4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Caught In The Middle by Paramore
It’s 5:30 p.m. and Ben and I are making our way to the Railway, a pub just off campus. We both figured a drink would calm the nerves and pass the time before the big unveiling in Dr. Conrad’s office later. We also didn’t want to just mill around campus long after work hours were over. And truthfully, right now I need a distraction. The pub is a favorite neighborhood haunt for university students and staff.
The Railway is dimly lit with a mix of high and low top tables and plush blue velvet seating. Bookcases and large televisions cover the brick walls.
Ben gets his usual Old Fashioned and stands in the bar casually leaning up against the dark wood pillars attached to the exposed overhead beams. He honestly looks like a model standing like that, and I can see his eyes scanning the room to see if he’s been noticed. I order my usual, whatever local IPA is on tap, and start pacing in circles around him.
“Al, please. Stop circling. I haven’t had that much to drink and you’re making me dizzy.”
“Sorry.” I try to force my brain and my body to connect and stop spiraling.
He takes a sip of his drink and smiles at me. “I really don’t know how you drink that hoppy beer, Al. It’s so bitter.”
I laugh and shrug my shoulders. “Bitter like me, I guess.”
“Well, I’m not even going to argue with that.” He knows and loves my self deprecating humor, even though he sometimes can’t tell if I’m serious or not.
We couldn’t talk about the meeting too much in the bar as it’s a typical hangout for students and staff and we couldn’t risk anyone overhearing that a meeting even existed. I zoned out, watching hockey highlights on the television while Ben caught up with our normal bartender, Jenny. We have two drinks each and begin our walk back over to campus.
As we approach Dr. Conrad’s office building, Ben turns toward me.
“Alright! Any last guesses?” he asks as he’s walking backwards. He’s way too casual about all this for my liking. He views every obstacle and challenge as a new adventure. His fearlessness is something I love about him. But at this moment, I need him to come back down to earth and worry with me.
“Not at all. What does a theoretical physicist want with two historians?” I’m not interested in placing bets on what this could be. My mind will run away from me if I let that train leave the station.
Dr. Conrad’s secretary, Caroline Thayer, is waiting in the lobby to welcome us into the building. Caroline is in her mid-forties with thick, curly black hair. She’s sharply dressed in a gray pantsuit and black heels. I envy the ease with which she walks in heels. She glides, whereas I look like a baby giraffe taking its first steps. We wait for the elevator to take us to the ninth floor where Dr. Conrad’s office is. Caroline taps her foot on the floor while we wait, and it's making me even more anxious. The silence is tangible. We all know each other and have spoken before on numerous occasions, yet this time she’s not even attempting any polite small talk to fill the awkward space between us. I’ve been to this building once or twice before today. Ben brought me here for a staff mixer to meet his godfather just after we started at Chisholm. Dr. Conrad has always been welcoming to me, which I appreciated being in a new job. He and Ben’s father were roommates in college and have remained quite close, hence why he was named godfather to Ben. He was so involved in his research he never married or had children, so he sees Ben and his brothers as his nephews. When Ben moved from California, he called Dr. Conrad, who helped him secure a position at Chisholm.
His office building is more sleek and modern than ours. Our building feels almost like an extension of the campus library, with warm color tones and bookshelves throughout, and small pockets of space to burrow in. Dr. Conrad’s building is white and sterile. I’m half expecting a robotic butler to come out and take my coat. I take this as a reflection of the amount of funding his flashy profession gets compared to ours. He’s innovating for the future while we’re stuck in the past. As expensive and high tech as all the furnishings and decor is in this building, I find it to barely have the personality of an Apple store at the mall.
As we step out of the elevator, Caroline motions for us to follow her down the hallway. We pass the main conference room, which is glass paneled on all four sides. I always find that room to be odd, like a cage on display. I expected to be meeting there, but she continues on to Dr. Conrad’s personal office, where he has a separate smaller conference room attached. As she opens the door, I can see Dr. Conrad at the head of the rectangular table speaking in hushed tones with a man who I know to be his research partner, Dr. Malcolm McCoy.
Dr. McCoy and Dr. Conrad could not be more different physically. Dr. McCoy is at least six feet tall and is lean with salt and peppered black hair. He’s in his mid-fifties, clean shaven and well dressed in a tan suit. His green tie pops against his dark brown skin. He looks hilarious juxtaposed against Dr. Conrad, who sometimes looks like he’s just been startled awake. Dr. Conrad is at least six inches shorter than Dr. McCoy and about ten years older than him. He has thick-rimmed glasses that are attached around his neck. He’s heavier in the belly and his flannel shirt sticks out the bottom of his sweater vest.
“You’re here!” Dr. Conrad’s eyes brighten with excitement as his gaze lands upon us. He stretches out his arm to Ben first. “Dr. Turner! You need a shave, kid,” he says with a warm laugh deep from his belly.
His eyes turn toward me and he pulls my hand in to both of his. They’re warm and inviting, like him. “Alice, it’s so good to see you again.”
“Dr. Conrad, it’s—” I intended to remind him I prefer to be called Ali, but he interrupts me.
“James. You’re welcome to call me James, you know that. Though I suppose, given the nature of this meeting, we should stick to the formalities for now.”
Ben jumps in before I get the chance. “Right. About that. Why are we here?” He looks around the room for any clue leading to why we have been summoned here.
“I promise it will make sense soon. Be patient and wait until everyone is here,” Dr. Conrad replies. Everyone? Who else are we waiting for?
Dr. McCoy walks over to join us and shakes Ben’s hand. Dr. Conrad steps in to introduce me. “Malc, this is Alice Murphy. Alice, this is my research partner, Dr. Malcolm McCoy.”
Dr. McCoy reaches out to shake my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Alice. That’s a name you don’t hear often anymore. It’s lovely.”
“Thanks.” His hand grips mine in a firm shake. “I prefer Ali, though. It’s nice to meet you.” Although I attended the mixer here with Ben, I didn’t get a chance to meet Dr. McCoy.
After a few moments, two more people enter the room that I’m not familiar with. They must be who we have been waiting for. The woman is tall, she’s a good six inches taller than me, and I’m 5’3”. Her sleek blonde hair is pulled off her face with a red headband. She’s wearing a red and gray plaid shift dress and Mary Jane’s. She looks to be around Ben’s age and she sits down to the right of Dr. McCoy. Behind her is a tall male, around six feet, with ash brown hair slicked back. He’s wearing black dress pants and a gray shirt and black tie. He quickly takes the empty seat next to her and nods at us as he sits down.
“Alright everyone!” Dr. Conrad bellows from the head of the table to get our attention. “Now that you’re all here, I have one last thing before we get started.”
Caroline re-enters the room with a cart and begins handing out bottles of water and large manila envelopes. I carefully open my envelope while Ben excitedly rips his open beside me like it’s a Christmas present.
I pull out a stapled packet of paperwork. At the top of the first page, I see the phrase Non-Disclosure Agreement.
Ben’s eyes stop at that phrase too as he immediately asks, “An NDA? What the hell is this?”
Dr. McCoy clears his throat and begins to stand before Dr. Conrad taps him on the shoulder and interjects, “Ben, I promise to tell you everything, but I need you all to sign this first. We have to protect our research.”
“From who?” Ben’s tone grows demanding.
“Everyone,” Dr. Conrad quietly replies before Dr. McCoy adds with a smirk, “but mainly the United States government.” I don’t even know if that’s a joke or if he’s serious.
Ben and I turn and lock eyes and exchange a look we both know the meaning of.
What the hell is going on here?
I flip to the last page and quickly sign mine. I don’t read the terms and conditions. I don’t read them when I set up a new iPhone, I’m not going to read this either. I respect Dr. Conrad immensely, so if he asks for this favor of secrecy, I’m happy to oblige. I also just want to keep this show moving forward and I’m dying to understand why we’re here. Plus, the only person I’d care to tell is already sitting next to me.
Once Ben looks over and sees that I’ve signed mine and am quietly twirling the pen between my fingers, he signs his and pushes it forward to signal he is done. Our mystery companions follow suit, and we all stare at each other.
Dr. Conrad stands up to join Dr. McCoy and he motions for Caroline that we are ready to begin. She shuts and locks the door and I can feel a knot in my stomach beginning to form. Dr. Conrad’s attached conference room has no windows and only one door. I’m realizing now that this room must have been chosen with ultimate secrecy in mind.
Ben leans close to my ear while keeping his eyes on Dr. Conrad. “They definitely want to run tests on us,” he whispers with a soft laugh.
“First things first. Introductions,” Dr. Conrad interrupts. He motions toward our mystery companions across the table. “This is Sarah Henderson and Eric Rivers. They are members of our research team.”
“Sarah, Eric… this is Dr. Ben Turner and Alice Murphy. They are historians here at Chisholm.” Dr. Conrad gestures in our direction.
We all nod nervously at each other. I awkwardly wave across the table and immediately feel any merit I hold as a historian becomes laughable in a room full of scientists. Sarah’s eyes narrow on me and it feels like she hates me already.
Dr. Conrad and Dr. McCoy join each other standing at the center of the room. They both take a deep breath and exchange a look. The room is silent, but filled with thick anticipation.
“We did it,” Dr. Conrad excitedly blurts out.
Ben leans in, more confused than ever. “Did what?” Is this an announcement or a confession?
“Time travel. We cracked it.” Dr. Conrad wipes sweat from his brow, almost in disbelief himself. I can see the pride in his face over the achievement and the immediate fear scanning our faces for a reaction.
Ben’s jaw practically hits the table. “I’m sorry… what?!”
Dr. McCoy takes over explaining. He seems to be the more organized and structured of the two, whereas Dr. Conrad is often untidy and intense. He’s able to explain things in layman’s terms instead of hard to understand scientific jargon. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we’ve done it. We’ve run small tests, going back a day or a week, that have been successful. We’re ready for a real major test.”
Ben asks a thousand questions to understand how they did it, but both doctors are adamant that information cannot be shared for security purposes. Sarah and Eric clearly had a prior understanding of the subject of the meeting, as their faces made almost no change during this revelation, except to seem annoyed at Ben’s questioning.
I tap my pen on the table, swirling in my own thoughts as I listen to them explain everything to Ben. I’m stuck in a daze, half listening to Dr. McCoy’s explanation, and half wondering how the hell I got here today. Finally, I drop my pen, and all the formalities, and bluntly ask, “Okay, but why the hell are Ben and I here?”
Sarah looks annoyed, as if I personally offended her by interrupting her heroes, but Dr. Conrad smiles and chuckles. This already feels like a sharks versus jets, scientists versus historians rivalry.
“Well, I was wondering when you were going to snap and ask that, Alice. You’re right on time, as always. I need you both to bear with me while I explain this, okay?”
Ben and I look at each other and nod back at Dr. Conrad.
“Alright. We’ve been working on this theory of time travel for a long time. Once we started making serious headway, we stopped and asked ourselves a very simple question: why are we doing this? If successful, what purpose could this serve? How can we use this gift for good? We quickly decided that our history is riddled with tragedies and mysteries. Events we wish we could understand, but time and records have muddled the truth. We created a plan that, if this worked, we could travel to events in history to better understand what happened and how we could preserve the accurate story for posterity. This is where you both come in.” He takes a deep breath. “We want to begin our first real mission. Titanic.”
I’m staring into space, hardly realizing that I haven’t exhaled yet. Ben pats me on the back and laughs. “Take a breath, Al.” I don’t know what I expected him to say, but time traveling to the Titanic was certainly not it.
Ben then looks back at Dr. McCoy and Dr. Conrad. “Alright, so let me guess here? You’re going to send these two on a potential suicide mission to a doomed ship and you want us to be consultants? Make sure they know the ins and outs of the history of the time?”
My brain followed the same thought process as Ben. I assume now that our purpose here is to prepare these two to cover all the historical bases.
“No. We want you to go to the Titanic with them,” Dr. Conrad says flatly.
Is this actually happening? He actually said that, right?
The pit that has been knotting itself up in my stomach is quickly making its way to my throat. I couldn’t form words to answer, even if I wanted to. My mouth feels wired shut. I’m desperate for air, water, and someone to snap me awake from whatever this is.
Before either of us can say anything, Dr. McCoy takes the reins. “We want to send a team back to the Titanic to understand what happened. There have been so many theories over the years, you know that, Alice. Eyewitness testimony can be skewed by many things, emotion and even financial gain or notoriety.”
I have to admit he isn’t wrong. There have been constantly changing theories about what happened. Many have argued that there was a flaw in the blueprints or shipbuilding. Others have insisted that the tragedy could have been avoided by attempting to go through the iceberg instead of around it. Some have floated simply outlandish conspiracies that the Titanic was swapped with her sister ship, the Olympic, prior to sailing. I know that the idea of being able to watch history unfold in person is fascinating, and the opportunity of a lifetime.
“Our plan,” Dr. McCoy continued, “is to send the four of you back in time to Southampton, where you will board the Titanic’s doomed maiden voyage. We will send you there with the necessary materials to collect data to bring back for study. We’ve even worked with a design team to create items with hidden cameras for you to use. You would have everything accurate to the time, all the latest fashions and accessories.”
“How is this safe?” I finally ask. As usual, my brain goes right to the worst-case scenario. We die. Time travel doesn’t work properly. We all turn to dust. No re-entry.
Dr. Conrad steps forward and rests his hands down on the table. “Look, I know what we’re asking of you guys. And I know how crazy this sounds. But please consider it. There are, of course, risks with anything. We’ve had several successful trials of sending people back days and weeks in the past. I can’t tell you anything else until you agree. We can’t risk this information getting out. We’ll give you a few minutes to make a decision before we go deeper into the details, but this offer has a half life of about ten minutes.”
Dr. Conrad and Dr. McCoy exit the room. The room is silent. We all stare at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move and break the awkward silence.
Ben finally breaks open the silence and laughs. “See, I told you they wanted to run tests on us.” I suppose in a way he was spot on with that hypothesis, they are essentially asking us to be guinea pigs in an elaborate experiment.
He looks at me expectantly, as I’m always the first to cave in and laugh at him. Surprisingly, Sarah and Eric follow and we’re all chuckling over the madness that was just presented to us. Sarah and Eric obviously knew of the plan before we did, but I think hearing it all laid out, even they could see how utterly insane it is.
Ben scoots up in his chair to a more professional posture, clasping his hands together as if he’s leading a board meeting. “Alright. So I guess we should discuss this, huh?”
“Well, Eric and I have both already signed on, so it’s down to the two of you to discuss,” Sarah answers, confirming my suspicion that they knew about everything prior to this meeting.
Ben shifts sideways in his chair, now speaking only to me, and props his head into his hand. “Alright, Al. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. This is crazy.” I shake my head in disbelief. “They know this is crazy, right?” I’m still completely floored that this is what this meeting was about. This was not on my bingo card for today.
“Well, I’m going,” Ben says confidently. “This sounds like an adventure.” There’s an air of excitement in his voice.
“You’ve got to be kidding, right? You’ll go, just like that? It’s that easy for you?”
I am astonished that he is willing to dive headfirst without any semblance of thought. It’s like he’s blindly jumping off a diving board, and hasn't even bothered to check if the pool below is full of water or cement. He's always been the fearless one, jumping from airplanes, swimming with sharks, even going on blind dates. Everything that terrifies me excites him. I don’t understand it, and yet I envy it too.
“Absolutely, Al. Come on, come with me. Take a risk. For once in your life, take a goddamn risk.” He’s smiling at me, but his eyes and the tone of his voice are pleading. Before I can even play devil's advocate and explain everything that could go wrong or why this is such a terrible idea, Ben continues making his case. “Look, I get it. It’s scary. And maybe it’s insane. But what’s the point of a life if you don’t live it? Stop going through your life alive but not living. You’ll regret this if you don’t go, Ali. Jump with me. Your life is happening without you. Do something crazy, something wild, something stupid. Just live, Al.”
I sit back in the office chair, close my eyes, and begin swiveling back and forth, mulling over my options.
I could go. Literally travel back in time. Can I handle that? Can I travel to one of the worst disasters the world has ever seen and just be a tourist? Just stand there and watch it unfold like a movie when I know how the film ends? I can’t stop it. I can’t help anyone. I have to interact with people, get to know them, all with the knowledge of knowing they might die and I possess the ability to prevent it. I know the consequences of altering history. I know it could cause catastrophic changes to the world and potentially eliminate generations.
On the other hand, I could just stay here. Politely decline and leave this room and this opportunity behind me. Move on with my life as if this offer never happened. Continue my research. Maybe make a tremendous impact in my field. But maybe not. Maybe I’ll just continue life as I always have. Safe, but surviving. Just keeping my head above water.
I am cautious, maybe even to a fault. I’ve always lived my life afraid of choosing the wrong path. The reality in front of me now is that I’ve actually been afraid of choosing anything . Afraid to jump, afraid to hope, afraid to fall, afraid to live, really. Maybe the thing to be afraid of isn’t stepping out of line, it’s not stepping at all. At least if I’ve made a mistake, I’ve made something . This fear inside me is a paralyzing force. I think the thing I’m afraid of most of all is wasting my life. Getting to the end of my days and realizing they’ve all been half full. I mean, what do I have to show for myself right now? Sure, I’ve been through a lot over the years. Life has beaten me up and down with loss, but I’ve also experienced great triumph. I have a great job, a career I genuinely enjoy being a part of. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. If that's true, then how would one define doing nothing at all? It might be safe, but it’s not fulfilling. Is that what I want my life to be? Predictable? Just keeping my head above the water? It’s exhausting, kicking and kicking, just to stay afloat. Years from now, could I live with myself for passing up the chance to not only view history but preserve it? Could I stand by while someone else takes this opportunity instead of me? And what about the person who does take that opportunity? Would they have honorable intentions?
I finally open my eyes, stare at the ceiling for a moment, and sit up straight in my chair. I look over at Ben, who is still facing me with his hands clasped together. I take one last deep breath.
“I’m in.”