Rainy days in a desert city were uncommon, and usually Wes would try his best to enjoy them by staying inside his apartment and relaxing with a movie or browsing the internet casually, no destination in mind. Right now, he couldn't have that luxury. He was stuck at work on a boring Friday afternoon. After taking his eyes off of yet another text-filled Excel database, he swiveled his chair to the left to look at Royal Valley, the warm rain fogging up the glass. He was on the eighteenth floor, right by the spot where they hung the giant crown every New Year's Eve. He showed up here every weekday to lose just a little more of his sanity and hopes for the future. Time never, ever stopped.

His gray and outdated business phone beeped, and Jared Reiner's grating voice knocked him out of a brief daydream. "Hey, buddy, need that database printed right away! Is it done yet? I'll be leaving in a few minutes to hand deliver it."

"Yeah," Wes sighed. "It took me all week, but it's done."

"Great. Good stuff like usual, bud. You available to come in this weekend and get it updated? Corporate might approve the changes by tomorrow if we're lucky."

"That… would be lucky. You know I'm free to come in anytime."

"You keep up that work ethic, Wes. If this promotion goes through for me, then I guess you're next in line for my job. It won't be just database and IT work anymore."

Jared finally shut up, and Wes went to print his work. He was about to reward himself by going to the kitchen and taking something from the candy bowl when he heard a distant, dreaded error sound. The copier was having a problem. Again. Maybe it just needed paper, but more likely, it was out to inflict pain. Denied the simple pleasure of a smooth finish to a long and excruciating project, he got up to investigate.

After facing down many enemies, mostly in high school, Wes felt like he only had two left: time itself, and the company copier. It had gradually fallen solely on him to fix it, and somehow, he was often the one to break it. It looked like a paper jam; simple, but annoying and a waste of time. He got on his knees, opened the hatch, and dug about.

"Son of a bitch…" he muttered as he felt around inside the machine, looking for a single piece of paper that had been mangled and managed to cripple the vital device.

As he performed surgery, Jared himself came walking down the hall, his fancy clip-on tie on display and proving that he was trying his hardest to suck up to his bosses. With him was the company secretary and two of its four vice presidents.

"Great talk, gentlemen," Jared said and waved them off with handshakes. "I'll see you at dinner tonight, maybe help you with the details of that new merger."

Once the important men were on their way to their next meeting—Wes figured they were off to compare business cards—he stood up near Jared, his hands now dirty with stray toner. Jared turned to him, and his confident smile faded a little.

"Awesome thing about working IT in a tech company," he told his 'friend,' "is that you can climb yourself out of it and before you know it, you're with the big boys."

"Yeah, but I'm doing like 80% of the hard work in the meantime. Do you even do much else anymore other than schmooze with corporate when they visit?"

Jared chuckled at this and gave Wes' shoulder a pat. "Be cynical about ambition if you want, but c'mon, Wes, this isn't like being a kid and sticking a piece of paper in a box and winning a million toys. You want something, you gotta work for it."

"I work like hell, dude. Only, no one knows or cares because I don't have the time to go around bragging. And you used to tolerate being underappreciated, too."

"Hey, don't worry, buddy," Jared said with a wink. "I move up in the world, and you can take my place. I'll put in a good word. Keep up the hard work." He turned to leave, but not before one last insult. "Oh, and tell me how it goes this weekend."

After washing his hands in the kitchen sink, and not bothering with candy as only boring Three Musketeers minis were available, Wes returned to his memorabilia-filled cubicle. No one would notice if he lazed about, but his work ethic wouldn't permit it. As he got back to it, he looked at a framed photo, of the gang after graduating fifth grade.

He often considered reprinting a Photoshopped, Jared-free version of it.

• •

It stopped raining by the time he got off work, leaving behind an overcast sky now turning orange as the sun went down past the distant airport. NPR was running a segment about nearby forest fires, but his mind was pre-occupied with the next nostalgic urge. It would depress him, sure—just like the end result of all the other urges, but they always began with the faint hope of rediscovering a lost connection to his happier past.

This time, on his way to dinner, he turned onto Kettle Road and took it down past all the strip malls and department stores to where it forked and led drivers either to the city's eastern interstate on-ramp, or south towards King Arcade. The fork was also by the vacant retail space that was once home to Royal Valley's Toys 'R' Us.

He took his dirty and scratched silver Nissan Cube into its empty parking lot, with fresh puddles and cracks in the gray asphalt that were home to weeds. He parked uncaringly across three spaces, got out, and sat on the hood, facing east towards the mountains where the distant summer forest fire sent up a miles-high plume of smoke.

"What a stupid rain storm…" he grumbled. "Should've gone over there."

Wes looked to his left at the empty storefront, where the colorful lettering used to be, now no more than off-color scars. The building had sat there, empty, for over two years. Soon, modern kids would have no idea that it was once a place full of colorful plastic creations. Designed by corporations and sold at high prices maybe, but capable of igniting innocent imaginations and childhood stories like no screen ever could.

And twenty-five years ago, he really did drop a piece of paper in a box inside of that building and won a "million" toys. It was a historic moment in his life, now little more than a memory and a video clip sitting in a few hard drives.

*What happened?* Wes thought. *When did everything become so…*

His iPhone rang and derailed the Melancholy Express. He took it out, saw the smiling face on the ID, and answered to talk to one of the few people in town that still seemed to give a damn about his very existence.

"Wes, are you still coming tonight?" she asked. "Dinner will be ready soon."

"Yeah… Just had to make a quick stop."

"Could you maybe grab some milk on the way over?"

"Sure. So, Luce… Do you think Jace will actually be 'joining' us tonight?"

"That would be a nice change, huh?"

• •

Wes pulled up into the driveway of his sister's smallish, single-floor house that she kept clean and vibrant, with garden ornaments in the front yard and a few colored glass mobiles hanging from the front porch's trellis. In the past few years, after her husband split and left her with the lad, Lucy had really come to express herself and get into the organic, green-living thing, along with being a strong, independent super-parent. Her pre-owned Nissan Leaf was plugged in and charging by the side of the house and still wearing a proud "My Kid's on the Honor Roll at DTE" bumper sticker.

But Jace didn't act like an honor roll kid at home, as his edgy-angsty teenage days seemed to be coming sooner than expected. As soon as Wes had opened the front door with the key he had been privileged with, he heard the boy yelling at his teammates from his room, his shouts bouncing about the hallway. He had a tiny hesitation before every possible swear, so he could access his onboard thesaurus and find a safer word to use. Lucy hated hearing him degrade himself, and he tried his damn—er, darnedest to avoid groundings. But keeping his mouth "clean" did nothing to abate his constant anger.

"Shut the heck up, man," Jace said into his Xbox's headset as he furiously shot at an enemy team in some bloodless T-rated shooter. "You suck. That's why we keep losing even when our team is lit, so get good or get off my squad. I don't give a crap, just kill something already! Yeah, go ahead and unfriend me, scrub. Not like I'll ever win another game with you on my friend list anyway. Okay, bye. Moron."

"Jace, dinner is almost ready!" Lucy shouted, startling both him and Wes, whom she had snuck up behind. "Finish your round or whatever and come to the table."

"Whatever," he yelled back, without turning around. "My team sucks anyway."

"What is that?" Wes asked. "Like, Fortnite or something?"

"That was the big thing for him last year. You know how kids move on. He plays that one a lot, but he doesn't seem to even be having any fun with it."

"Remember how all we needed was a Nintendo 64 and a few Mario Party and Kart games to be happy? What is with kids and video games now? Are they what they take all their anger out on? Luce, I don't want to give you parenting advice, but…"

"I've set parental controls and taken away the system, but he just sulks until he gets it back and doesn't seem to learn anything anyway. I'm… looking into something."

Jace turned around once a defeat screen popped up, looked at Wes, and scowled.

Dinner wasn't any better. Wes came over once or twice a week, and every now and then the three would have dinner out together, so he didn't entirely treat the evenings as "just another night"—he wanted them to maybe be a tiny bit special. If nothing else, a chance to bond with Jace. But he wasn't in attendance; his focus at the table was instead on his Nintendo Switch, as he texted on his phone at the same time.

By the time Wes was halfway done with his meal, he was fed up and snapped at him, "Really, Jace? Is whatever you're doing more important than eating?"

"It's just one fight and I'm almost done," he replied, pressing the system's buttons intensely. "It's a Smash Brothers tourney and it was scheduled and I didn't know we were going to have dinner early. Relax. I'll eat in a minute."

"Yeah, you'll shove it all down in a few seconds and go back to your room…" Wes looked at Lucy, eating her pasta non-combatively. "You know, even if it was usually just me and my mom, I liked having dinner, at the table. It's a nice break from everything and a chance to socialize. At least you try, but if every kid acts like this now…"

"And all you do is complain," she replied teasingly. "Hey, if Jace doesn't want to be social, the least you could do is make up for it. Don't you have anything to actually talk about? C'mon, bro, what's new? What's a recent movie you liked? What's a funny joke you heard at work? Or has literally nothing happened to you in the past five years?"

Wes looked down at his plate. "… You know I really have nothing worth talking about. I come over to see you two. Don't worry about things on my end."

Lucy's attempted smile faded some. "You okay, Wes? Like, in a serious way?"

"Luce, what makes you happy? You weren't very carefree as a kid, but by the time Jace arrived, you had really changed. I can't tell if he's the reason for that, or if you found something else… I'm just saying, we kind of went in reverse directions."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that… Is life supposed to end at thirty-five? Or at least feel that way?"

"Aw, Wes, you're being melodramatic. That, or your mid-life crisis is starting a little early. You just have to let yourself have fun again, that's all. You probably think you've seen and experienced everything. When I was Jace's age, I was afraid of anything new. But, like his 'video games are my punching bag' bit, it's probably just a phase. I see my best days as right now, or ahead of me. You see them as being behind you."

"Aren't they? Nothing interesting has happened to me since Jace came along. I like new shows and games now and then, there's still good stuff out there, but I never recapture any past joy. I don't even know what to do with the money I make."

"Buy a car! That's something adults do to feel invigorated. Make the leap to electric. And then get a girlfriend. You still trying some dating sites?"

"I'm waiting for my current one to fall apart—the car, I mean. And, come on, what do I have to offer? I'm a burnout. Had my time, made the most of it, then graduated college and suddenly lost all meaningful direction."

"Blah, blah, blah…" Jace interrupted after putting his Switch down and finally eating. "Man, Uncle Wesley, you sure like to complain when you come over."

"And if you weren't such a brat, there would be a lot less of it."

"Be spontaneous!" Lucy suggested before Jace could retort. "That's what you used to do, remember? You got bored, and you did something completely different."

"Hm…" He looked at Jace. "Okay. I'll take him camping. That'll be fun, right?"

"What?" Jace exclaimed. "There's no way I'm doing that!"

"Do you actually know anything about camping?" Lucy asked.

"I was kidding. But it is summer. Jace should be outside. Kids still do that, right?"

"When they're hunting Pokémon on their phones, maybe."

"Ooh, look at me, I'm old, I like to make fun of kids," Jace mocked them.

"You're cruising, buddy," his mom scolded him. "How about you do the dishes tonight, or there will be no video games for a week again."

He groaned and got up to take his half-full plate into the kitchen. "Whatever."

"I have the growing urge to call him a little shit to his face," Wes grumbled.

"That won't help anything," Lucy replied sternly. "He's not a bad kid. He's just working through some problems at the moment. It's not like you never had any."

"Sure, but not too many when I was his age." Wes finished his dinner with a sigh. "I want to do something with him. I hate seeing the kid like this. How do I help?"

Lucy grabbed his plate and answered, "Take him somewhere. It doesn't have to be camping. But he could use a positive male influence, since he barely sees his dad."

Wes thought about the idea. But where would they go? Maybe a place important to his own past? King Arcade was too obvious. Surely there was a spot more profound.

• •

Their Friday night movie, playing on Lucy's living room's large and bright 4K TV, was the Lego Movie sequel. She was seeing it for the first time, Wes having been the one to take Jace to it last year. The boys were busy with their own things, though. The younger was on his iPhone and checking out all his social media sites, and the older was skimming photo albums, under the small lamp by the couch. He turned a page to see his eighth birthday party at his and Lucy's dad's house, all of his old friends in attendance.

"Am I the only one watching at this point?" Lucy complained from the middle.

"Seen it already, Mom," Jace replied. "I'll look up for the good parts."

Lucy peered over and saw Wes looking at one 4x6 memory after the next longingly. For all the troubles Jace was facing, Lucy knew he would likely grow out of them. But her brother had only gotten more obsessed with the mythos of his childhood over the last five years, and he seemed to have little motivation to enjoy the present.

"You know, Wes, if you wanted to keep a few of the albums at your place, I already have more than enough. You… really seem to like the '95 and '96 ones."

"They're safer here. I don't want to keep anything really important at my crappy apartment. You have the 'heir,' so… you can, like, be the keeper of the family legacy."

Jace suddenly leaned across his mom to see what Wes was gazing at so solemnly and commented about a photograph, "Wow, you and your friends look like dorks."

Lucy chided him, "Hey, not nice. Those were his best buddies. He misses them."

Jace returned to his spot, got back onto Twitter or whatever shallow social medium that was wasting his time, and uncaringly replied, "So get new friends for this decade. Not like the 90s are coming back, or were that great anyway."

Wes slammed the album shut and glared at his nephew. He thought of what to say: whether to defend his friends, or tell him how hard it could be to stay a functional adult day after day, or if he should just insult him right back. But none of it was worth it. Right now, as sad a thing as it was, he only wanted to go home and get away from Jace, his own family. He put the album away, got up, and took out his keys.

"Come on, Wes, don't leave angry," Lucy said with a plaintive groan.

"I have… things to do anyway. So… good night."

Before he left through the door, Jace gave him one last look. It wasn't at all one of remorse. As much as Wes hated the idea, the kid may have already been a lost cause.

• •

The first thing Wes thought about when he walked into his messy apartment that night, was if now was a good time to take up drinking in a professional way. He didn't want to waste money on booze, but at the same time, he knew he was a good candidate for the kind of person that drank to forget, or to just let time go by.

All he really had in his fridge, other than leftover pizza and Chinese food, were a few glass bottle sodas. He cracked one open, took a sip, and glanced at his pantry's bright red door, which had always stood out and was oddly heavy.

He connected his iPhone to his speaker system and before tossing it onto his couch, selected the track Blade Runner Blues, from one of his favorite movies. Given his current place on life's road, the soft-synth-jazz music from a neo-noir cyber punk classic filled with the feelings of loneliness and nostalgia had become a fitting soundtrack.

As it filled the room, he went to his window and while sipping soda, gazed out at Royal Valley's nightscape, its old colorful neon lights and its newer, cold LEDs hitting the rain-soaked streets of a city in which he had perhaps long ago already dwelled too long. He knew he should leave home and start a new life like most of his friends, but he just couldn't. He clutched at the past tightly, spending every day hoping to feel a faint breeze of so many golden days gone by waft over his face. Why stop now?

His typical Friday night then commenced. He picked up the newest big Nintendo Switch game he had bought a week ago, but still had yet to play. He wanted to. It was online and he could even compete with Jace, regardless of how much he'd make the kid yell at the other end. But he still couldn't find the motivation—not even enough to remove the plastic wrap. The first long night with any new video game was once an almost magical occasion. Now it was nothing special, if it happened at all.

Instead, he again chose to just watch his favorite Twitch streamer continue his run of it. He finished his Coke among funny commentary and hundreds of responses a minute from the viewers via the chat box. Afterwards, he tried playing his SNES Classic on his big TV—hacked, of course, loaded with many more games than the two dozen or so Nintendo put onboard. But not even the pixel art, music, and action of Super Metroid could hold his attention for long, so it became yet another night of nothing but internet.

He didn't much like Facebook, but kept his profile up for a single reason: just in case any old friends decided to seek him out and reconnect. Maybe they would one day.

There was also someone on it that he used the platform to chat with, usually on a weekly basis. Before he could get into much of a conversation, his phone rang.

"Hi, Mom," he said with a sigh and leaned back in his chair as he kept typing.

"Oh, Wessy…" She sounded a little sad. "We haven't talked in a while…"

Wes opened a new tab to check how his stocks had done over the week and tiredly replied, "Not since last Saturday, I think. I know. Long time."

"How are things going down there? Still the same old Royal Valley? Hey, I'm going to visit sometime soon. Is everything okay with you?"

"Sure, Mom. Couldn't be better," he lied, and felt like Bruce Willis talking to his mom in The Fifth Element. "Did Lucy ask you to call? Is she all worried again?"

"Why would she be worried? Can't I just call you for a chat?"

"She's done this before, and then you call with your concerned voice."

"This is not my concerned voice. I only wanted… Okay, she did ask me to talk to you. Honey, it's great that you're visiting Lucy often and spending time with your nephew, but they want to see you succeed, too. You know that, don't you?"

"Mom, please, I don't need a life lesson right now. I had a lousy day. I'm going to have a lousy weekend. And then I'm sure I'm going to have a lousy rest of my life."

After a moment she replied, "Remember when I took you to Groundhog Day?"

"Sure. Great movie. And you had a crush on Bill Murray back then."

"Well, yes, and I'm sure you've watched it many times since—but do you know the actual moral of the story? Why even Buddhist monks revere that romantic comedy?"

"For some deeply philosophical or state of higher being reason, I'm sure."

"It's so much simpler than that. Phil kept experiencing the same day over and over, and it went from being his worst one ever to his best. It was always the same day for everyone else, but he changed his outlook and put in a little effort, and…"

"But Phil had the advantage of knowing how the day went. I never know how crappy a new day will be, so I don't get a chance to prepare and make the right choices."

"No, you missed the point I was trying… Wes, I'm coming down to see you. I can be there Sunday. We'll get some lunch, and then talk about some things."

"You don't need to. And you know you can't keep your dog at my place."

"Oh, she's a tiny thing, she won't bother anyone."

"They'll kick me out of here, Mom. Is that how you want to help me? Besides, I probably have to work Sunday. Just… wait until Thanksgiving, okay?"

"Okay. But I still want to talk to you again soon. Please, don't give up on Jace, even if he's a little troublesome right now. Those phases don't last."

"He thinks I'm a loser, Mom, and besides… we're barely related. I'm not 'good uncle' material. I'm just an annoyance. Lucy can raise him without me being around."

"Don't say things like that. You can't turn your back on family. I want you and Jace to have a good and lasting friendship. He does need you, and…"

Wes put his phone on his desk, face up, so her voice was just barely audible. He knew she would talk for at least another five minutes but didn't have the heart to hang up. As she rambled, he read over the last few messages he had shared with an old friend.

Wes: Yeah. Facebook's going the way of MySpace probably. Who knew people would care so much about every aspect of their lives being sold off, right?

Sadie: I know a lot of people that dropped it or still use it but hate it. I just don't want to lose all of my friends, you know? I found so many old ones from school. And two of them I even dated and then dumped. So I guess FB still has its uses (sad haha).

Wes: There will be something new in a few years that everyone's on. Just got to wait for all the classmates and old buds to sign up so we can pretend we're still close.

Sadie: You've become such a cynic. Do you mean that about us, with sarcasm?

Wes: I mean everyone, all of us. Still, this is all the two of us got left, really. AIM is RIP and email is just kind of too formal, sorta? I mean, we chat a few minutes a week. That's cool and all I ask. None of the others do. They disappeared.

Sadie: Right, except for Jared who I bet you wish would disappear. Hold on BRB.

He assumed that she was back now after five minutes or so, and with his mom still trying to be his life coach from a hundred miles away, he got back to typing.

Wes: Ever wonder about the purpose of childhood friends? We make them because we want buddies when we're young. Our interests hardly matter. Then we grow up and seek out friends who do share our interests, and all the old ones… poof.

Sadie: Not all of them. Try reaching out. I'm sure at least Arty or Colin will reply.

Wes: I feel like if they actually cared, they would have done it first.

Sadie: Cheer up, Wes. They're still out there. They'll talk to you.

Sadie: Maybe we'll even have a reunion one day. Gotta go. Night.

Wes picked his phone back up. His mom had just finished—yet feeling lonely as he often did late at night, he honestly wouldn't mind talking to her for a little longer. But she had a Turner Classic movie coming up, and soon wished him a good night as well.

He went to bed and thought as he fell asleep that, maybe, it was finally time to let his past die. After all, hadn't his childhood already ended long ago? On that horrible night when he heard the news? Even now, so many years later, the last face he usually visualized just before entering dreamland was that of a dorky, funny, bespectacled girl.

Ash. Ash Teller… The one left behind…

• •

He had to get up early the next morning, since his Saturday would be ruined by more work, so he did his usual routine. As his coffee brewed, he sleepily opened the pantry door and pulled his favorite breakfast bar out of its box—and lost his grip on it right away. He often lost dexterity after just waking up, so this had happened before.

Seeing where it was headed when it flew away, he knew it would bounce off the pantry door and land on the floor… Only, he couldn't find it. He got down on his knees to look closer, leaned on his elbow as he searched under the lowest shelf with his other hand, and then suddenly lost his balance. His elbow should have hit the door, but…

It had also vanished. His arm was split in two by the door, as it was partially inside of it, gone. Elsewhere. Freaked out, he yanked his arm back effortlessly. It was safe and intact, but for a moment, part of it felt like it no longer existed. He studied the door and sent his hand through. He wiggled his fingers but couldn't feel them until they returned.

"W-what the hell…" he stammered.

Needing to prove to himself that he wasn't hallucinating, he grabbed his phone, stuck it through, and while holding it tightly, pushed the side button to take a picture. He then brought it back out of the strange hole and saw what was on the other side.

He couldn't explain it. It was his apartment. But it also was… not.

Wes didn't find his original breakfast bar, so he spent the next five minutes eating a different one while pondering his door. From his table, he stared at his open pantry and waited for the coffee to take effect. Surely, he only imagined having a Twilight Zone doorway inside his kitchen. Even if he had a picture that proved otherwise.

Unsure if his apartment's glitch in the matrix was still active by the time he was done eating, he returned to the floor and stuck his hand in again. He needed to leave for work, but had to understand what he was dealing with before spending the day in hell. He set his phone to record and with both hands, held it steady on the other side for a solid minute. Heart racing, he pulled it back and hit the play button on his new video.

He soaked in the small details of his "other" apartment. His kitchen looked dated and dirtier. Past it, from what little he could see of the living room, a relic of a TV was blasting out the news. He heard something about the Nasdaq exchange breaking a record the previous day; he knew that must have happened… some time ago.

After opening his phone's web browser, a quick search revealed that it had hit a thousand points on July 17th. 1995. Nineteen freaking ninety-five.

*Holy shit,* Wes thought. *Is this… some sort of time gate?*

Throwing caution to the wind, he stuck his head in for a minute. It was a little brighter on the other end as well—later in the morning, he guessed—and the news on the TV repeated exactly what it had on his phone. Time was looping. Was the entry fixed to a certain point? He retreated, stood up, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

*I can't explain this. I don't even care. If that's really 1995 on the other side, then…*

He stepped through and felt the subtle change in the air current. He opened his eyes and looked around. It really was his kitchen, just even more poorly kept with an older, ugly fridge and a mountain of plates in the sink. He stood still, just observing, and listening to the news for the third time. He stayed until he heard someone coming, at which point he promptly bolted back through the exterior side of the pantry door.

Once he was safe, he tried to calm himself down after such an amazing discovery. Time travel? Possible? To perhaps his favorite year? How…

He noticed that it was a little darker and checked the time on his phone. Its clock briefly showed 7:29, before re-syncing with the time server and flowing backward, to 6:54 A.M.. On Friday. That horrible yesterday had been reset. Curiouser and curiouser.

An hour later, his phone rang for the third time—it was Jared again, probably asking where he was and why he was late. But Wes disregarded it. Besides, he could easily step into 1995 and come back again to re-begin the morning. That was pretty cool in its own right; he already felt like time, his dreaded nemesis, had become a plaything.

He wasn't sure if he was prepared to stay in the past for a long while. But a day? A week? Just to test the temporal waters? He cracked open his cash box and took out all the bills from 1995 or before, for a total of about thirty bucks. He also changed into his simplest clothes that wouldn't draw attention and put on his favorite shoes from high school, which now barely fit. They were made years after 1995, sure, *but close enough.*

When he was ready to explore the Royal Valley of yesteryear, he opened his pantry door, took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles, and stepped through.

Remembering that someone would soon come into his kitchen from twenty-five years ago, he quickly and quietly ducked into the hallway, the blasting news helping to cover any sound he made. Then he watched as the door down the hall opened.

"Hun, did you hear something?" a woman's voice suddenly shouted from his future bedroom. "Sounded like someone's in the kitchen."

A moment later, she emerged, in a bathrobe and with curlers in her hair. She paused, stared at Wes for a second, and let out a shrill scream before running off.

"Shit," Wes grumbled and went into the living room—just in time to see the man of the house in all his tank-top-wearing glory grab a shotgun and turn to face him.

He shouted out, "Just how in the hail did you get in her'?"

He cocked his shotgun, and in a panic, Wes took a painting of a kitten and a ball of yarn off the hallway wall and tossed it at him like a Frisbee. He deflected the spinning "art" with his gun, and Wes took the chance to make a mad dash to the front door.

The lock was stuck, and though Wes tried, he couldn't get it open by the time the current renter had his widow-maker trained on him. And he looked pretty mad.

Without even trying to get to know his guest, the guy fired the thing, the burst almost deafening. Fortunately for Wes, all those years of video games had given him a good reaction time, and he had managed to sidestep at the last instant. The shotgun blast damaged the doorframe and the lock, and the door drifted open from the wind. Before the maniac recovered from the recoil and fired the second barrel, Wes took off.

Once he was safely on the parking lot below and made sure that he wasn't being chased, he caught his breath and looked around at Royal Valley, baking under a clear day's sun. He couldn't believe it. It was just as he remembered how the city used to be, when he was a kid and everything was much better. Somehow, a mighty gift had been bestowed upon a guy who would appreciate it the most. He had leapt through time and space and arrived at a place that he was already considering never leaving.

None of the people walking by were tapping on smart phones, sending emojis out into the ether. They didn't have little screens to stare at yet, so they still looked up and around at other people. Even after standing there in awe for only a few seconds, he had already been noticed by no less than four pedestrians—strangers acknowledged his existence. That felt like it had become so rare in the present. Or, what used to be the present. He would have to get used to many things again if he were to stay.

And somewhere out there was a younger version of himself, in his prime. He knew he should absolutely not interact with that kid at all, but he definitely needed to at least get himself a peek at the city's coolest ten-year-old. And his school, and childhood home, and all his old favorite stores, The Queen theater, and… so many other places.

He headed downtown, going no place in particular. The street names were the same, but most of them had been recently repaved and looked brand new. He soon found himself on Main Street, where the streetcars that once only existed in his memory were still running, albeit usually only half-full of people. The chocolate store Charlie Pippin stole from, the corner gas station where his mom always got her car looked at, a used car lot that he had forgotten about run by a guy named Odie—places, remnants of the city's 1960s golden days, were suddenly still around. And Victory Plaza, the modern, now newish tower that he would later despise, was very clean and free of his company.

Wanting to be reminded of the current trends, he paid a quick visit to Royal Valley Toy Chest, Main Street's only toy store that would disappear in ten years or so. He then found a bus stop, deciphered the routes, and waited around for fifteen minutes, perfectly complacent in spending the moment of peace further observing "his" people, those who had shared his younger self's 1995 local spacetime with him.

The bus was filled with more of these people, and he listened closely to their conversations, whatever they may be, as he was taken to Desert Tree. His kingdom.

After stepping off the bus, he noticed a little anomaly. The quarter he had used to board was still in his pocket. Maybe it had returned to him? Maybe he, and everything on him taken from the future, wasn't quite… stable? Knowing he'd have to keep an eye on the quirk, he proceeded to his old neighborhood. Most of the houses were the same ones he passed on his visits to adult Lucy's place, but the sidewalks, roads, trees, and of course the time-appropriate vehicles in the driveways were all different.

Not long after he had only begun to admire the view and smell the air of his childhood paradise, he kind of stumbled upon Colin's yard, without really trying to get there. His treehouse, on the side of the residence where it was in the seclusion of other trees, was easily visible. It was well-built, immaculate, high up, and home to hangouts, the creation of long-term plans among the group, and late-night ghost stories.

Colin's driveway was empty, so Wes assumed that his best friend from the time wasn't home. Again feeling a complete disregard for any danger, he walked right into the yard, looked around to make sure no one was around, and began climbing up the boards that were nailed into the side of the tree—carefully of course, given his adult weight.

He smirked at the crossed out "NO GIRLS" sign, crawled inside, looked at the doodles on the treehouse walls and the pinned fliers and notebook paper, and spread out on the floor. He listened to the wind rustling the leaves of the other trees and felt the very light sway of one of the neighborhood's biggest specimens. It was bliss.

"Amazing…" he murmured happily. "This is the place and time to be. Even when you're old and ugly." He opened his eyes and looked at the sunlight pouring in through the one window. "We… used extension cords and a pulley to get a TV and Nintendo 64 up here that one time, didn't we? Four-player gaming in the treehouse…"

Upon hearing a car pull onto the soft pebble driveway, he jolted up and looked out the window. He saw him down there, hopping out of his dad's Ford Explorer. Little Colin, and his parents. They must have just gotten back from a summer movie, perhaps.

"Colin…" he sighed. "Aw, look at you, kid. You have no idea that your best friend grew up and came back in time to watch you from your treehouse, do ya? What did I do to deserve such a strange and amazing chance to come back…?"

He waited for Colin to run inside and his parents to follow before descending. Just as he always did as a kid, he jumped down once he hit the fifth rung.

Experiencing excitement for the first time in years, Wes alternated between speed walking and running to the house where he spent twenty-two years of his life, excluding his days in a local dorm—but counting those few post-college years when he came back home before moving to an apartment. It was the home of his formative years, and thousands of good memories. He couldn't return to the future without seeing it.

The moment the house came into view across the street on the other block, Wes froze in place, just to take it in. As he did so, a familiar car suddenly drove past him. It was a red 1993 Kia Sportage, a funny little SUV and his mom's favorite set of wheels that she still mentioned now and then in her 2020 phone calls. Wes turned just in time to see his younger self in the back, who fortunately didn't notice his older self in return.

After the car slid into their short driveway, Little Wes leapt out with a new, big Super Soaker, already out of its box. He watched from a distance as his mom followed him in and remembered just how young she was once. Once she opened the door, Wes Junior was welcomed by a happy old dog, whom he patted on the head before going in.

"Tiger?" Wes murmured. "Why… Why did I almost forget about you, boy?"

A few of the neighborhood's citizens walked by while he stood there admiring his childhood home—he vaguely recognized one or two of them from somewhere in the depths of the labyrinth in his head—but he dared not get too close and risk having his mom or one Wes see the other. He had seen enough time travel movies and shows to know the possible risk doing so would carry, so he was satisfied just seeing the place.

It was a long walk, but worth it for his next stop: Desert Tree Elementary. He never thought he would miss a school of all things so much, but by the time he had graduated college, he had already felt a longing for those halcyon and more innocent days of K through Five. After he found it, surrounded by a quiet road and many houses, he lingered a while and traced its shape with his eyes. There was no way he'd get in, and it was summer in any case—and it had hardly changed by 2020, but still… There it was. New friends, recess, field trips and cafeteria dares. He would soon start fifth grade.

Wanting to see yet more places, he left Desert Tree, found the nearest bus stop by the highway, and took the first one that arrived, no destination in mind and leaving it up to fate. He was able to use his quarter trick again with no effort on his part for another free ride, not feeling the least bit bad about it since he couldn't control it.

The bus went out east before turning around and heading back into the city, at which point it drove by the Toys 'R' Us. Though it wouldn't stop anywhere near it, Wes was happy enough just to see its signage back where it belonged and its parking lot full of cars and excited kids being led in by parents ready to make their day.

Not too far from the toy utopia was the Royal Valley Mall, where the bus did make a stop. Over half of its occupants, mostly elderly day shoppers or mall walkers, got off and Wes followed them, still with that quarter in his pocket. He wondered just how far the worn out old 1994 coin would take him as he stepped into the food court.

And wow, what a time capsule. He had completely forgotten about some of the stores that now existed again, either chains or one-offs that once only operated in the indoor plaza. Places seemingly disappeared at random overnight and were then replaced by something new weeks later. Hundreds of stores had probably come and gone over the years, so it was no wonder he didn't have memories of all of them.

He visited a few stores before hitting the arcade. Every kid in town remembered the day that closed. But the sad moment in history felt impossible as things were now; the venue was bright, loud, and full of kids and teens playing the hottest new cabinets.

Hoping he wouldn't attract too much attention, he found one of his favorite games from the time, Alien Vs. Predator, and stuck in two quarters to get it going. He was able to beat up xenomorphs for about a minute before the glitch happened again. He got his money back, but the game had also returned to its demo mode. It made him wonder and worry a little, but at least he got a refund.

If he was going to stay in the past for a longer period of time, he hoped the anomaly would wear off. But if not, the trip would still be worth it and he'd do his best to work around it—unless it interfered with eating. In that case, he really would have to go back to 2020. And that would be a real shame. Surely, he could make things work.

As he was already hungry and seeing a good chance to test out just how bad the spacetime error could get, he went to the food court and got himself a slice of pepperoni pizza and a Pepsi. He took one of the corner tables, away from most everyone else, and started with nibbles that turned into bigger bites. It actually looked like he could drink and eat okay; his pizza never regrew any of itself and his drink never refilled. It was gross to think about, but maybe things that went inside his body were an exception.

He looked up to see a boy a few tables away staring at him, probably because he was eating so strangely and cautiously. He was no older than six, with messy dirty blond hair and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt. Their eyes locked for a few moments, and Wes began to wonder if the kid, in some way… knew something about him.

A man who must have been his dad then came in from the side, his back facing Wes, and he told the kid, "André, it's rude to stare. Come on, it's time to go home."

The man turned around to face the time traveler and looked ready to apologize for something that didn't really need it, and Wes was surprised at the man's apparent age. He was up there in years, maybe in his mid-sixties, though his lack of wrinkles and other age marks obscured the real number a bit. He took a few steps forward and got ready to say something, but then raised an eyebrow and gazed upon Wes, confused.

"Do… Do I know you from somewhere? You seem so familiar…"

Wishing he hadn't been noticed, Wes shook his head. "I don't think so. Don't worry about it. I was just leaving. Uh, cute kid."

He got up, tossed his garbage, and walked out of the mall, with the old man staring at him in a peculiar manner the entire time. He assumed he just thought that he was someone else, but as someone who was violating the rules of time and space, Wes had no desire to attract any attention or change history to any significant degree.

• •

He had mostly stopped worrying about the odd old man by the time he made it to the eighteenth floor of Victory Plaza, to watch the sun go down on his hometown on a day in 1995's July. It felt like the perfect way to end his best day in a long while, and luckily, as in the future, there was a window to look out of by the elevators, so he didn't have to break into what was currently a brokerage firm for a view. Although he was tempted to do so and scribble a cryptic "DON'T HIRE JARED REINER" on some part of a wall that would be revealed during a move, just to see what might happen.

The sunset colors were a tiny bit different than what he was used to. Maybe the pollutants in the air had changed over the years. But all those deep purples and oranges were still out there, in every place except the long shadows of buildings and houses. He made the decision then to stay, at least a few months. Maybe it would fix him. Maybe he could fix some things. First, he had to go back to better prepare. Time for a break-in.

After blowing almost all of his petty time-safe cash on a used pair of overalls and a blue cap at Kettle's Goodwill just before it closed, he returned to his apartment at eight. He really didn't like wearing overalls, but he needed to look the part, and at least he could wear them over his normal clothes and not have to ditch them.

He lowered his cap a little over his eyes and, hoping the current resident wouldn't recognize him from the morning, knocked on his apartment door, standing up straight and trying to look professional and not the least bit suspicious.

"Yeah?" the guy on the other side asked, the door chain preventing it from opening farther. He eyed Wes and already a little aggravated, added, "Whad'ya want?"

"Ah, sir, apartment 213, right? We got an emergency call about a refrigerator breakdown. May be an easy fix. I was going to take a quick look before I get my tools."

"I didn't call no one about that."

"It was a woman's voice on the phone, so…"

"Huh. Well, shoot. Wife's off playin' a card game with the girls right now, so it'd be hard to ask her… Didn't tell me nothin' about somethin' wrong with the fridge."

"Well, it could be nothing. No charge if that's the case. But I already made the drive out, so I might as well see what she was talking about, right?"

"I, uh… I s'pose. All right. Hold on."

He closed the door, undid the chain, and opened it to let Wes in, who was keeping his head down. He took notice of the shotgun damage to the door frame.

"Had an intruder here today," the crazy guy said after Wes had walked in and he closed the door behind him. "Figured he'd be back. You think I'm stupid, boy?"

Wes turned and saw that he was already reaching for the shotgun leaning on the window. The maniac was right about one thing—he had definitely been underestimated. But Wes figured he could make it to the kitchen before getting a face full. He was more upset that he'd have to deal with the guy whenever he felt like a little time traveling.

"Get back here, boy! I just wanna talk to ya!" he shouted as Wes took off.

Wes heard him running behind him, his feet stomping on the old floorboards. He could've been just seconds away from getting shot in the back for all he knew.

His heart about to explode as he did so, he made a running leap into the closed pantry door, confident the gateway to safety was still there.

The next thing he knew, he had slammed into the shelves inside his pitch-black pantry, sending several toppling down to the floor. With a little pain in some places, he stumbled out, grabbed onto a chair to stop himself from falling, and caught his breath.

He looked back at the door and after taking a moment to collect his thoughts, stuck a hand through to confirm that it was still an entry to the past, and yes, all of that had really happened. Thankfully, it also looked like his possible murderer wouldn't be chasing him through time, even though he must have seen Wes leap into his door. Best he could figure, maybe no one in 1995 could use the gateway.

Not really caring about spending any more time wondering about it, and fully prepared to go back proper and stay for a while, he headed into his bedroom and grabbed his old, low capacity iPad, to start making an important checklist.

Going to work was at the top of the list. It would be a very special Friday rerun, and he wasn't about to finish making that database a second time. And what to wear?

He opened his closet and got into the stuff in the very back. He had something that would fit perfectly. Once he saw it, he let out a genuine laugh for the first time in 2020 and quivered in anticipation at both the prospect of going back to 1995, and finally getting back at his boss for so many things that happened since that year.

• •

"Morning, Miriam!" Wes greeted the receptionist, who would be the first of his business's employees to see what he had decided to wear that morning.

She covered her phone receiver and exclaimed, "Wes, what on Earth…"

He got similar reactions on the way to his desk, even to the point where others farther away heard the commotion, stood up, and looked out from the cubicles. His fashion choice seemed to be a hit with everyone and would likely cost the company a few hundred bucks just by time wasted on reactions and commentary.

Sandals, khaki shorts, a red Hawaiian t-shirt, and a pair of sunglasses was all it took to upset the balance on floor eighteen. He didn't plan to spend all day again at work; this act was really just a farce, though it did have its perks. He would tell Jared what he really thought about their friendship and their company that he had wanted to say for years, and also take something from his desk that he wanted with him on his trip.

Jared ran into him before he made it over. He looked a tad perturbed.

"Ah, Wes, uhm… Heh, yeah…" He stammered and tried to keep from laughing, probably one of those nervous or disgusted kinds. "I thought we stopped doing casual Fridays years ago. Are you going on a sudden vacation you didn't tell me about, bud?"

Wes eyed his desk, which was just behind Jared, and nudged his sunglasses down a little so his boss could see that he was serious despite the smile. "Sorry, Jared, but I am out of here. Just pickin' up some junk. You'll have to finish the database yourself."

"What? Are you kidding me? You can't quit! Do you have any idea how busy I am right now? I don't have time to pick up the slack and do even half your job!"

"But you have been doing literally half of my job for a while now, haven't you? Come on, J, you'll do fine. Weren't your corporate pals about to give you a promotion?"

"Why are you doing this, man? I thought we had a good thing going!"

"Dude, don't lose your cool." Wes pushed his shades back up. "I'm not pulling a Jerry Maguire and starting some new company by stealing a bunch of the guys here. I'm just quitting. I hate this place and my life is miserable, so I'm movin' onto better things."

"Are you still angry we ended up here? You ever think that if you tried harder—"

"Oh, don't give me that shit, J. I did all the work back then, too. You just wanted the fame and fortune and blew our startup capital on frivolous crap you didn't need. You made us settle for being stooges at a company whose most valued contribution to society was better ad targeting in mobile games. And I hate 99% of mobile games, J."

"But we can still… If you and I just got to the top together, we could change the company… That was the plan, wasn't it? Back when we both got hired here?"

"Sure, but dreams die. The last decade sucked and killed mine, and I'm sure the next decade will suck too and kill anything that's still left. So, ya know, screw this place."

He pushed his way past Jared and grabbed the one thing he wanted from work—that framed photo of the gang, which he slid into his oversized pocket.

"What are you going to do about this 'next decade,' huh?" Jared said angrily, now the one having a rotten day. "Your nostalgia is a poison. You can't live in the past, Wes!"

As Wes started to head out, he grumbled, "Watch me."

After most of the company watched Wes' grand exit and he returned to his car in the garage, he took his iPad from the glove box and checked off the first item: "Quit!"

It was going to be a long day of preparation. Luckily, his schedule was wide open.

• •

"You quit your job?" Jace asked his uncle. "How will you make money if you do come back? I mean, I liked the part where you yelled at Jared, but…"

"Have you been paying attention to anything?" Wes sighed. "Different timeline."

"Oh. Yeah. That Friday got reset. I'm just tired, not thinking straight…"

The rain had stopped hours ago, and now the sun was rising. Neither Wes nor Jace had gotten any sleep during their stay under the bridge outside of town, but Millie was peacefully snoring with her mouth hanging open over by Warren, who had let her fall asleep leaning on his side. He had used his quartz to monitor the area all night long.

"So, neat story—other than how you made me look, but I really wanted to find out what we're going to do now, with spy-girl Millie and the ninja guy," Jace said.

"I'm sure whatever he's got planned for us will take up the day. No use thinking about it all night. Just thought I'd get my mind off things with that thrilling tale."

"Yeah…" Jace yawned. "I don't have to go to school today, right?"

"Maybe… If it's important, Warren would probably make you go. Sorry."

"Great," he huffed. "One thing I don't get… What's the deal with that kid in the mall and his dad? He was the little punk that tried to steal my phone way back, but you never told me that you met him on your first day, too. That whole thing is kinda weird."

"Hm. I mean, it happened, but I guess I mostly forgot about it until now. I just thought he was some old guy that mistook me for someone else."

Warren sighed, woke up Millie, stood and stretched, and put back on his headgear. She felt around the rocks for her glasses and messily slid them onto her ears.

"We should be safe to move," Warren said. "We need to get you to a new place to stay, and finish setting up some security. I already took care of most of it days ago."

"Oh." Wes muttered, "I actually like solving problems on my own, but, okay."

"You can't mess around with the time cops. I'll be the one in charge of your safety from here on. Doesn't mean you should go out and act stupid or something."

Wes turned in the driver's seat and got the engine going. Warren made Jace ride in the back with Millie again, who complained about her "bed" made of rocks.

"But it's worth it," she added, rubbing her aching back as they got onto the road in the early morning sunlight. "To be the only kid in school that knows time travelers."

Thinking on her remark, Wes wondered—would she find out who he used to be?