Minus

"What the fuck do you mean Peter's dead?" I felt like I couldn't hear anything around me.

"Sir... You gotta come here and see for yourself."

I rushed to the house. On the way, all I could think about was how the hell all this could be explained. When I got there, the constable was waiting for me outside the house.

I went in and saw Peter lying on the floor. There was a cut under his ear, but that definitely didn't cause his death. That's when I noticed a cut on his palm—deep, and it looked like he'd gotten the wound 2–3 days ago. I couldn't find any other injuries that could explain his death, but the kid had been dead for more than 5–6 hours. I could only be sure about that.

"Call the forensic team and backup. I want every single piece of evidence from this house. Also, find out where the hell Kevin's mother is."

I looked for his phone in his pocket and checked who he called last. That's when I noticed something odd—the date and time on his phone were wrong. It showed a date three days earlier and the time was off too. Well, that kind of thing could happen often with smartphones.

The forensic team arrived and started examining Peter's body and the surroundings. I went outside to have a smoke.

My phone vibrated.

"Sir, we've got the location of Vanessa Cardigan. She's been living in Renmark, South Australia, for more than two years."

"Alright, book me a ticket on tonight's flight."

I called the constable. "I need my deputy found within the next 24 hours, alright? You're in charge of this case until I come back. Is that clear?"

He saluted. "Yes, sir."

I boarded the flight, and all I could think about was what I'd do if I didn't find this woman. That would almost be the end of the case.

"Sir, would you like a drink?"

The flight attendant smiled brightly at me. Alcohol to calm my mind was exactly what I needed.

"Brewdog. Keep it coming."

She brought me six rounds. I don't know if she came back for a seventh, but I was asleep after the sixth. The flight attendant woke me up when we landed.

I called my friend, Oscar Kingsley. He runs a business firm in South Australia. I'd told him about my trip, and he'd been waiting for me at a motel.

"Yeah, I just landed. I gotta freshen up first."

He picked me up from the airport.

"How was the flight, Arthur?"

I noticed his hair was starting to go gray.

"I passed out after a few Brewdogs."

He sighed. "Don't you think it's high time you stopped drinking? Considering the last time you ended up in the hospital?"

I stayed quiet.

"Look, Arthur... we've been through this a thousand times. You've got to get over it, okay? It wasn't your fault Marielle and Jen—"

"Oscar, shut the fuck up, would you? I don't need your advice. I'm tired of everyone trying to parent me. I know what I'm supposed to do."

He didn't say a word until we got to the motel.

He handed me the room key. "Get changed. I'll grab us some food."

I stopped him. "Oscar... I really appreciate you coming down here to help me."

He tapped my shoulder. "It's nothing, Arth. Go get changed."

After I changed, we headed to Vanessa Cardigan's house.

"So, what's the deal with this Vanessa?"

I turned to him. "Her family is somehow involved in three missing persons cases. Two I investigated, and one from way back."

"How's that?"

I sighed. "Only one way to find out."

Oscar had already gathered the details and location, making my job easier. He briefed me.

"Vanessa and her husband, Victor Cardigan, moved here eight years ago. They aren't very friendly with the neighbors. And yeah... their four-year-old daughter died after having a seizure."

"That's tragic."

"Yeah. After that incident, they completely cut off contact with the outside world."

I nodded, exhaling deeply.

"You're still taking your medication, right, Arth?"

I didn't reply.

"Arthur... I'm not giving advice. Take it from a friend: your wife and daughter are gone. You can't bring them back by drinking every single day or skipping your meds. Your liver is seriously damaged. If you keep this up, you won't see next year."

I didn't respond. I took a bottle of water from the back seat and had a sip.

We both went quiet. After a few hours on the road, we reached the house. I knocked on the door. After a few knocks, an old woman opened it. Her dress was dirty, and she had a scar above her right eyebrow.

"I'm looking for Victor and Vanessa Cardigan."

"There's no one by that name here."

She tried to close the door, but I held it and pushed it open.

"Look, ma'am, I've had enough. I know they live here, so call them right now or I don't care if I have to snap an old neck."

Oscar grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back.

"Arthur, what are you doing? We might have the wrong address."

I pointed to an old, dirty couch. "Don't you see the word CARDIGAN knitted on that couch?"

He let go of my arm

"What do you want?"

A middle-aged man with a walking stick emerged from a room.

"We're looking for Victor and Vanessa Cardigan. I know they live here, so we need to talk to them. It's important."

He extended his hand. "I'm Victor Cardigan."

I shook his hand. "And your wife?"

He gestured for me to sit. "She left me a year ago... we aren't together anymore."

I nodded. "I need some information for a case. I'm a police officer from Hickdown, Arizona."

He asked the old woman to bring us tea. "Tell me the details... I'll see if I can help."

I told him everything that had been going on and asked if he could explain any of it. His last name had been on all the reports. He thought for a moment.

"Uhmm... I remember a kid from her family... yeah, Peter. I remember him, but I don't know what the hell the rest of this is about. It sounds like something straight out of a novel or something."

I stood up. "Maybe you can look it up in your family history. It would be really helpful."

He asked me to follow him to his room, where he took a large box out of a cupboard.

"This has everything I have about my family."

I opened it and started looking through photos and documents. One photo caught my eye. It looked eerily familiar, though it was blurry. I stared at it closely.

What the fuck... it was a photograph of my police station.

I turned to him, but he wasn't there. No one was. Slowly, I walked out of the room and through the hall.

"Oscar... you there?"

No response.

I drew my gun and walked cautiously. The house, bright when we entered, was now cloaked in darkness, making it hard to see. In one corner of the hall, I caught a faint glimmer of light. I moved toward it—it was a door. I opened it and stepped inside.

"Arthur!"

I heard Oscar's voice calling from behind. Startled, I turned and stepped back out to look for him. Suddenly, the house was bright again.

"Victor... I really don't like whatever fucking game this is..."

I advanced carefully, gun in hand. "Come out now, or you and that old bitch are done. Right here, right now."

I searched every corner but found nothing and no one. Frustrated, I walked outside. The entire neighborhood looked the same—and different.

A kid ran past me. "Hey!"

He stopped and looked up at me.

"What happened around here?"

He stayed silent and then bolted.

What the fuck? I muttered, walking down the street aimlessly. I saw a man in a long knitted jacket.

"Excuse me, sir, what happened here?"

He looked at me like I was crazy, then walked off as if I didn't exist.

"Hey! Why the fuck are you dressed like you're from an '80s TV show?" I yelled after him.

I couldn't find our car and wandered for what felt like hours, trying to make sense of it all. Eventually, I saw a restaurant and stepped inside. Only one table was occupied, so I sat there.

A woman sat across from me.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Why is everyone here dressed like they're hosting a news channel?"

She lowered her coffee cup. "Sorry, what?"

I sighed. "Never mind."

I ordered a coffee and sat quietly, observing my surroundings. That's when I noticed a newspaper on a nearby table. I grabbed it, flipping through the pages.

The date caught my eye.

A different year.

"What the fuck is going on?" I muttered.

The woman across from me continued sipping her coffee, unfazed.

I stood abruptly, drew my gun, and shouted, "Is this some kind of fucking game Victor put you into? Why the fuck are you all acting weird?"

The restaurant manager approached cautiously. "Sir, please put your gun down, or we'll have to call the police."

I sighed. "Cunt, I am the police here."

The woman stood, trying to de-escalate. "Sir... please calm down. We can sort this out."

I holstered my gun. "Fuck it."

I walked out of the restaurant, but the woman followed me.

"Excuse me, sir."

I turned. "What?"

She stood at a slight distance, cautious. "What were you saying in there?"

I walked up to her. "I said, what the fuck is going on? This whole place looks like it's the fucking '80s."

She looked puzzled. "What do you mean like the '80s? It is 1983."

I grunted. "Would you shut the fuck up? I know it's fucking 2024, alright? You're probably part of Victor's setup to mess with my mind. But trust me, my brain's already all fucked up."

She stepped closer. "What are you talking about... 2024?"

After a pause, she grabbed my hand. "Come with me."

She led me to a building that resembled a science lab.

"I'm Anika Morgan. And you are?"

"Arthur Bennett."

She gestured for me to sit and explain. I recounted everything that happened after entering Victor's house.

"I don't know anyone named Victor Cardigan," she said, "but I do know a Jeffrey Cardigan who lives down the street."

"Jeffrey?" I asked, confused. "Alright, take me there."

She held up a hand. "Not so fast. First, I need to understand what's going on. You're saying you're from 2024... but it's clearly 1983. That means you've time-traveled."

I stood up, stunned.

"Look, I don't believe in any of this science crap. I have a fucking case to solve."

Anika didn't flinch. "Give me your hand," she said firmly.

Reluctantly, I held out my hand. She placed it on a white, plate-shaped device, and the machine immediately began blinking red.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my god... you really are from 2024."

I frowned. "What? Why do you say that?"

She gestured for me to sit. "That machine blinked red because your body contains a strange material called Rathadium Chronate. Theoretically, it's been proven to allow time travel to the past—and that explains everything."

I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Come with me," she said, leading me to another room.

In the center was a strange bed surrounded by machinery. She gestured toward it. "Lie down."

I hesitated. "Why should I trust you?"

Her expression softened. "I understand your doubts, but if you want answers, this is the only way."

With no better option, I sighed and lay on the bed. She unfolded a large machine above me, its core emitting an eerie blue light.

"What's this for?" I asked, warily watching her.

She touched my shoulder reassuringly. "I'll tell you everything."

She powered on the machine, and a bright white light began flashing down on me. After a few moments, my vision blurred, and everything faded into darkness.

When I woke up, Anika was standing at the far end of the room, reading a file.

"Oh, you're awake," she said, approaching me.

My head felt heavy as I sat up. "What the hell just happened?"

She pulled up a chair and sat beside me. Her face was solemn.

"Arthur," she said, her tone serious, "what I'm about to tell you will sound confusing, maybe even impossible. But it's the truth, and you need to understand."

I straightened up, bracing myself. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You ever heard of timelines, parallel realities, and all that stuff?"

"Yeah... seen a lot of movies," I said with a shrug.

She nodded. "Well, it's not just fiction. You've just time-traveled to 1983 from 2024, but that's not the hard part."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You've traveled to your minus reality."

I stared at her, confused. "I don't understand."

She sighed, leaning forward. "Arthur... every person's reality is the one they're born into. It's their original timeline. But there are millions of parallel realities to that original timeline. In some of those realities, you might have made different choices, lived a different life. But there are also realities where you don't exist at all—where you were never born and never will be. Those are called minus realities."

Her words sank in slowly. "So... this is a reality where I don't exist?"

She nodded. "Exactly. This is your minus reality—a timeline where you were never born. You're not supposed to exist here."

I ran my hand through my hair, trying to process it all. "And that's bad because...?"

"If you stay in a minus reality for too long, it can affect your entire existence. Your body contains Rathadium Chronate, which allowed you to travel to the past. But how you ended up in your minus reality? That's something I can't explain. It's supposed to be impossible for someone to enter their own minus reality."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"So what the hell do I do now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

To be continued