Richard Evans took a deep breath before he sat down. He had the story all figured out, plotted to its conclusion, and now just had to write. He knew that would require energy and inspiration, and the light of the sun coming through the window created a bright, almost angelic, atmosphere which he could work in. He pulled back the chair, grabbed a pencil from the mug, and made himself comfortable. Then, without any more preparation, he began to write.
*****
The man rearranged the papers on his desk for the fourth time. Dust floated in the sunlit air and he peered at the little particles, slowly drifting upwards and downwards according to the air currents. He imagined himself as one of the flotsam of the air, moving randomly, constantly, being able to travel back and forth without resistance. But he then saw a few particles sink to the ground. That depressed him. They would end up in a vacuum cleaner if he ever cleaned up. Their freedom had an end.
He reached down into the trash bin and pulled out its only item, an old revolver. He brushed off any dust that was on its grip, even though he knew it was clean. He had wiped it five times today. He checked to see if it was still loaded. It was. He brought the gun to his head.
*****
The Doctor walked alone in between the cornstalks until he came to the end of the field. The land stretched for miles, unobstructed by forest, hill, or mountain. It was green in the noonday sun, all very green and very plain. Such a nice change after Skaro.
'It's the plainness that makes this planet so beautiful. And you can't get much plainer than Indiana, can you, Doctor?' he said to himself.
He spotted a little white ranch house about a hundred meters away. It was surrounded by a large lawn that was overgrown with uncut grass and tall weeds.
'Perfect.'
He adjusted his hat to reduce the glare and then wandered into the weeds. He parted the overgrowth with his umbrella and searched for those yellow rays of sunshine that popped up from the ground on a summer day. He found one daffodil, plucked it, and whistled a Gallifreyan tune about an old farmer's love for his garden as he continued his search.
Then he heard the shot. He forgot about gathering daffodils and ran to the house.
*****
'Let me in.'
The man saw the tip of an umbrella tapping the upper panel of the window, then a round white face that kept jumping in and out.
'You can let me in. I'm a doctor,' the muffled voice said.
The man got up from his chair and looked around the room. This was crazy. How could anyone have come that fast?
But, with a sigh, he went into the garage and opened the door.
'What do you want?' he called.
The doctor appeared in a instant, He prodded his umbrella forward and nudged his way into the garage. 'What happened?'
'Just had some trouble with the lawn mower, that's all.'
The doctor scanned the garage. The handles of the lawn mower peeked out against the outline of a wheelbarrow, loaded with dusty soil and rocks. The garage stank of mildew.
'That's not true. It would have taken you more than a few minutes to put it back.'
The doctor moved closer to continue his inspection. 'In fact, it doesn't look like it's been used in years, if I might say.'
'Who are you?'
'I told you, I'm a doctor. The Doctor, if you care. Just a little pet name of mine. Would you mind if I came in and had a cup of tea?'
*****
The Doctor sipped his glass of flat root beer and tried to hide his disgust. 'Brilliant day, what do you think?' he said, trying to swallow a mouthful without tasting it.
'I guess,' the man said.
The Doctor paced around the room, stole a quick glance into the kitchen, then walked back to the desk. The man sat on the edge, wiggling his foot.
'Where's your family?' the Doctor asked.
'I don't have any,' the man said. His foot accidentally hit the rubbish bin by the side of the desk. It toppled and a revolver spilled out.
The Doctor looked at the gun and then the man. The man stayed where he was, staring out the window.
'You tried to kill yourself, did you? But you couldn't bring yourself --'
The man turned to face the Doctor. 'Look -- why are you here?' The Doctor gulped another mouthful, then crunched on an ice cube to dilute the flavor.
'I've also asked myself that question. But right now I was in the process of obtaining a few flowers for the funeral of an old friend.'
The man eyed the Doctor suspiciously for a moment. 'You're not from these parts, Doctor.'
'No, I am not. But I'm here a lot.'
'Where are you from?'
'Gallifrey.'
'Gallifrey, Indiana? Never heard of it.' The man stepped back onto the ground and stretched his arms.
'Let's just say I'm an immigrant. From another world, another time.'
'Oh,' the man said. 'You must be more crazy than I am.'
'I'm glad we cleared things up,' the Doctor said, finishing the root beer with a grimace.
*****
They roamed in the weeds, each carrying a plastic shopping bag full of daffodils. The man hadn't spoken since they were outside.
'That should about do it,' the Doctor said. He dropped a final daffodil into the bag looped around his wrist.
'Three hundred and twenty one daffodils. Quite a proper number, I presume. How many do you have?'
The man's plastic bag crackled as he stood up from picking a daffodil. 'I haven't been counting,' he said.
'No matter. I think they'll look lovely at the service.'
'Daffodils seem a little silly to me.'
'I don't think so. They'll work wonders to break up all the black at the funeral.'
'Who was this old friend?' the man asked, plucking up another daffodil.
The Doctor was silent for a moment, then twisted his head back, contorting his brow as if half his face was being stretched. He sneezed, the noise quiet and subdued compared to his physical reaction, which looked as if the sneeze could induce spontaneous combustion. 'I never knew I was allergic to these plants before,' he said.
He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his nose. 'We used to travel in time together. I never thought I would, but now I regret those days are over.'
'You haven't been to Indiana much, have you?'
'No, not recently,' he said, putting the handkerchief back in his pocket. 'A life or two ago, perhaps.'
The man walked to the Doctor and handed him the bag. 'Doctor, what do you do?'
He sneezed again.
As the Doctor put away the handkerchief, his eyes dodged to the far right, then the far left before focusing again on the man. 'I'm a time traveler,' he said.
The man didn't gape in astonishment or shake his head in disbelief. He merely stood where he was, speaking only with the smallest of a quaver in his voice. 'And you're a doctor, too. Maybe you can help me.'
The Doctor backed away from the man. 'I'm sorry, I really must go. Service arrangements are at twenty-nine Gallifreyan hours sharp. I can't be late.'
'Doctor, I know this sounds a bit ridiculous, but you can make the time. You can send me back. Just for a few minutes.'
The Doctor drove the tip of his umbrella into the soil. 'I'm sorry, I'd disrupt the timeline. It could ruin everything.'
The man's face became stern, his eyes cold. 'You've done it before, Doctor. Why not now?'
The Doctor twisted his umbrella out of the ground and pointed it at the man. 'Because ... how did you know that?'
'Isn't it obvious. If you travel in time at all, you're playing with the timeline.'
'Fixing it, not playing with it,' the Doctor stated.
'Fine. Why shouldn't I be allowed a chance?'
The Doctor could have responded with a dozen reasons. Instead, he didn't say a word. He grunted and walked out of the weeds.
'Doctor, please,' the man called.
The Doctor kept walking and neared the field. 'As if I've ever had a second chance,' he muttered. He mumbled a little more before turning back to the man at the field's edge.
'Well, aren't you coming?'
*****
The traffic was heavy on the street the man and the Doctor looked across. Cars and motorcycles rushed to the restaurants they should have been at ten minutes ago. Men and women in business suits hurried on the sidewalks almost as fast as the vehicles. Everyone had to get somewhere and then back again.
The man gazed at the skyscraper for the Coleman and Sons Publishing Company. Its height seemed to make everything that happened down below inconsequential to the wheeling and dealing inside. The other, younger him should be stepping out of its doors very soon, with a publishing contract worth a quarter of a million dollars. The big break. He remembered he had felt that he had the money to change everything -- to live how he had dreamed.
But now he was going to make sure the big break didn't tear apart his life.
Amanda waited on those steps leading up to the revolving doors. She had a nervous grin on her face, as if she was on the tip of striking it big. Her short blond hair and slim figure was one of the only things that could distract a man from his march to lunch.
The Doctor also attracted a few stares, but nothing in the way of interrupting the stream of traffic. He beamed with that putty smile of his and the people smiled back, somewhat confused and eager to move on.
Amanda started to tap her heels on the pavement. She crossed her arms and peered into the glass windows on the skyscraper's ground level. Still, he had not come out.
'Doctor, I should have been out about three minutes ago. I remember the time exactly,' the man said.
'Let's wait another few minutes. Time can be a fickle medium of expression.'
They did. He never walked out of those doors. Amanda paced around with a scowl. It seemed for a moment she would storm into the building and demand to know where he was and what was keeping him. But then she simply walked down the steps and joined the traffic.
The man sighed. 'She has other men.'
The Doctor pitched his umbrella forward. 'Well, time's up.'
'Doctor ... why didn't I come out? I was ready for the confrontation.'
'You didn't need to. You're here, standing next to me.'
'But --'
'Remember, time is very fickle. Sometimes it works in linear ways, sometimes it doesn't. Nobody can predict the past. And that's what makes the future so uncertain. You can always change.'
*****
Richard Evans held the pencil steady and silent in his hand before he put it back in the mug. It was a good little story he thought, of redemption, of love, of second chances. To indulge in fantasy and happy endings was always the writer's greatest pleasure.
'Richard!' his wife called. 'The agent just said you should go down to Indianapolis for a meeting with a publisher.'
His wife walked out from the kitchen room and put her hands on his shoulders. He smiled.
'Did you hear that, Richard? This could be your big break.'
He took her hand in his and looked out the window. The sunlight was
fading now, changing from white light into gold. On the window pane
rested a glass filled with water and a small daffodil, a bit withered
on the tips, but still resilient and beautiful in its yellow glory. He
squeezed her hand and held it. This time forever.