Branches

“Hi Mara, come on in and take a seat.”

Mara's arms gripped her body as if it would float away. She hesitated, then shuffled to the plush armchair in front of the young salesman's desk. She remained standing and leaned against its velvet back for support.

Cas, the salesman, eyed her as he strode to the sideboard. “I'll make some tea. In the meantime, have you decided which solution you want?”

Mara shifted her weight and chewed a hangnail. “I, um. I guess I'm still not entirely sure about the details for either of them...”

“Did you read the brochures I sent you?”

“I tried...” She inched around the chair and slunk into it, still wrapped in her coat and scarf.

Cas regretted the edge in his voice, softened his tone and added, “It's ok, it's normal to have lingering questions at this point.”

“It's just, the scientific one was so...technical. And the magical one was so...mystifying. I'm pretty sure some of the letters crawled off the pages and slipped through the cracks in my floors.”

“Yes, that happens.” He jotted down a mental note to mention this possibility to his next client.

Mara wanted to ask if the letters would return, but the salesman didn't seem willing to entertain digressions, so she let it go. “I was hoping you could distill down the main points of both options? Mainly the consequences? The consequences were the murkiest...” She clutched both glossy, inscrutable brochures in her trembling hands and held them out.

“Not a problem, here, trade you.” Cas returned to the desk and handed Mara a cup of soothing chamomile while reclaiming the brochures. “These are general and not about your specific situation.” He tossed them in a pile of used ones in a bin behind his desk.

“Oh, ok, that makes me feel better.”

Really? You look like you're about to cry, thought Cas. He smiled wide, then dialed it back, to avoid looking predatory. Most clients came in and demanded he make it happen, not caring how. He relished that quick turnaround and always pushed the scientific option. She's going to need a lot of hand-holding if I'm going to close this sale.

He sat down. Mara now had a death grip around the tea cup, so he placed one hand on her wrist. “It's an overwhelming process. But you've done the hardest part already.”

“I have?”

“Yes.” He gave a light squeeze then leaned back. “You've decided to reclaim your history. Science or magic, they're just different paths to the same outcome.”

“So, ok, that was one of my questions.” Mara sipped her tea and, mirroring Cas, settled into her chair, tempering the searing pain months of stress had sent coursing through her back. “Either way, I return to the day we met, but, we don't meet.”

“Exactly. The difference is in the process to get you back to that day...and...” He waved back and forth a couple of times. “...in some of the second- and third-order consequences.” Mara's eyes widened. “But let's start with what is the same.”

Cas pulled out two thin books; one, hardbound and utilitarian, like a textbook, and one hand-bound leather that emitted a faint glow. Someone, or something, had inscribed her name and the date and time — down to the second — of when she met Tessa, on both covers.

“As you can see,” he opened them to the first page and spun them around so they faced her. “Both say the exact same thing through about page three.” He flipped ahead. “Which is when, on the day you two met, if you recall, a large branch from the dying oak tree in your neighbor's yard, the one he promised a million times to cut down, weakened from the storm the night before, snapped clean off and fell into your yard.”

Mara's head bobbed. “I remember, I was so lucky it didn't hit my roof, my insurance is terrible. It missed by an inch.”

“Yes, well, because it merely fell into your yard, you yelled at your neighbor to deal with it and went on with your day.” He paused and watched her take a quick breath. “And we know where that led.” Mara averted her eyes. “So, in both new scenarios, the branch does, in fact, land on your roof.”

Mara groaned. “Consequences.”

“No.” He held up a finger. “Inciting change. Consequences come later. Let's return. The damage keeps you home all day cursing your neighbor and your insurance agent. You never go for that run or encounter those ill-tempered swans, there's no commotion to draw Tessa toward the lake and no you there for her to rescue. She strolls through the park, snaps a few photos, then meets the rest of her theater company on the other side and continues exploring the city with them. Later that week, she gets on her plane as planned instead of throwing caution to the wind and staying longer with you. There is no scenario in either book, as far as we can read,” he leafed through both to the end for effect. “Where your paths cross again. It didn't happen. It won't happen.”

Mara sat for a moment. A thousand questions flooded her mind. She opened her mouth but closed it, then again, failing to find the words. She set the tea cup on the desk and rubbed her face. Cas returned both books to page three and cleared his throat. “Perhaps now's the time to discuss the consequences that this change causes. These books are so thin because there is only so far into a new history, which is also your new future, they can peer before they lose the thread. Science or magic, they both have their limits.”

Mara remained silent for a moment, then whispered, “Tell me my life is better, please.”

“Only you can be the judge of that. We have a private room, where you can read these on your own and make that decision.” Cas half stood and motioned to a door to Mara's left.

Mara shook her head. “No, they look worse than the brochures. Can't you summarize them?”

Cas turned the books back toward himself, thought for a moment and, as usual, selected the textbook first. “Let's start with science. You may recall this is the costlier, but more reliable option.”

“Why costlier?”

“Well, ok, now we're discussing process instead of consequences, but, briefly, it's because we do everything for you, using our equipment. To harness the exotic matter needed to slice apart the fabric of space-time precisely at the moment, when we can affect the change necessary to prevent your meeting Tessa, requires using an immense amount of energy.”

“Wait, so, you make the tree branch fall on my roof? Can't you find another way?”

Cas looked down at the textbook and tapped it with his finger while thinking. “No.” He stopped tapping and looked her in the eyes. “We calculated the probabilities. This is the only way. This keeps you occupied at home the rest of the week. This prevents all other chance encounters that the universe would otherwise keep throwing in your path.” Mara started to speak but Cas continued. “But don't get hung up on details like that. You're not here for your roof, remember that.” Mara flushed and nodded. “We then transport your current consciousness through the opening into your past self. The branch hits your roof and...” Cas snapped his fingers. “...the new timeline begins.”

“Is this entire timeline, or, reality, erased completely?” Mara stared at Cas, silently begging him to reveal the catch.

Cas tilted his head at the question and blinked at her. “Uh, no. This timeline continues, just, without you in it.”

The catch, Mara thought, taken aback. “And here, do I die, or disappear?” She imagined dissipating vapors where her body used to be, the victim of some evil magician's permanent smoke bomb.

Cas refused to dive into the specifics. “Eh, really, it's all the same to you, right? You won't be here to know this all continues on, you'll be there, in a new branch of time created by us, for you, to...”

Mara cut him off. “Will I know what I did? Will I remember the last four years?”

“No, of course not. That...that would defeat the entire point of this, to erase the pain and trauma you have experienced. Once you make the journey, your mind will adjust to its new, old place in time, and will forget all of this, like a dream fading away as you wake up. Within 30 seconds it's gone. Remember, this is an opportunity to hit the reset button and deprive yourself of the opportunity of making the mistake of letting Tessa into your life, so you can live the better life you deserve.”

Mara said nothing and stared down at the worn, forest green rug at her feet. It made her wonder how many clients had come through here and gone through with this.

“Mara,” Cas brought warmth back into his voice. “I have ushered hundreds of wonderful people such as yourself through these processes, both as scientific procedures and magical rituals. You're just going back in time and erasing these years, not your entire self or being. By the time you have re-progressed to this point in four years, seven months, three days and some such hours and minutes, you won't be here, with me. I'll be with a different client and you'll be living the life you should have, had you never crossed paths with Tessa.”

Mara broke into a sob. Cas steeled himself to hide his frustration. This was taking way too long, he'd never hit his daily quota. And, unaccustomed to crying customers, he hadn't stocked tissues, so he grabbed a napkin from the sideboard and handed it to Mara. He gagged as she blew her nose and he handed her more napkins for the overflow.

When Mara collected herself and asked about the price, Cas quoted a figure she wouldn't pay off if she had lifetimes in ten timelines in which to do it. She couldn't remember if the brochure discussed the price and mentally slapped herself on the head for wasting his time.

“Magic is cheaper?” she squeaked.

Cas's mask of confidence slipped. His eyes darted to and away from the slim leather volume, and the room darkened. “Financially, yes, it's practically free.” Mara sat up straight for the first time. “But physically and spiritually, no.”

She slouched again. “What does that mean?”

“Magic requires ritual. Sacrifice. Sacrifice of your time, body, the tangible and intangible, it'll ask something of you near the end. I don't know what it is, but it will be important, vital to you, and you'll have to make a decision: to give it and continue, or quit. And you won't have much time to do so. And don't ask, Like what? Because I don't know. These books never hint at it. But I have a feeling that's the only thing that lingers when the process is over, like the feeling a nightmare gives you that you can't shake even when you've forgotten what was chasing you.”

Unease oozed into Mara's pores. Her skin itched. But her dismal bank account pushed her forward. “But, um, sorry, why is it less reliable than science?”

Cas hesitated. “The science is flawless. It will do as promised and hold. The timeline is solid. And it's quick. Sign today and we'll be ready to send you back in a week. That's why it's so expensive, you do get what you pay for. But magic...it's going to take a while. Months. Or more. And it can be fickle. The tiniest error or momentary lack of will during the ritual could cause a slight fracture, so thin you may never notice it, or, over time, it could spread and crumble the whole architecture of the timeline.”

Mara sprang up from her seat uttering a string of curses and throwing off her coat. Cas sighed when she took off her scarf too. She was in it now and would litigate every aspect of this, when he'd rather she just leave at this point. She was never going to follow through.

“Everyone struggles with this decision,” he lied, as she paced the room. “You are welcome to take some more time to think about it. Go home, get some sleep, exercise, whatever you need to clear your mind.”

Mara stopped and looked him dead in the eyes. “Magic. I can do it. I have to. It's all I can afford.”

Of course it is, thought Cas. “There is a third option,” he began, and Mara looked hopeful. “Therapy.”

Mara glared and balled her hands into fists. “You smug son of a bitch.” She charged at his desk and slammed her fists down on it, rattling the teacup and causing both books to bounce. The magic volume, however, did not come back down but hovered half an inch in the air. Mara didn't notice, but Cas did and blanched. “Don't you think I've tried that and all the mood- and mind-altering drugs? Nothing has worked and nothing will work. I need this entire part of my life gone. Gone.”

“Then take it,” he nodded at the floating book and placed a contract next to it with a conspicuous neon “SIGN HERE” sticker poking out of the last page.

Mara was on the verge of hyperventilation as her fingertips reached for, but stopped short of, the book. “But,” she panted. “The other consequences?”

Cas lost it. “Mara, who cares! I mean it, who cares? You? Do you give a shit at this point? You are a miserable shell of a person, barely functioning, resistant to all therapies and interventions. You can't afford the scientific route, so this is the only option available to you. So do it.”

“How...how do I know it'll be better?”

“It has to be, doesn't it? Anything is better than this.” Cas used the tip of his fountain pen to push the book toward her until it bumped into her fingers. A tingling sensation skittered up her arm. The entirety of the last four years, of Tessa, of what she had done to her, meant to her, and took from her rushed at Mara like a tsunami. She gasped for air and searched for Cas, but could no longer see him. An explosion of memories, beautiful, revolting, exhilarating, horrifying surrounded her like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, then a swarm of bees, then both. She spun and swatted and screamed as her vision narrowed and she dropped to the floor.

Mara laced up her running shoes and finalized her route. Ooh, I'll go past the lake today, she thought, when an intense wave of familiarity washed over her, stronger than déjà vu. A woman's tinkling laugh, then her acerbic insults, filled Mara's ears. Her body relaxed at this woman's warm embrace, then recoiled at the bruises her grip left on Mara's arms. Mara sweated and shivered as something deep and hurtful swelled in her chest, pressing and pressing and pressing on her and through her like someone had cut her open and was stuffing bricks inside the wound and when she couldn't take any more without bursting, a sharp cracking sound startled her, the bricks disintegrated, and the whole episode became an ephemeral memory. And then, nothing at all.

Then a loud snap like a gunshot rang out, followed by a crash from upstairs. “Nooo, no no no!” Mara raced up the stairs to find a dry, diseased, old tree branch where part of her bedroom roof used to be. She marched to her window, slid it open and yelled down to her neighbor. “Goddammit, George you asshole, I told you this would happen!” He grunted and mumbled something about her house being too close to the property line. “No! You are not off the hook for this! I have the texts warning you about this!”

She flew back down the stairs to her laptop and combed through her disorganized email inbox until she found her insurance agent's contact information. What followed was a week of phone calls with record hold times, cryptic visits by her insurance adjustor, the realization that her neighbor didn't actually have insurance, disputes on whether the tree broke due to negligence or the storm, disputes on whose property line the tree was really on, impatience from Mara's supervisor for missing so much work and the subsequent reassignment of her capstone project to her rival, and getting pilloried on social media by her temperamental brother for forgetting his birthday during this mess.

This has been the worst week of my life. Mara thought, as she sat under the flapping blue tarp in her bedroom and rubbed her forehead. She wished she could go back in time and cut down that damn tree herself. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, disappointed to see a news alert. Ugh, I need to mute these, she thought, and moved to swipe it away when something nudged her to open it.

Two dead, one missing, after heavy rain, flash floods in the northwest.

A married couple died after flood waters swept up their vehicle during a storm that moved across the northwest. Gerald and Eleanor Mortimer were on their way to visit their daughter, local actress Tessa Mortimer, who had returned home recently from a six-month tour with the Kali Theater Company.

“They never should have been out in that weather,” Sheriff Thorne said. “But friends say they were anxious to see their daughter after so long and thought they could beat the rain.”

Tessa called emergency services when her parents failed to arrive, but rather than wait for assistance, she left to search on her own. She has yet to be found.

“What a shame,” Mara whispered to herself as she paused on the photo of the Mortimer family included in the article. “She was so beautiful.”

Editor's Note:

Like any good parable, Karly Foland's "Branches" finds a way to commodify heartbreak. To transform it into a transactional product. Notice how Cas is a salesman in the literal sense, not a wizard or scientist. It's clearly the point. There's something mundanely predatory about the bin of used brochures, the stickers, the daily quotas. And it's the story quietly asking: what does it mean to want to erase someone? To its credit, the story answers the question obliquely, through consequence rather than thesis.

What stuck out to us the most, though, was that this isn't really a time-travel story, despite being dressed like one. It's a story about the impossible math of abusive love. The way you can know something or someone hurt you and still grieve the absence, still think they were so beautiful. Foland's speculative machinery is a vehicle for that emotional paradox, and it serves that purpose quite well.—Jon Negroni

Karly Foland is a writer of speculative short fiction from Omaha, NE, USA, who has spent over a decade living in Africa, Asia, and Europe and lives with her husband, daughter, and the two cats they rescued from the streets of Rabat. Her writing and photography have appeared in print and online and can be found on karlyfoland.com.

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