The Prior
Chapter 18: Threats in 1871

POV: Elliot Foster

“Belle, we need to stay here and watch until the time jumps. We’re going to split in twos. You and I will be behind that bush. Cass and Elliot are going to stay on the side of the barn,” Max explains. I take a step closer to Cassidy. What does she want to talk about? Probably a lie to get away from Max.

I attempt to take her arm, but she dodges it. Oh, okay. She leads us behind the barn. She leans against the wall, silent for a while. I just keep my eye on the barn door, like a good scout.

“You’re not from Chicago,” Cassidy says.

“What?” I question. My heart races. I try my best not to make eye contact with her. From my peripheral vision, I can tell that she cuts her eyes at me and scoffs.

“You’re aren’t from Chicago. And, your parents aren’t divorced. You lied earlier. I know that you are from Louisiana. Why would you lie about that?” she says, almost laughing.

“I-I lived part-time…as a child in Chicago,” I repeat. It’s like she can read my mind. Who is she?

“Cut the bullshit,” she spits. I look up at the sky.

“Fine. I had an ex-girlfriend who lived in Chicago. I didn’t want to tell you that because, you’re right, I do like you. I am hitting on you. I didn’t want you to hear about my ex-girlfriend,” I muster out. My best lie yet, I think. Her eyes glare into my soul. I look straight ahead, but that doesn’t stop her glare from absolutely burning a whole into me. I can barely see her, but she reaches into her pockets and walks over to me.

She whips a knife out of her pocket and holds it against my throat. She knows. Her right hand keeps the knife stable against my throat. Her left hand pushes my shoulders into the wall. I quickly reach into my pocket and stop the recording.

“Who. Are. You.” she asks. I swallow hard, feeling the knife on my skin.

“Elliot Foster. Cassidy, what are you doing?” I cry.

“I know who you are, Elliot. You think I haven’t noticed? You think I’m the person I say I am? Silly of you to think you’re the only person lying,” she giggles.

“You’re wrong. I don’t know what you think is going on, but you’re wrong,” I plead. She presses her knee into my thigh, before removing her left hand from my shoulder. It crosses my body, into my right pocket and snatches the tape recording.

“What’s this then?” she scoffs. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. Her knee presses into me harder.

“Elliot?” she says sharper.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it now,” I tell her. She laughs, I feel a bit relieved until I feel the barrel of her gun pressed into my jaw. We scoot down the wall, her still in a position of complete power over me.

“Talk and I won’t kill you,” she says. I bite the inside of my cheek. What’s better? Let her kill me? Or let leadership do it? What’s worse? I keep my mouth shut for now. I’m not convinced that she’s not bluffing. So what? I have a recording. Okay. That proves nothing.

“Oh, or, Elliot, do you really think we’re just here to make America a better place? Did we fall for those lies too?” she cooes. I know that she is manipulating me. But, her words peak my interest. Is that not why we are here? She said she’s lying. Who is she?

“What do you mean?” I croak.

“Oh, poor Elliot. You don’t know why we’re here?” she laughs. I’m absolutely terrified. I’m crying, I think. I don’t know what hurts the most. The small cut on the skin of my throat? The fact that the woman I might be falling in love with is betraying me? Or that I potentially have been misled this entire time?

“You’re manipulating me,” I fight back.

“Elliot, I’m not. Can you answer this for me? Who do you think you work for?” she asks.

“The government. The CIA,” I spill. I shouldn’t be breaking cover, but she’s going to kill me. I’d rather have the CIA kill me over this than have her kill me here.

“HA!” she laughs, “You think the CIA recruited you for this? You’re either stupid or lying. Which one is it?”

“Cassidy. I lied to you. You’re right. But, I work for the CIA. I knew this was going to happen and the CIA sent me here to keep everyone in line,” I cry. Maybe the CIA won’t find out. Right now, I just need the barrel of her gun off my face.

—----

Three Months Earlier

I walk to my car in the parking lot. Ava went on a field trip today, so I’m hoping that she’s tired from that. Maybe tonight will be an easy night. I look up from my phone as I near my car to see 4 suited agents standing against my vehicles. The only woman takes a step forward and flashes her badge at me.

“Hi, I’m Agent Wildwood with the Central Intelligence Agency. Elliot Foster, can we have a word with you?” she asks. I continue to walk forward and get a good scan of her badge.

“Sure. What’s this about?” I ask.

“We’ll have to take you to a secure location before we can discuss. Go ahead, boys,” she says. The three men step towards me and throw a paper bag over my head. I’m placed in a vehicle and driven to an office building.

—---

“Think about that for a minute. Why would the CIA need you, an FBI agent, to keep us in line? Why wouldn’t the CIA just choose their four most trained agents to do this? Why would they steal you from the FBI, steal the Vice President’s daughter, steal a random forensic scientist and a diplomat? When they told you all of that, did you not ask any questions?” she asks me.

“No, I didn’t,” I say. I didn’t. I should’ve, I guess.

“You don’t work for the CIA, Elliot. You worked for the FBI. Then, you joined a rogue group of former CIA agents who sent us here,” she elaborates.

“How do you know that? How do you know it wasn’t really the CIA?” I ask her. I mean, it all seemed legit to me. Everyone I’ve known who’s gone from the FBI to the CIA went just like me. They pick you for a project, effectively kidnap you from the FBI parking lot and then boom… CIA agent.

“I know that because I’ve worked for the CIA for 3 years,” she says flatly.

“You’re CIA?” I mutter.

“Worked for the CIA since I turned 18. They have had me, and several others, playing diplomat for about a year now. But, that was all strategic so that your little rogue group of phonies would select me or one of the other plants for this little project,” she explains. I feel like a fool, but at the same time, I don’t think I can trust her. Afterall, she’s holding a knife to my throat.

“I don’t believe you,” I state, blankly.

“Irrelevant. Why are we here? Surely they told you?” she growls. I open my eyes to look at her. The rage in her eyes has already faded.

“I don’t know! They told me the same shit that was on that paper the very first day,” I yelp. I’m going to pee myself. I have never been so terrified in my entire life. I feel equally betrayed. By who, I’m not sure. Cassidy? A bit. The leadership? Maybe.

“Okay, then. I’ll let you go if you tell me everything you know. Who were those people who claimed to be a part of the CIA? Were you trained? On what? This recorder, why do you have it? When is it paused? I saw you pause it. Did they tell you who they were choosing to go with you? Did they say why?” she asks. I take a deep breath. Now is my time to negotiate.

“I will tell you everything from the beginning, but I want you to put down the knife. You can keep the barrel of your gun against my ribs, but put down the knife. Pin me down however you want, but just make it look normal. We’re supposed to be watching the farmer. I’ll tell you everything if you take the interrogation tactics just down one notch,” I bargain. She squints at me.

“Knife stays within my reach, if you move an inch, I’ll grab it. Gun stays on your ribs and I get to hold you down,” she says. I nod. She lowers the knife and leans onto my hands to keep me pinned down.

“Deal,” I say. I take a deep breath and start from the beginning, from recruitment in the parking lot.

—-

Three Months Earlier

Every morning for the next week, I drive to the warehouse. I think it’s odd that I’m in a warehouse. But honestly, I know this is a big, secret project. This warehouse is exactly the type of CIA safe house that I’ve seen in movies.

On the first day, I am escorted from the main warehouse into a bunker of sorts. In the bunker, there is an incredibly fancy news-like desk and hundreds of surveillance screens. I sign a CIA headed non disclosure agreement before being sat down by a man and a woman.

The woman is older, maybe 55 years old: thin, blonde, green eyes, a mole on her left cheek. She’s dressed in a black pantsuit, with two pins––an American flag and a symbol I didn’t recognize. I try to make it out, it looks like a clock of sorts, but the hands of the clock are thorny rose stems.

I don’t pay much attention to the man. He was tall, muscular, younger than the woman, but older than me. I assume he is there to look strong and threatening, in case I tried to bolt. Not once have I felt like I really had a choice to be here. I especially don’t, at this table.

“Elliot, we’ve developed the ability to time travel. I know that comes as a surprise to you, but it is possible,” she says. I stared at her blankly for a while.

“The CIA wants to use this technology to make our country stronger. The US has had some weak spots in the past and we’re interested in having talented individuals use our time travel technology to strengthen our weakest spots. By preventing our biggest tragedies, we will be the strongest nation on Earth, upon your return,” she says.

—--

“So, you were told that the CIA had interest in making the US stronger,” Cassidy questions.

“Yes. It sounded well-worded and logical at the time. But, obviously the more questions you ask, the more it falls apart,” I reply. She nods.

“Did she specify what would happen upon return? Like, how would we be stronger?”

—-

Three Months Earlier

“What does that mean? How will the world be different when I come back?” I ask her. All I think about is Ava. I want to make sure that she’ll be okay while I am gone and when I come back.

“We’ve ensured to pick individuals whose family lineage would be predicted to survive any changes made. So, you would be alive upon return. Moreover, I’ll be here to greet you. We’re hoping with these changes that not only will you and the other agents be able to exist in the new world, but that so will my leadership team. I’ll be here to greet you upon return. I’ll be giving you a paper that explains the situation. This will help the other operatives and the version of myself that is impacted by the changes. In theory, if all goes well, the United States will be the most powerful country in the world. Moreover, leadership on this project, along with you and the other operatives, will have comfortable positions of power in the new government,” she says.

I feel a lump develop in my throat. I inhale to process her statement. So, people that I know will fail to exist. But, I’ll be okay and so will my family, because our lineage is protected. Fascinating. And, in this new world, I get power. I wonder what that entails. Maybe I can lead FBI missions.

—-

“Family lineage,” Cassidy cuts me off, “So, that’s why we got picked. All of our families are unchanged by these changes. Okay. And, when we return this leadership group gets lots of power? Elliot, don’t you think that sounds uncharacteristic of a democracy? To be promised power?”

“Maybe,” I whisper. I feel like a fool. My body is deflated. I slouch against the wall.

“Did you really have a choice to be here?” she asks me. I simply shake my head. I hear the tape recorder click on. Leadership has the power to override the clicks of my recorder at any time to make sure I’m pausing for a real reason. Or––maybe it’s just set to click on after a certain period of time. Who knows what was the truth. I look Cassidy in the eyes. I hope she can read lips: I need to kiss you. She looks at me, confused and I pull her into a sloppy kiss. I ensure that the tape recording can hear the smacks of our lips together. I gently tap her cheek, so that she opens her eyes. I point at the tape recording. Its gentle recording light glows through the long grass that it rests in. She lightly nods and giggles through our kiss.

“Elliot, how’d you become such a good kisser,” she says breathlessly, before pinning me down right next to the recorder and moaning. The recorder clicks off a few seconds later.

“Good?” she whispers. I nod at her.

“Sorry, leadership can override my pauses anytime,” I explain. She raises an eyebrow.

“I’m surprised they even let you pause it. Why do they let you pause it?” she asks.

“There’s some sort of storage limit. I get a new tape recorder every time jump and each recorder only has so much storage. So, I’m allowed to pause it for the 3 “S”s: sleeping, sex and shiting,” I tell her. She cackles at my mnemonic.

“Oh, so you thought kissing me was the easiest way to prove it was one of those? You didn’t

maybe think about snoring?” she teases.

“Well, I don’t snore in my sleep and I know kissing you was the only way to get you to shut up for 4 seconds,” I counter, “Nice, moan by the way.”

“Finish your story, I don’t think we were done,” she retreats.

—-

Three Months Earlier

After the initial discussion, I meet with a historian who tells me all about the tragedies. It’s chronically boring. The next three days are the same. Lecture with the historian. Study session with the historian. Test from the historian. Review over what I missed from the test.

On the fourth day, I walk into the bunker for a rules presentation. The woman from the first day takes the lead here.

“Elliot, your job is to keep the other three in line. You’re our agent. The other three will have different experiences than you, which is why we are relying on you to make sure they follow our procedures. They were chosen mostly off family lineage, but each individual holds some important skill, too. Because they likely aren’t used to working in these types of environments, it is important for us to have you to guide them. You must ensure that they stay on task, don’t ask too many questions, and stay safe,” she says.

“Don’t ask too many questions? What would they be asking that I can’t answer?” I ask her.

“Well, you should pretend as if you never joined this project. That, you too, have no idea where you are or what is going on. If they ask about the purpose of this project, only reiterate what was provided during their arrival. Guide them away from any ridiculous conspiracy theories or hypotheses. Nothing you have been told in this bunker leaves this bunker. The last thing that we want is for one of these civilians to ruin a project of national security. Moreover, you need to watch what you say all of the time. You never know if someone from history is hearing you. The worst possible scenario is informing a historical human of your existence. One small comment can completely obliterate the course of history. We’re also giving you a tape recorder, to ensure that you are staying on task. If we suspect that you aren’t on task, then we will drop someone else in history to kill you there,” she says.

—--

“Wow. Okay,” Cassidy whispers, “Keep going.” I shake my head.

“I mean, that’s about it. The rest of that last day I just did one last session with the historian, some weapons training and then went home. They told me that they would warn me before the mission, but I just woke up, unexpectedly in 1776.”

Her gun relaxes from my side. She still grips it, but it’s no longer pressed against my ribcage. The breath I’ve been holding in is finally released. I give her a soft smile.

“We can never speak about this again. I need to turn the recorder back on,” I whisper. She nods and grabs the recorder.

“One second. Will you help me figure out why we’re here? That’s why I am here. Number one to gain the intel I can. Number two, I’m supposed to kill whoever I need to kill to end the ‘family lineage’ of that leadership team,” she offers up.

“This is already kind of a lot for me. I don’t know who to believe, Cassidy. And, I really don’t want to get in trouble with leadership. They’ll kill me.”

“They will kill you. Unless they think that you’re doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing. We can pause that recorder, for sex supposably. Then, you and I can make a strategic plan. If there is an action, a person to kill or interrogate, I will do it. You can pretend to be oblivious to my purposes, or you can attempt to stop me. They’ll never know that you’re helping me,” she whispers.

“Won’t they know if I’m pausing the recorder every night to have sex with you? Won’t that be worse? They’ll think I’m in love with you, which is also one of the rules that I absolutely can’t break,” I say. She cocks her head and looks directly into my eyes.

“Aren’t you already in love with me, Elliot?” she whispers, with a smirk. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. Because, I am. I am already in love with her.

The recorder clicks back on, Cassidy takes notice. She pants loudly, giggling almost.

“Wow. I have missed sex. Can we do that more often? And before you get your pants in a bunch, I have no interests outside of sex. Can we just be fuckbuddies? At least until we get this thing over with?” she asks.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I tell her. She gives me a death glare.

“Why? I’m fairly emotionless. I just want my feminine needs met. No strings,” she bargains.

“No strings. I’m not looking for a relationship,” I tell her. She nods and smiles.

“Deal.”

We wait out the rest of the night. For the farmer to move the lantern, for a barn party or for a time jump. Instead, nothing happens. I wake up to morning sunlight, still against the barn building… which isn’t burnt. Cassidy looks over to me.

“We’re still here,” she whispers.

“I know. Why?” I ask her. She shrugs at me and stands up from the grass.

“Let’s find Belle. I want to see that newspaper one more time,” she says. We walk to the

other side of the barn, where Belle and Max were. Belle lays on the grass, awake. Max looks up at us.

“So, no fire on your end?” he whispers. Cassidy shakes her head. Max sighs as Belle sits up.

“Can we see the newspaper?” Cassidy asks. Belle reaches over and hands it to Cassidy. She walks over, to stand next to me. I glance at the newspaper. Its heading is today’s date, referencing the fire as happening ‘yesterday.’

“I mean, what if something we did in one of the previous years was altered when the fire happened?” Belle asks. We all look at each other… Belle’s got a point.

“Oh, shit,” Cassidy whispers.

“So, what? We have to wait? Until when?” Max questions. I shake my head, as Cassidy cuts a glance. I graze my pocket as a reminder to her. She better not say anything to get me in trouble.

“Do we hypothesize that maybe it’ll be tonight? Around the same time? I’m wondering if it was caused by a barn party, but our presence yesterday freaked him out too much,” Cassidy questions. I see Max nodding along with her though.

“And, so maybe he just moved the party to tonight?” I ask. Cassidy nods.

“Honestly, guys, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave though. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s offset by one full day. But, what if it is offset by just 8 hours? It could light any second,” Belle suggests. Cassidy smiles at her.

“You’re totally right, Belle. We don’t know. I’m in agreement, we need to stay,” Cassidy agrees. Max and I nod along too.

“I think we should stay separated too. Cassidy and I had a really great view from our bush,” I add. Belle makes a face, but we all eventually agree. Cassidy and I walk back to the bush.

We sit in silence for a while. Waiting. Watching. I find myself looking at her, but she doesn’t look at me. I wonder if all the moments we shared were real. Did she really want to kiss me? Did she really want a trial relationship? Or was it all her way to gain intel? I told myself that I wanted the trial to stop her questions. But, yet, I still feel betrayed that she was doing the same thing. My mind mulls over her question from earlier. Aren’t you already in love with me, Elliot?

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