Permutation - 4. Chapter 4

Sunday drifted in a sleepy haze, calm and content. Tommy and I stayed close, wrapped up in each other, just existing together. His warmth grounded me, while memories from this timeline trickled into my mind. In the low, drowsy light of the morning, he shared pieces of his childhood I'd never heard before—small secrets he’d kept close all these years. Each one revealed his courage and scars, moments that had shaped him but also left him vulnerable.

One memory stood out by the weight he placed on it. Tommy recounted what happened after Halloween night when he’d rushed home to pacify Kayleigh’s fury. In a fit of desperation, he’d smashed his dad's old camcorder, thinking he could end the nightmare his father had trapped us all in. But it backfired; a few days later, his father came home with an even more expensive DVD camcorder—a gift from mysterious 'patrons.' With it, the cruelty only worsened as the patrons’ demands grew, enveloping all three of us: me, Kayleigh, and Tommy. Listening to him, I felt a mix of helpless fury and heartache. Though he spoke calmly, I could see each word cost him. Then, as if in passing, he looked at me and said, “If you ever go back to a time after Halloween, tell the kid version of me what I just told you.”

It was more than a request; it was Tommy planting a self-fulfilling seed, a truth he hoped I’d carry with me if I ever found myself in the past again. I promised him, committing every word to memory.

The rest of the week slipped by in a steady rhythm—a blend of the mundane and the unexpected. Working at the community health center kept me busy, and I quickly grew attached to the kids who passed through my door. Each had their struggles—trauma, rejection, questions they felt they couldn’t ask anyone else. Some were grappling with their sexual orientation or gender identity, searching for understanding in a world that often denied them.

One boy lingered in my thoughts well after our sessions. Rashad was tall, athletic, and full of raw potential, with dreams of playing college basketball to escape poverty. Tommy had referred him to me after hearing about his struggles with a bullying incident. From my notes, I learned Rashad was in a conflicted, hidden relationship with Josh, a quiet, shy Jewish kid from a middle-class background, nearly his opposite. Despite Rashad’s loud insistence that he “wasn’t gay,” he confided in me about a deep-seated attraction toward Josh that he channeled into making Josh dress as a girl during their intimate moments. While such roleplay can be normal in consenting relationships, Rashad fully rejected the idea of being gay, feeling it would undermine his masculinity in others’ eyes.

To prove his “straightness,” Rashad had publicly dated a girl named Shana, hoping it would erase his feelings for Josh and end his guilt over their hidden relationship. Yet, the cycle of conflicted desire, bullying, and concealed intimacy continued, fueled by Rashad’s unresolved feelings and Josh’s complicated self-image.

One afternoon, Rashad tried to distance himself from our conversations. “Josh says he’s fine with what happened,” he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. “He doesn’t even want to talk about it and thinks I shouldn’t either. He’s already taken responsibility. It’s just... stuff that happens, you know?”

Earlier, I’d contacted Josh’s school counselor to follow up on the bullying incident. In our sessions, Josh had seemed hesitant to blame Rashad, instead internalizing the abuse as a consequence of his own “effeminate behavior.” While Josh identified as gay, he struggled with feeling “feminine” as the receptive partner in their encounters, often referring to himself with derogatory terms. I’d seen fresh bruises on him during later sessions, and although I didn’t press Rashad to recognize the abusive dynamics, I knew both boys were caught in a cycle neither wanted.

I placed an academic paper on internalized homophobia and its link to violence in their case folder, but ultimately discarded it, finding the research sensationalized rather than insightful. In my timeline, research on internalized homophobia had been more progressive, understanding its typical effects—depression and self-harm—rather than assuming it would escalate to violence.

Breathing evenly, I asked Rashad two questions that seemed to land in the silence that followed: “Do you think he’s happy? Are you happy with everything?”

Rashad went quiet, the truth settling in the space between us. His eyes reflected fear and confusion as he grappled with a reality he couldn’t reconcile with the expectations he’d imposed on himself. We spent the rest of the session exploring those questions, and I watched as a small, shaky acceptance of his feelings began to take hold. It would take time, but it was a step forward—a step toward understanding himself. That’s what psychiatry is supposed to do: help people understand and accept their desires.

But just as Rashad left, the calm I’d built shattered. Kayleigh stormed into the clinic, her voice thick with frustration as she demanded to see me. She looked disheveled—hair tangled, clothes dirty—the kind of state that hinted she hadn’t been in a safe place for a while. Clutched tightly in her hand was a videocassette, an old relic I recognized immediately.

I watched as she argued with the receptionist, her words sharp and slurred, issuing demands and threats. Deep down, I knew that tape held something I’d desperately hoped was buried in the past. Her expression was unfamiliar—a stranger’s gaze filled with a knowledge that could rip this fragile new world apart.

Back in my office, I pulled out the bottle of psychedelic medication, knowing I’d need an extra pill to brace myself for what was about to unfold. I had prepared for moments like this—times when I might face events or people that could plunge me back into the fractured memories of this timeline’s past, especially after what happened with Lenny. Not knowing how strong a dose I’d need to confront Kayleigh, I took just one pill, hoping it would be enough to last several hours. Too many pills can be dangerous, so it’s not recommended to take more than four of the highest dosage within 24 hours. Swallowing the pill, I steadied myself, fortifying my mind for whatever Kayleigh had to say and for the memories that might try to drag me under.

I called my receptionist, Alicia, into the room, asking her to stay and witness the conversation. Discreetly, I handed her a small digital recorder, with a note explaining that I’d need everything documented in case we needed police intervention. She nodded, her expression tightening as I cleared the waiting room, leaving only her and Kayleigh. Alicia had likely grown accustomed to these confrontations, and possibly even to Kayleigh, given her unsuccessful attempts to calm her down before I emptied the room.

“What do you want, Kayleigh?” I asked, keeping my voice calm but firm, masking the tension gnawing at my nerves.

Her eyes were glassy, her speech slurred, likely from some kind of illicit substance. “I want a hundred grand. Or, if you can’t swing that, more pain meds. Either one, and this tape doesn’t see the light of day.”

She held up the cassette as if it were a prized possession, her hand trembling. I recognized it immediately—it was one of her father’s tapes, one of those horrific recordings he’d made in the early days of the abuse, possibly even the first. A similar tape had been used as evidence in my last timeline to implicate George Miller. I didn’t need to ask what was on it. I forced myself to stay calm, even as my mind reeled with a sense of déjà vu.

“Kayleigh, that video is evidence of a crime,” I said, meeting her gaze. “It’s illegal material your father created. You can’t use it to blackmail Tommy or me, and by possessing it, you’re putting yourself at serious legal risk.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound cracking through her words. “You think I care about that? You ruined our family, just like you promised you would. Don’t act like the hero here.” Her words slurred but landed with venom. “And don’t pretend you actually love Tommy. You’re just using him to hurt him deeper. Just like you did when you caused the accident that took his leg.”

Her words clawed at me, dredging up buried guilt and horror. Before I could respond, she launched into a story about our childhood—the dark, twisted games her father forced us to play for his patrons. She described one night when we were thirteen and her father made a "special film" for a wealthy patron, a night that ended with me hurting Tommy and her trying to end everything.

The memory surged forward, unstoppable, and before I could fight it, the past claimed me. One pill hadn’t been enough to suppress my flashback-triggered time travel.

Suddenly, I was thirteen again, my consciousness snapping into a different reality. My younger body was bruised and aching. I lay on a bed in Tommy’s old room, and beside me, Tommy lay half-naked, his small frame covered in fresh injuries, trembling with pain. I looked down at myself, also injured. George Miller was packing up his equipment—a DVD in a glossy black case among his other “toys.” He tossed two crumpled hundred-dollar bills onto the bed, his eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction.

“Good job, kid. You’re a natural,” he sneered, oblivious to the horror on our faces. Anger surged through me, but before I could react, Tommy’s hand clutched my pant leg, holding me back.

George noticed my defiance and, smirking, lingered in the doorway. “You say a word about this, and I’ll make sure you and your sad mother disappear. Just like I did with my wife.”

He left, his threat hanging in the air like poison. I clenched my fists, fury pulsing through me, but Tommy’s grip tightened, his quiet plea anchoring me.

“Don’t,” he whispered, the pain in his voice sharper than any wound. “Please, don’t make him angrier. It won’t help.”

I knelt beside him, brushing the hair from his eyes. “Tommy, he should be arrested for everything he’s done to us. He’s a monster.”

A thin, hollow smile crossed his face. “It won’t help. My dad knows people. We’ve told cops before, and they ignored us. Kayleigh and I got beaten so badly after that. We all want it to end… I’ve got something.” He pulled a small pocket knife from under his pillow. “I swiped it from my dad during that last film. We could cut each other’s wrists tonight and just… fade away. He’s meeting a patron tonight and won’t be back until it’s too late.”

I finally understood why future Tommy had asked me to share his secrets with his younger self. This was my chance—my chance to save him from a terrible fate. I took a deep breath and leaned closer to Tommy.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I whispered. “It’s going to sound impossible. I can time travel, Tommy. I can go back with my memories, into the past. I know about your father’s broken camcorder—you smashed it when you were seven, trying to protect me, Kayleigh, and yourself from all of this. Your dad doesn’t know it was you.”

His eyes widened, disbelief and understanding clashing in his gaze. “How did you…?” He paused, realization dawning as he searched my face. “Are you… telling the truth?”

I nodded, watching him start to believe. “Things will get better. We survive this. We get away, Tommy. We go to college and do good things together. Don’t give up on us.”

A small smile broke through the pain on his face. He leaned in, our faces inches apart, and then, in unspoken trust, he kissed me—a quiet, fragile promise. I kissed him back, holding him in a moment that was both painful and healing.

But the spell shattered as Kayleigh’s voice cut through the memory, harsh and accusing. I looked up to see her standing in the doorway, fury radiating off her as she clutched the freshly made DVD her father had packed.

‘You’re ruining everything!’ Kayleigh screamed, clutching the disc like a weapon. ‘I’ll release this DVD to everyone! I’ll make that bastard destroy you and your mom, then he’ll leave Tommy and me alone. He’ll make you pay for what you did to us.’

Without thinking, Tommy scrambled out of bed, his battered body moving faster than I could have imagined.

Half-naked, he ran after her, shouting, ‘Kayleigh, don’t take the DVD! Just stop!’

But she was already halfway down the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the house. George Miller, their father, noticed her crazed actions and began making frantic phone calls. Panic flooded me as I stumbled out of the room, following Tommy’s desperate chase. By the time I reached the doorway, the nightmare had already started to unfold. Kayleigh stood at the edge of the street, waving the disc wildly. Tommy, caught up in the chaos, ran after her, crossing into the road.

In an instant, I saw the car—its headlights blazing—as it sped toward Tommy.

The sickening thud echoed in my mind as I stood frozen, helpless, watching Tommy’s body crumple to the ground.

A scream tore through me—a primal, gut-wrenching sound that yanked me out of the past and back into the present. I was in my office again, Alicia staring at me, startled by my scream. My heart raced as I fought to catch my breath, the edges of the memory fading but leaving behind the horror, the grief, and the guilt.

Kayleigh was still there, glaring at me with a mixture of rage and satisfaction. But I barely saw her. All I could see was Tommy, lying on the ground, his life forever changed. I had given him a purpose to live, but fate hadn’t been kind to either of us.