Working for the Sicilian goes fine, at first – good money, stable work – but then he starts taking advantage: stops paying on time, thinking he has the power and influence to get away with it. Ryan doesn’t agree, and decides he and Cyril will take what they’re owed – with interest.
The heist goes fine, at first – breaking in is a cinch, and there’s plenty of loot – but as soon as Ryan finds the device, it all goes to hell: shots ring out, and he hears Cyril go down behind him, takes a bullet in the ribs. He keeps running and doesn’t look back.
He thinks he got away with it, at first – escapes through a window, tuck and roll – but once he’s a few blocks away, the shock wears off: dizzy from the blood loss, overwhelmed by the pain, streetlights blurring with every limp forward. Ryan collapses.
Shit, he thinks, curling in on himself. I’ve fucked it.
But then his luck turns – a dead battery and a canceled bus forcing a doctor to take the long walk home, leading her to discover him just in time, bring him upstairs to her apartment and patch him up, saving his life.
What are the chances?
---
Her name is Gloria, and she’s so kind and gentle and caring he can’t help but fall in love. My guardian angel, he whispers to her, and she rolls her eyes, a half-smile curving her lips.
Please.
No, seriously. I can't figure out why the fuck you care, but I'm glad you do. Nobody's ever done shit for me my whole life. So I'm not very good at saying thanks. I owe you. Big time.
His mind keeps returning to Cyril, though, and his hands keep fiddling with the device he stole from the old wop’s house. It looks like a watch, but there are too many numbers on the dial – four rows of numbers, lights and lettering. What the fuck are they all for?
On the back of the band are 3 words: TEMPORAL TRANSPORT DEVICE.
Bullshit, he thinks, tossing it to the side. Gotta be a prank.
But he picks it up again within the hour, finds the button on the side labeled INFO and presses it, pulling up an instruction manual on the display. He stays up all night reading, thinking. A plan starts to form in his head.
---
He doesn’t tell Gloria that he’s leaving, just kisses her when she comes in to check on him in the morning – she jerks away in surprise. I love you, he says, and before she can say anything that might convince him to stay, he activates the device, and it whisks him away to the preconfigured coordinates.
---
He watches his other self finish picking the lock, then taps Cyril on the shoulder, throwing his hands in the air when two guns are trained on him in an instant. Put those down. I’m here to help you assholes.
He shows them where the stuff is, giving them the rundown as he does so – a version of it, anyway. The other Ryan approaches the safe where he found the device, but he shakes his head.
Nothing to see there. Come on, let’s get out of here.
They split with plenty of time to spare. Mission accomplished. Only –
Wait, the other Ryan asks. How the fuck are you here, if you’ve just stopped all that shit from happening?
Who cares? he retorts. All that matters is that it worked.
You know, I’ve been meaning to ask, Cyril says. You told us you got shot. But what happened here? He touches his own chin, indicating the scar on Ryan’s.
What do you mean? I got it in an accident when we were kids. You were there. How did you –
He stops.
The other Ryan doesn’t have the scar.
What accident? the other Ryan asks.
After a brief interrogation, it becomes clear – this Ryan didn’t get knocked off his bike when he was 10; this Ryan didn’t flub his prom date and ended up getting hitched instead. This Cyril –
Isn’t his.
This life isn’t his. This timeline isn’t his.
Shit, he thinks, heart sinking. I’ve fucked it.
He’s changed nothing. His Cyril is still dead.
And he’s stuck in an alternate universe with nothing to call his own.
Nothing but one thing, maybe.
He leaves them to find her.
---
It takes him awhile to find her apartment, but he gets there in the end. He waits for her to come home.
She doesn’t recognise him when he steps into her path, which isn’t a surprise. She’s with someone else, which is.
The guy positions himself between her and Ryan, probably assuming they’re about to be mugged.
Ryan walks past them both without saying anything, thinking. A plan starts to form in his head.
---
I need an ask, he says. Just this one thing, and then I promise I’ll leave you guys alone.
Why me? the other Cyril asks.
You’re the only one I can trust.
Cyril doesn’t seem too sure, but he agrees to the hit.
3 days later, he’s arrested for the murder of one Preston Nathan.
Shit.
It doesn’t matter, Ryan tells himself. Not my Cyril, anyways.
He leaves to find her.
---
When he steps into her path this time, she’s alone. This time, she recognises him.
You’re that guy. From the other day.
He walks towards her, and she shies away.
Who are you? What do you want?
I need to talk to you. This is gonna sound crazy, but I need you to listen.
He’s not even halfway through the story when she stops him. That never happened. We’ve never met before.
Not here. I’m trying to explain.
Please leave me alone. She tries to move past him, and he grabs her wrist.
Gloria.
Let go of me!
She struggles to get out of his grasp, but he clings on. Just listen to me for a second!
The pepper spray hits him, and he staggers back, clutching at his face, watching through his tears as she bolts away towards her front door and slams it behind her.
Shit, he thinks. I’ve fucked it.
When he’s recovered somewhat, he starts fiddling with the device. You’re all I have, he whispers to himself as he presses JUMP and whisks himself away to the preconfigured coordinates.
---
The next Ryan has the scar. The next Cyril challenges him a bit more. I’ll talk to Ryan. It’ll be better if I have someone to watch my back.
You don’t need to. I’ll watch your back. We’re the same guy, remember?
Cyril doesn’t seem too sure, but he agrees to the hit.
2 days later, he’s arrested for the murder of one Preston Nathan.
Whatever, Ryan thinks. It doesn't matter.
Not my Cyril, anyway.
He stakes out her apartment, follows her at a safe distance for a couple days before making his move. Can I buy you a drink? he asks, sliding in beside her at the bar. She smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, big and brown and full of grief. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever met.
Sure. But I’ll warn you, I’m not going to be very good company.
Somehow, I doubt that.
Ryan doesn’t have anything in the world except the clothes on his back, his bullshit Irish charm, and the watch that ruined his life, but it’s enough that by the end of the night, she smiles at him for real.
You never told me your name, she finally says.
Ryan, he says. Ryan O’Reily.
Her smile drops.
O’Reily.
She gets up, moves away from him.
That’s the name of the man who killed my husband.
Shit, he thinks, I’ve fucked it.
She’s looking around, probably for the bartender, and he starts fiddling with the device. I love you, Gloria, he says as he presses JUMP. I’ll get it right next time.
---
You never told me your name, she finally says.
Ryan.
Just Ryan?
He shrugs.
Gotta keep a little mystery, right? Otherwise, what are we going to talk about next time?
Next time, right. She gets up, thanking the bartender as she collects her things.
I’ll see you next time then, Just Ryan.
---
He leaves the bar, spirits light, whistling as he walks – then suddenly feels the barrel of a gun pressed between his shoulderblades.
Turn around and you’re dead, his own voice orders him.
Shit, he thinks.
He reaches for the device and feels the gun press in harder. Touch that thing and you’re dead, too.
What do you want?
Cyril’s arrest. That was your fault, right? Why would you come back and save our asses just to throw him under the bus?
Can’t tell you, he replies, wheels spinning desperately. It’ll cause a paradox.
Bullshit. You said there’s a paradox limiter. That’s why you were able to come back in the first place. The other Ryan laughs dryly. You can’t lie to me, pal. We’re the same fucking person.
Yeah? Well, get this – the paradox limiter was fake. I made it up. A plan starts to form in his head. There’s lots of shit you don’t know about me, homie. And if you kill me, you’re in for a world of trouble.
The other Ryan says nothing for a moment, then pain explodes in his head as the butt of the gun smashes into his skull. Ryan staggers, clutches at his head, pulls bloody fingers away.
Give me that fucking watch, the other Ryan demands, holding him at gunpoint. I’m going to go back and fix this.
Hey, are you deaf? I just told you, there’s no paradox limiter. You can’t change anything.
And I say bullshit. Give me the device, or I’ll take it off you after I blow you away. One. Two –
Alright. Fine. Your funeral. Ryan starts fiddling with the device, and the other Ryan steps closer.
What the fuck are you doing? Just take it off and –
Ryan presses JUMP, and the device whisks him away to the preconfigured coordinates.
---
He watches his other self finish picking the lock, then taps Cyril on the shoulder, throwing his hands in the air when two guns are trained on him in an instant. Put those down. I’m here to help you assholes.
He shows them where the stuff is, giving them the rundown as he does so – a version of it, anyway. There’s a safe at the end of that hall, he tells the other Ryan, then says to Cyril, and at the end of this one, something I’m gonna need your help with. Come on.
As they reach the room with the fire escape he found on the first jump, shots ring out. Shit, he exclaims, they’ve come back early!
Once they’re a few blocks away, Cyril demands answers.
What the fuck happened? Why didn’t it go the way you said? His eyes are big and blue and full of grief.
Shit, I don’t know – wait. Fuck. Ryan feigns realisation. I think I might’ve caused a paradox.
A paradox?
Yeah, you know. Since you were supposed to die, and I saved you, someone else had to die instead.
Cyril doesn’t seem too sure, but he accepts the explanation.
I’m going to avenge him, he promises. Gonna kill every last one of those dago motherfuckers.
Good, Ryan says. Fuck ‘em. But first, there’s something I need you to do for me.
---
One week later, Cyril’s arrested for the murders of Dino Ortolani, Peter and Nino Schibetta, and Preston Nathan.
No more loose ends, Ryan thinks.
Now for the hard part.
---
Next time, right. She gets up, thanking the bartender as she collects her things.
I’ll see you next –
She stops, her eyes fixed on his chest.
What’s up? he asks, looking down – then he sees it.
Blood staining his shirt, above his right nipple.
Shit, he says. Must’ve scratched myself or something.
But when he checks it out in the bathroom later, there’s nothing.
Whatever, he thinks. It doesn’t matter.
---
The second date doesn’t go as well.
Look, I didn’t say this the other day because I wanted to be sure, but – I think you should get checked out for breast cancer.
Breast cancer? He stares at her uncomprehendingly. Girls get breast cancer.
Men can get breast cancer too. Bleeding from the nipple isn’t a common symptom, but it can be a sign that –
Hey. You listen to me. He jabs a finger at her. I’m not a fag, alright? I ain’t got any fucking breast cancer.
The conversation dies after that, despite his attempts to lighten the mood, bring back the easy flirting they’d so effortlessly slipped into the other night. When he walks her to her apartment, she keeps a slight but noticeable distance, and when he leans in to kiss her she pulls away.
Ryan, she begins, then smiles tightly. I had a nice time. Thank you.
When he tries to call her later, she doesn’t answer.
Shit, he thinks. I’ve fucked it.
He presses JUMP.
---
He’s lost track of how many times he’s started over. He’s lost track of how much time has passed. Years, probably.
He can’t get it right. No matter how hard he tries, it always goes wrong.
I’ve fucked it. I’ve fucked it. I’ve fucked it.
Shit!
He starts carrying a notebook, keeping track of all the little details in each timeline, compiling and comparing notes from each jump. It helps, but not enough – the timelines vary just enough that he can never be quite sure what to expect, or how each choice he makes will play out. No matter how many new moves he learns, the dance always ends with him falling on his ass, pressing that button again and again and again.
Sometimes he gets pretty far – he and Gloria have gotten engaged a couple times, even got married once, but he made an ass of himself at the wedding; got too drunk and tried to fight one of her coworkers, some nerdy balding fuck who made a snide comment to him at the bar. The embarrassment on her face told him all he needed to know – fiddling with the device, he whisks himself away once more, round fucking ten thousand, here we go again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Sometimes he doesn’t get very far at all – the other O’Reilys don’t trust him, turn on him. He takes a bullet from Cyril during one jump, finds himself limping through the streets again like he did in the beginning, so long ago – collapses again, and when she finds him again he laughs weakly.
We’ve got to stop meeting like this.
What do you mean?
He keeps forgetting himself, slipping up and mentioning some detail he’s not supposed to know, and then she thinks he’s some stalker. He tried to fight it once, resisting the inevitable jump – tried to explain about the device, but that only made things worse.
How many times?
I don’t know. A lot.
So none of this was real, then. You were just following your cues. I never had a choice.
It is real. You had a choice. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.
Right, you’d just move onto the next me. One who makes the right “choice”.
He doesn’t get why it’s so hard for her to understand.
I love you. Without you, I’d be dead. You’re all I have. All I want is for you to love me back.
That will never, ever happen. I hate you!
He jumps. He jumps. He jumps.
In every timeline, she always ends up hating him, for one reason or another.
He can’t get it right.
---
A lump has formed on his chest, near the nipple that bled through his shirt all those jumps ago, and he finally caves and sees a doctor, jumping ahead a few days before the heist this time. Not that it fucking matters, really.
Breast cancer, the guy confirms. Stage 3. It’s fairly advanced, but with the proper treatment 70% of patients are alive after 5 years. We should start you on chemo as soon as –
No chemo, Ryan says, fiddling with the device. Don’t have the time.
He presses JUMP.
---
He starts getting more creative with the jumps, more aggressive in his tactics – meeting her earlier, later, taking more risks. He stops carrying the notebook – it wasn’t working anyway.
It starts going wrong earlier, more catastrophically – but when it doesn’t, he’s with her longer, and they’re happier. For awhile.
How many times?
I don’t know. A lot.
So none of this was real, then. You were just –
It’s real. Every time, it’s real. You can’t tell me it’s not. You saved my fucking life. You know what I know and you feel what I feel. This is the truest, best thing I’ve ever had in my whole fucking life, and nobody can take that away from me. Not even you.
He jumps. He jumps. He jumps.
I will always hate you.
The lump keeps growing. He’s tired all the time, in pain all the time.
Breast cancer, the guy confirms. Stage 4. It’s not curable, but patients can live for years with the proper treatment. We should start you on chemo –
No chemo, Ryan says, fiddling with the device. Don’t have the time.
He presses JUMP.
---
He gives up – starts playing around with the device in new ways, taking him far away from Gloria, from anything resembling any of his former lives.
That will never, ever happen.
He travels the world. Morogoro and Maui. Ecuador. Ireland, of course.
I hate you. I will always hate you.
He travels through time. Watches the first ships bring colonists to the New World. Watches the first ships send colonists to Mars.
I saved your life. And in return, you destroyed mine. You keep destroying it, over and over.
He jumps. He jumps. He jumps.
Go ahead and move onto the next me. It’s not like I have a choice!
A plan starts to form in his head, then disintegrates – increasingly unable to think straight, his memories blurring together.
I’ll see you next time, Just Ryan.
---
He watches his other self finish picking the lock, then taps Cyril on the shoulder, throwing his hands in the air when two guns are trained on him in an instant. Put those down. I’m –
He doesn’t finish the sentence, a coughing fit wracking his body, making him double over in pain.
What the fuck? the other Ryan says, lowering his gun. What are – are you me?
Yeah, Ryan replies, as soon as he’s able to. Kind of.
You look fucked, Cyril remarks. And old.
Yeah. Listen. Every breath takes effort, these days, and the headache is near-constant. You need to leave. If you go ahead with this, you’re going to die. One way or another.
They look at each other. Why should we believe you? Cyril asks.
Ryan suddenly feels very tired. I don’t know. Don’t. Who gives a shit. He waves his hand as he turns away. See for yourselves, if you want. Make your own fucking choice.
Hey! Where the fuck are you going? he hears the other Ryan shout. You can’t just turn up and then fucking leave.
Watch me, Ryan says, and presses JUMP.
---
She doesn’t recognise him when he steps into her path, which isn’t a surprise. Neither is the fact that she’s not alone.
Hey, man, Preston says. You alright?
Never been better, Ryan replies. He forces a smile. Either of you have the time?
Preston glances down at his watch. 10 past 11, he says.
Hey, almost time to make a wish. Ryan turns his attention to Gloria. You got something to wish for?
Oh. Um. She laughs, a little awkwardly, and glances briefly at Preston before returning his gaze. Her eyes are big and brown and untouched by grief. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. I don’t know. Not really, honestly. Things are going pretty well for me at the moment.
That’s great. I’m really glad to hear it. He looks over at Preston. Your wife?
Fiance is his guarded reply.
Cool. Awesome. You take care of her, alright? Make her happy.
Preston laughs. Okay, man. Sure. I’ll do that. He nudges Gloria, and then gives Ryan a polite nod. You have a good night.
Yeah. You too. They walk past. Goodbye, Gloria.
Gloria stops, turns around. How did you know my name? she asks, suddenly wary.
Shit.
He presses JUMP.
Whatever, he thinks. It doesn’t matter.
Not my Gloria, anyways.
---
Ryan collapses.
It’s over, he thinks, curling in on himself. This is it. Breast cancer, stage whatever.
He’d read up on it, on one of the jumps – in most men, the odds of developing it at all were less than a tenth of a percent. Yet here he is.
What are the chances?
He stares up at the streetlight.
Oh man, I don’t wanna die.
Suddenly the light is blocked, and for a half second he thinks he’s snuffed it, terror freezing his veins, when he hears –
Are you alright?
A hand on his wrist, feeling for a pulse. Big brown eyes, searching his face.
He smiles weakly.
My guardian angel.
She hooks her arm under him – come on, let’s get you inside – and somehow walks him up the stairs to her apartment. He nearly murmurs her name, but catches himself.
Don’t fuck it up, he thinks. You don’t have the time.
We need to get you to a hospital, she says once she guides him to the couch, but he grabs her wrist.
There’s no point. Just stay with me. Please.
Gloria doesn’t look too sure, but she agrees to the request. He takes her hand, and she lets him.
We really – he coughs – we really have got to stop meeting like this.
She smiles tightly. You’re delirious.
Yeah. His vision is fading. Here. With the last of his strength, he unfastens the device. I want you to have this.
Your watch?
Yeah. No. You’ll see. He looks into her eyes, big and brown and full of...
Confusion.
Oh well. It doesn’t matter.
I love you, he whispers, before he’s whisked away to unknown coordinates.
---
Working for the Sicilian goes fine, at first – good money, stable work – but then he starts taking advantage: stops paying on time, thinking he has the power and influence to get away with it. Ryan doesn’t agree, and decides he and Cyril will take what they’re owed – with interest.
The heist goes fine, at first – breaking in is a cinch, and there’s plenty of loot – but as soon as Ryan finds the device, it all goes to hell: shots ring out, and he hears Cyril go down behind him, takes a bullet in the ribs. He keeps running and doesn’t look back.
He thinks he got away with it, at first – escapes through a window, tuck and roll – but once he’s a few blocks away, the shock wears off: dizzy from the blood loss, overwhelmed by the pain, streetlights blurring with every limp forward. Ryan collapses.
Shit, he thinks, curling in on himself. I’ve fucked it.
But then his luck turns – a stranger calls an ambulance that gets to him just in time, taking him to the hospital and saving his life.
What are the chances?
---
When Ryan wakes up there’s a woman sat by his bed, with big brown eyes and a cool demeanor.
Who are you? he asks in a hoarse voice.
Gloria.
Gloria who?
Just Gloria, she replies with a faint smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She gets up and walks around the bed. I’ve made a note on your chart suggesting a mammogram. She picks up a clipboard, frowns at it. Hopefully, they’ll do it before you leave the hospital this time.
A mammogram? Ryan struggles to sit up, then winces as pain shoots through his abdomen. Wait, are you my doctor?
A doctor, yes. Yours, no. She hangs the clipboard back on the bed. A mammogram is a type of chest x-ray that screens for breast cancer. And yes – cutting him off right as he opens his mouth to protest – men can get breast cancer, and it has nothing to do with their sexuality. This is important, Ryan. You need to take this seriously.
Ryan closes his mouth. Who are you? he asks again.
I already told you. Vague amusement flickers across her face before she grows serious once more. Listen. There’s no way to explain. You just have to trust me. She rests her hand on his. Can you do that?
He isn’t too sure, but he’s about to agree when he notices the device on her wrist - an exact replica of the one he stole from the Sicilian. Where did you get that? he asks instead.
She looks down and seems to freeze, then lets out a slow, heavy sigh. Damn, she says, and abruptly pulls her hand away, runs her fingers through her hair before turning on her heel and heading for the door.
Hey, he calls out, confused, where are you going?
It doesn’t matter. She glances over her shoulder as she pulls open the door, and smiles at him for real.
I’ll see you next time, Ryan.
---
Ryan collapses.
Mammogram. Breast cancer.
Gloria.
His hands fiddle with the device on his wrist. It looks like a watch, but there are too many numbers on the dial – four rows of numbers, lights and lettering. What the fuck are they all for?
On the back of the band are 3 words: TEMPORAL TRANSPORT DEVICE.
Bullshit, he thinks, tossing it to the side. Gotta be a prank.
But he picks it up again within the hour, finds the button on the side labeled INFO and presses it, pulling up an instruction manual on the display.
Hopefully, they'll do it before you leave the hospital this time.
I already told you.
You just have to trust me.
Bullshit, he thinks again. But -
A plan starts to form in his head.