I’ll go. But you’re making a huge fucking mistake.” He stomped off into the hallway. “I don’t even know what to do now. Go to a movie? Get a sandwich? I’m not even supposed to exist…” His voice trailed off as he walked away. I shut the door behind him.

Looking at Ashley, I wondered aloud what I should do. I needed advice. I had to find someone who knew about this new agey bullshit that made it possible for me to jump through time. I needed a quantum physicist.

I sat down on the couch. My head spun. I looked back at Ashley and the pool of blood gathering on the tile in front of her face.

And then, suddenly, I knew whom to call. I jumped excitedly from the couch, ran to the phone and pressed redial.

It rang.

“Thank you for calling American Psychics Limited. Please hold the line for your personal, qualified psychic.” The line continued to ring.

“This is Madame Rain. What do you want to know about the future?” a familiar voice answered.

“Ah, Madame Rain,” I said, relieved. “What are the odds I’d get you again?”

“It was in the stars. I was expecting your call,” she said coolly.

“Oh, good. I need your help.”

“Do you have a question you’d like answered, or do you just want a general forecast?”

“I have some very specific questions I’d like answered,” I said. “
Very
specific.”

“Okay,” she replied, a bit uneasily it seemed to me.

“I need you to stay with me here. There’s no time to waste,” I said. “What is the purpose of the egg?”

“The egg?” she asked. “Well, the egg is symbolic of birth. Not the birth of a being, per se. No, it is symbolic of the creation and germination of ideas. The egg is a vessel for your personal evolution, and it has significance to you.”

“What kind of significance?” I asked.

“Uh, the shape of the egg has to do with your ideas. Your ideas shaped it. It could have come in any form, but it came in that of an egg. Why do you think that is?”

“Well, my ideas are supposed to have something to do with gender roles, or something like that,” I offered.

“Yes, yes. This makes much sense. You are a man giving birth to an egg. This egg is your gift to the world. The outside is symbolic for what lies hidden inside. You are the first man in history to carry the burden traditionally reserved for women. As you think and grow, you will come to understand why this revelation has to come in a disguise, why it has to be protected in a shell.”

“Why was there a CD in it? The CD wasn’t my idea. Not really,” I said.

“A CD?” She paused. “I cannot see inside of you. You are very guarded about the CD. I don’t think the most gifted psychics in the world could pry that from you.”

“Okay, then.” I took a breath. “How do I solve my present problem?”

“Which one?” she asked. “I can see many problems in your life at the moment.”

“Good point,” I said. “Uh, let’s start with the time jumping thing.”

She sounded confused. “Time jumping? Like you’re losing time?”

“Are you a real psychic?” I asked.

“Of course I am,” she said defensively. “You are very guarded is all. Perhaps you could give me a hint.”

“I did,” I replied.

“Another hint,” she said.

“Look, future versions of me are coming into the present time and trying to convince my present self to commit both suicide and homicide. How do I get rid of them?”

“They come from the future?” she asked. “How are they doing that?”

“Something about matter and energy existing in multiple times and places,” I said. “New agey shit.”

“Oh, I see. And your future self mastered this idea?”

“I wouldn’t say
mastered
, but he’s got the general idea.”