BEATRICE:

  “Give me a can of gasoline and some matches.”

  The spider-infested dungeon of the Camp Claudi complex housed the operations department.

  My presence shocked the curly-haired employee on duty because it was the last place any respectable Flyer would dare go.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Claudi?”

  “You heard me. Give me a can of gasoline and some matches.”

  “Come again?”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Despite his furrowed brow, he hustled to get what I asked for. Employees know better than to question my motives.

  “Do you need this delivered somewhere?” he asked.

  “I’ll take it.” When I snatched the gas can from his calloused hands, the weight of it dragged my arm straight.

  I scrambled to recover, acting as if this wasn’t the first time I’d touched a greasy can of gasoline.

  With all my might, I dragged the pungent liquid outside, through the complex gates and into the forest.

  Trees lay in silent ruin from the wildfire I started and extinguished. Blackened trunks stood like charred skeletons, their bark cracked and brittle. Scattered leaves curled, carpeting the forest floor. The air hung heavy with the lingering scent of smoke and burnt wood, a sharp reminder of the recent devastation.

  I thumbed the rough striking surface of the matchbox as I silently tried to talk myself out of this horrid plan.

  Can I really go through with this? Will it even work?

  Still, I continued on, changing hands on the gas can when the other got tired.

  I passed the scorched lands and went into the thicket where untouched trees remained vibrant and green, in my high heels, of course.

  Even at my lowest point, my vanity held tight. My ego refused to let go of the legacy I’d built, but there was a greater good pushing me onward.

  Bennu birds called in the distance, so I picked up my pace. I didn’t want to get eaten by those ferocious beasts. The rebirthing process took too long. What if I didn’t rebirth before Alpha enacted his grand scheme?

  Time was of the essence now. I was out of extra lives and get-out-of-jail-free cards. There was no more negotiating.

  The timeline had to be reset.

  After an arduous walk through thick underbrush buzzing with mosquitoes, the weathered facade of the testing warehouse loomed into view. The one where Mark kept Zayne and countless other boys; experimented, tortured, mutated, and mutilated them.

  I could no longer deny its existence.

  The door had been ripped from the frame, so no DNA Identifier was needed to enter.

  The blood drained from my face as I walked inside the dank space to see for myself the cages, the shelves full of torture devices, the mutation manuals detailing the unthinkable things we did to those boys.

  I smelled the suffering and tasted the shame on the tip of my tongue.

  The stark evidence of our transgressions convinced me once and for all. The only way forward was back in time. All the way back.

  I doused the house of misery with gasoline. Beads of the acrid liquid dripped from the shelves, covering the corpse of our mistakes.

  The gas sloshed out in uneven spurts, and each pour came with a hollow gurgle. Its biting scent burned my nostrils.

  Outside, I spilled the last drops of fuel around the perimeter of the decrepit warehouse.

  My heart stopped when I struck the match and set it ablaze.

  Flames burst into being and rose to engulf the abandoned structure, licking hungrily at the peeling paint. The heat was fierce, radiating in waves that distorted the air around it. Thick smoke billowed.

  The ceiling cracked and collapsed inward with a thunderous crash as the blaze consumed everything in its path.

  Inside, cages filled with fire. Torture devices and mutation photos burned, erasing the horrors that occurred because of the most pivotal decision of my life.

  The remnants of evil created a powerful inferno, the perfect fire portal to the past.

  I wept uncontrollably as regret twisted deep in my gut.

  With a great exhale, I relinquished control. I let go. Gave in with acceptance and grace.

  Through the growing fire, a portal opened itself to me, and I surrendered into the Slipstream void.

  Electric waves coursed through my cells as probability portals greeted me.

  Future streams begged for my attention, tempting me with life’s potential yet to come. The glorious future stretched boundlessly, with seeds of possibility waiting to grow into something magnificent.

  I turned my gaze elsewhere, refusing to engage.

  I knew exactly where to go; back in time to the most important portal in the Slipstream. One that Alpha didn’t have access to.

  My deepest emotions kept it locked from everyone except me.

  “I’m ready to face it…” My chin quivered.

  How could anyone be ready to make a decision of this magnitude?

  I pictured the moment clearly and summoned it to me.

  A shimmering ripple tore through the fabric of reality, twisting light and shadow into a swirling gateway that hovered in midair. The portal pulsed with iridescent colors. A low hum vibrated in the air, growing louder as the threshold widened, energy crackling at the edges.

  This will change everything.

  My knees wobbled as I slipped into the portal to embody a past version of myself sitting in my wheelchair, staring into the fireplace in Camp Claudi.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  My skin felt heavy. I no longer had control of my body.

  My gorgeous seventeen-year-old daughter, Grace, parked me next to the mantle and kissed my cheek.

  “I’ll be home for dinner.” She left me to stare into the flames’ probabilities for hours.

  Her able body bounded down the corridor, out into the woods we forbade her to explore.

  I sat in front of the fireplace, unable to move. I watched the flames flicker, as I did every afternoon since we had arrived on Bennu Island.

  My ego silently screamed, “This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t how my story ends.”

  Muscular dystrophy is a cruel disease. A sharp mind doesn’t go far when it’s trapped in a fleshy cage. Being back in this vegetative state was pure torture, but no one heard me scream.

  With every crackle from the fireplace, my shame shrank a little more.

  Mark came to my side, breaking the fire’s entrancement. His face was intoxicating. He looked at me and smiled, exposing his right dimple.

  He bent down to my eye level. Damn, he smelled delicious; musky after a hard day of work. I even loved his stink.

  I wanted to smile at him, but my facial muscles no longer obeyed me.

  “We’ve done it, B.” Mark presented a small Pelican case as if it contained an engagement ring. He proudly showcased a vial inside. It emitted a green radioactive glow.

  The very first Life Rite serum that passed his rigorous testing. He’d never give me something unless it was highly vetted.

  A single tear fell from my eye.

  This was my moment of truth. The most pivotal decision of my life set the rest of the world’s fate in motion.

  “This will bring you back, B. Are you ready to try it?” There was a glimmer in Mark’s ocean eyes. Hope for our future. The intoxicating promise of brighter days.

  He had spoken to me for hours on end for the last several years about the healing properties found in Bennu eggs. Certain he could harness their power to cure my muscular dystrophy, we bought the island, desperate for a cure.

  I refused to let hope in when he created the first batch, but I felt elated when he started testing the serum. He left the mutational side effects out of his initial pitch to me.

  Now, he proudly presented the culmination of years of strenuous work and dedicated research. The time had come for my first injection.

  Mark said, “The first few doses may make you sick, but we can tuck you away so Grace doesn’t notice. She’s being a typical teenager anyway, off on her own all afternoon.”

  Mark grabbed the vial of serum and moved toward me to inject it.

  “I love you so much, Beatrice,” he purred, his voice a velvety baritone. “I pray this works. I can’t wait to get you back.”

  As the needle hovered over my vein, I gathered every ounce of strength to move my mouth and tongue.

  At first it came out like a moan, but the second time I clearly said, “No! Stop!”

  Mark withdrew the needle and put his face close to mine. He studied my lips, amazed since I barely spoke anymore.

  “What’s that, B? I’m listening, dear.”

  It took so much strength to breathe while speaking.

  “No,” I said again. My vocal cords were rusty from non-use, and my voice sounded hoarse.

  “I know it’s scary to be the first person to take a new drug, but I’ve rigorously tested it,” Mark replied. “If this works like I suspect, we’ll cure a lot of diseases. Anything is possible with Life Rite.”

  He moved the needle toward my arm.

  I struggled to move away. My limp muscles refused to cooperate.

  Despite knowing the future probability, how everything would end with Alpha’s Redistribution Program, part of me still wanted to take the serum. Strength. Endurance. Eternal health, not to mention beauty; it’s the most difficult temptress to fight.

  But billions will die so I can live?

  Equipped with my knowledge of the future and Alpha’s unwavering mission, I doubled down, focusing all my energy.

  Just as Mark was about to inject the serum, my arm miraculously jerked away from the needle.

  “Stay still, dear.”

  Mark didn’t understand.

  I grunted, girding my loins. With great concentration, I pulled my arm into my chest and cradled it.

  Mark leaned back on his heels in disbelief. “Are you okay, B?”

  I focused on my dull vocal cords, and they vibrated under my immense willpower.

  “No… serum. Shut… it… down!” I breathed heavily between words.

  Stunned, Mark dropped the vial, and it broke. The glowing serum spilled onto the hardwood floor, into a puddle of unrealized potential.

  “My muse…” Mark slid my face into his hands.

  I melted into him, knowing all was right in the future even if we weren’t in it.

  This is no longer a Slipstream simulation.

  The heat radiating from Mark’s embrace, filling my soul, is real.

  Unfortunately, so is my muscular dystrophy. My all-encompassing paralysis is real.

  My body may be deteriorating, but my mind is stronger than ever. The Slipstream exists deep in the recesses of my mind. It’s real. After exploring the probabilities, I know with certainty which truth needs to be written.

  This is the hardest decision of my life, but it isn’t just about me. It’s about the generations to come.

  With great concentration of force, I explained to Mark why I couldn’t take the serum.

  “Those boys… My… happiness… is not more… important…”

  “Honey, we talked about this,” Mark said, but I continued.

  “No… Please. Too much… suffering.” Tears streamed down my face.

  Mark kissed my forehead, his stubble tickling my skin. “I hear you, honey, I do. But I’ve done it. The serum is ready.”

  “The boy in the cage… release him. Bring him… to me…”

  “Honey, no. You don’t really mean what you’re asking.”

  I cut him off again. “Bad execution…”

  I struggled to catch my breath as Mark searched my face for an explanation I couldn’t fully give.

  With my breathing shallow, speaking was difficult for my diaphragm muscles, and my body worked overtime.

  Mark stared into my eyes, seeing the pain we caused with Life Rite, now and in the future. The true cost was unbearable.

  He sat with me for hours, unmoving, trying to understand.

  When it was time for bed, he rolled me into our room, the wheels of my chair skidding against the wood floor.

  He wrapped his arms around me, lifted me, and gently set me on the bed.

  His soft skin grazed my cheek as he tucked my hair behind my ear.

  Mark cradled my feet, extending my legs onto the bed. He peeled my socks off, one at a time, and massaged my calves.

  He laid me back, bringing my head to the pillow.

  He stayed awake all night, holding me, crying silently, wishing I would change my mind.

  The next day, Mark released Zayne, and I introduced him to Grace. She hadn’t yet met the boy in the cage.

  Despite his harsh objections, Mark ultimately obeyed my wishes. He would do anything to please me, even if he didn’t understand. A genius like Mark knew better than to question his muse.

  It wasn’t enough to make things right with Zayne and the villagers, but it was a start. Mark assured me he’d put generous reparations in motion.

  I watched Grace and Zayne’s awkward teen romance bloom in front of me that summer. The connection they shared was real. Who was I to take that away? Grace should have a love as powerful as her parents.

  Maybe one day Zayne would build her a castle, brick by brick.

  Whenever I heard a Bennu bird call or saw one flying overhead, I wondered if it was Firestorm watching this stream as it was being written, but deep down, I knew he had other plans.

  My body deteriorated quickly; my heart got weaker by the day. But I had never felt more joy in all my time in the Slipstream than I did that summer.

  Grace pushed my wheelchair out into the forest so I could watch her and Zayne frolic around the island.

  Mark hated their friendship, but maybe Jackie would still be born. I prayed for the day my granddaughter, awkward but bursting with spirit, would come into the world.

  Have I done enough to turn the wheels of fate?

  The knock-on effects of such a major decision were hard to predict. I wished my sacrifice would change millions of lives for the better.

  As my breathing worsened, my sharp mind faded as well.

  I spent my last day on the balcony overlooking the volcano, soaking up the boundless energy of my vivacious offspring, endless hugs and kisses from my loving husband, and the beauty of the island that offered its bounty to me despite the sorrow I inflicted upon it.

  My last request was to have Mark throw my coffin into the volcano. He didn’t understand, but it was the most probable way for me to die.

  This time, I returned to my tomb alone, with no Slipstream to catch me and no idea what came next.

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