A Million Bodies by Erica Pensini - HTML preview

Chapter 12

The bedroom is inundated by the Californian sun, and the clock on the bed side table says, 3 p.m.

Arthur is beside me, an arm folded over his eyes to shield them from the light.

“What time is it?” he mumbles.

3 p.m., I tell him, freeing my body from the sheets in which it is twisted and slowly making my way to the bathroom.

“Gosh,” he says, suddenly awake, sitting up abruptly.

I take some time to shower and recollect my thoughts, and 30 minutes later I return to the bedroom with a smile and some peace of mind.

Arthur is sitting on the bed, in the same position in which I left him.

“We need to perfect the time machine,” he tells me.

“That’s why we tested it,” I reply calmly.

“We risked never coming back,” he says, lowering his eyes, almost talking to himself.

“I had a discussion about this with you” I start and pause.

“What do you mean with ‘about this’?” Arthur asks.

I have a vague recollection of an office, of Arthur, of us engaging into a debate about time and space, of us remembering a door.

“You and I have met before,” I tell him.

Before or after?

Arthur gives me a confused look.

“We need to perfect the time machine, yes. And you know why?” I say.

“I must find my answers, and I can’t find them here,” I continue, without waiting for his answer.

“Where have we been, Iris?” he asks me after a moment.

“You really don’t remember?” I want to know.

“I remember what I believe I’ve seen. But where was it? And was it just a place existing outside of us or was it rather our shared fantasy?” Arthur replies.

I have no answers to these questions.

“Let’s go back into the time machine. Now,” I decide abruptly.

“No,” Arthurs objects.

“Yes,” I insist.

He gets up, laces my hands with his.

“Iris…” he says.

We’re not in the time machine, we’re here, in our bedroom, in the real light of a real Californian summer.

Or so I believe till the room begins to melt, and Arthur’s features dissolve and the light dims and I hear a repeated sound, irritating and familiar.

When I turn to the side I realize that I am in bed, alone, and my alarm clock reads 7 a.m.