Permutation - 6. Chapter 6

For Tommy and me, the walk back to our apartment after work was unhurried. The bustling sounds of New York City filled the gaps between our sparse words, an ambient hum against the weight of the conversation we were about to have. Tommy already knew about Kayleigh’s abrupt visit to my clinic and the videotape she’d brought—though without an old-fashioned VCR, the tape's contents remained a mystery. I had told him everything: her disheveled state, the desperate threats, the tape, and finally, the flashback that followed. I explained how I’d been yanked back to the moment he lost his leg despite taking precautions against such things.

Tommy’s face was hard to read. He was always good at keeping his emotions in check, a skill honed through the countless timelines we’d experienced together. But tonight, there was something vulnerable in his gaze. When I hesitated, he nudged me gently, silently urging me to speak. I finally gave voice to the question that had haunted me since I returned.

“Tommy… has there ever been a time when I tried to go back? To undo the accident?” My voice was soft, cautious. “I can’t help but wonder if there’s some way—any way—to… you know. I want to help you if I can.”

If I’d been 20, just discovering my abilities, I wouldn’t have hesitated to act, ignoring the consequences. Back then, I thought I could fix everything for the people I cared about, including Kayleigh, no matter the cost. But I learned—painfully and repeatedly—that playing God with causality often made things worse. I swore never to manipulate time like that again. Yet, after all the experiences I’d shared with Tommy, who had once been a mortal enemy but was now one of the people I cared about most, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d tried to save him in some past iteration.

Tommy stopped walking. He stared at the sidewalk for a moment, then looked back at me with a sad but understanding smile. “Yeah, Evan, you did. You tried more than once. And every time, the results were… worse than you can imagine,” he said quietly. “Evan, what you can do is incredible—unimaginable, really—but I need you to promise me something.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I wanted to argue, to ask for specifics about those failed attempts, but the weight in his voice silenced me. Deep down, I already knew. The risk was too great. Changing something so fundamental, so deeply embedded in our lives, would likely unearth more pain than either of us could bear.

“Please, Evan,” he continued, his voice steady but pleading. “Let it be. Promise me you won’t try again—not before the moment you told me everything. All the time travel stuff, the gaps in your memory—they’re not as bad as they seem. We grew through it, and my dad got what he deserved.” He smiled faintly, the mention of George Miller—his abusive father—bringing a flash of satisfaction. “I don’t want to lose what we have now.”

I nodded, understanding his fears even as a part of me ached to fix things. “I promise,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

He squeezed my hand, grateful. As we walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, I realized he’d probably dreaded this conversation, waiting for the day I’d ask. A part of me had hoped that this timeline’s version of me—the Evan he knew—might have been different, might never have tried to change the past. But the more I integrated into this life, the more I realized we were the same. The memories I’d gained from other timelines faded with time unless they were exceptionally strong or traumatic. Yet, my instincts, my mistakes, my stubborn hope—they remained consistent across every version of me.

When we finally reached our building and stepped into the quiet comfort of our apartment, Tommy’s face lit up unexpectedly. “Wait here,” he said, his tone suddenly brighter. He disappeared down the hall and returned moments later holding a small, well-worn box.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” he said, handing it to me with a touch of pride. The weight of it felt significant.

I opened the box carefully. Inside was a collection of photos, trinkets, scraps of paper—fragments of our shared life. There were photos from high school, silly notes we’d written to each other, and an old charm bracelet he’d once given me as a joke. One photo stood out: taken at the hospital the day he woke up after the accident, his leg newly amputated. Even then, he was smiling, determined and strong.

“Tommy, this…” My voice trailed off as the emotions overwhelmed me. It felt like reliving years of flashbacks all at once.

He smiled, softer now, almost shy. “I kept everything. Every little moment that mattered to us. I figured if you ever thought about going back, this might remind you what we’ve built here. And if you did go back…” He hesitated, then grinned. “At least I’d have something to remember this timeline’s Evan by.”

I pulled him into a hug, my heart swelling with gratitude. Despite everything we’d been through—the fractured timelines, the emotional scars—he had never let go of us. Love meant many things, but for Tommy, it was holding onto the experiences that defined our lives.

When we finally let go, I felt lighter, a strange hope stirring in me. Perhaps everything was okay as it was. Maybe this moment, this life, was enough.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

He held me close, and for the first time in a long while, I felt whole. The past was unchangeable, a mosaic of joy and pain I’d spent years trying to piece together. But now, I realized what mattered most was the present—the life we’d built together and the future still waiting for us.

I pulled back to look at him, my heart swelling with unspoken promises. Whatever the future held, I knew one thing: I was right where I belonged. And for now, that was more than enough.

Tommy carefully lifted a small Christmas tree topper from the box—a flamboyant, glittering elf dressed in pink, its delicate features framed by strands of silver tinsel. The mischievous yet kind smile painted on its face radiated warmth. He turned it slowly in his hands, holding it up like a prized artifact.

“Do you remember this?” Tommy asked softly, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

The sight of the elf tugged at something deep in my chest. It wasn’t just the ornament itself—it was the hazy memory it carried, buried beneath years of timelines and experiences.

Tommy’s lips curved into a small smile, as though he could sense my emotions. “This was from the first Christmas after the accident. When I got out of the hospital, your mom invited me to your house. I couldn’t go home because of my dad’s arrest, and, well…” He trailed off, his tone bittersweet.

I reached out and took the elf gently from his hands. The glitter caught the light, scattering tiny reflections across the walls. The sensation of familiarity deepened, though the memory refused to fully form. I looked at Tommy, his expression a careful blend of hope and understanding.

The pull of something stronger began to hum at the edges of my consciousness, growing louder with every passing second. Tommy’s presence seemed to guide me toward a moment where I was needed. My chest tightened, and I let the sensation take hold. Closing my eyes against the dizziness overtaking me, I surrendered to the flashback.

When I opened my eyes, I was standing in the living room of my childhood home. The walls were the same warm beige I remembered, and the scent of pine from the Christmas tree filled the air. A glance at the calendar on the wall confirmed it was December, two years after the accident. I was fifteen again, and Tommy was fourteen.

I turned toward the tree and saw him. Tommy was seated in a wheelchair, struggling to hang ornaments on the upper branches. He stretched as far as he could, but the tree mocked his attempts, just out of reach. His face was a mix of determination and frustration.

“Mom?” I called instinctively, seeking her help to smooth the moment. My mom’s calm, compassionate nature always had a way of dispelling tension.

No response came.

Tommy turned toward me at the sound of my voice. Recognition lit up his eyes. “She’s not here, Evan,” he said, dropping the string of lights in his hands to stare at me. “It’s you again, isn’t it? The future you?”

I nodded slowly, my heart twisting at the wonder in his gaze. “Yeah, it’s me.”

A hesitant smile broke across his lips. “Your mom’s working overtime at the hospital. She said she’d be back late, so it’s just us. I thought I’d try to be helpful and decorate the tree.”

He studied me intently, his head tilted slightly. “You’re different when it’s you. I can tell. Your eyes… they know more than my Evan’s. I love him, but he’s got a one-track mind.”

I knelt beside him, resting a hand on the arm of his wheelchair. “You’re right, Tommy. It’s me. And I think I’m here because there’s something important I need to do for you. Your future self wanted me to remember something when I came back.”

Tommy’s hands fidgeted in his lap as his gaze fell. “You know, your words—about living for the future—they’re what saved me that day.”

I blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

“The last thing you told me, before the accident… you said I had to live for the future because it’d be worth it. I wanted to die, Evan. After everything my dad did to me, to Kayleigh, to you—I didn’t see the point in going on. But your words gave me hope. When that car came speeding at me, I was terrified, but I jumped at the last second. It wasn’t really a decision—it felt instinctive, like my body wanted to survive.”

His words hit me like a freight train. I’d seen the accident unfold in a flashback, but hearing how my words had shaped his will to live made it all feel painfully real.

Tommy’s voice softened, trembling slightly. “But now… my dad’s trying to make a plea deal to get off easy. He might walk away from everything he’s done. Protective services cut off Kayleigh and I can't get in touch with her anymore. I need to know… will there ever be justice for us? Will the memories of what he did ever go away?”

The pull to return to the present grew stronger, tugging at my consciousness, but I wasn’t ready to leave yet. Tommy’s questions hung heavy in the air. He needed answers.

I stood and walked to the box of decorations, pulling out the glittering elf he’d shown me in the present. Attached to it was a small note: “From Tommy Miller.” It wasn’t much, just a personal touch he’d added to my family’s heirloom ornaments. The elf, flamboyant and unapologetically pink, was quintessentially Tommy.

I stepped toward the tree, raising the topper to its peak. The movement brought me closer to Tommy, his fingers brushing against my side as I stretched.

“George Miller will face justice,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “He’ll take a plea deal and get sentenced to twelve years. He’ll be eligible for parole in six—but he won’t make it that long. One of his ‘patrons’—someone the prosecutors were building a case against—will have him killed in prison. He won’t get away with what he’s done, Tommy. That’s the truth.”

He looked up at me, his face unreadable for a long moment. Then he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “So, he doesn’t get away with it, right?”

“No, he doesn’t,” I confirmed, pressing the elf onto the top of the tree. Its glittery figure seemed to glow softly in the tree lights, a symbol of resilience. I turned back to face Tommy. “As for the memories… you’ll never forget, Tommy. Neither will Kayleigh or me. After his original sentence is up, Kayleigh will receive a key and a note directly from the prison, giving her access to a storage unit with one of his old VHS tapes. That’s what triggered my trip back to the accident—and brought me here. I know it’s not perfect. But those memories will make us stronger.”

I exhaled and held back telling him about Keyleigh’s future state, there was nothing we could do for her as teenagers. Maybe, something could be done later.

"We’ll live through this together. And even though we’re not married, we’re a couple in every way that matters. Things won’t always go perfectly for us—or for those we love—but one day, you’ll convince me to stop trying to fix everything with my flashbacks. Things do get better, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyes filled with tears, but he smiled—small and tentative, yet real. “Thank you for telling me that, Evan.”

“No,” I said firmly, kneeling in front of him. “I should be thanking you for letting me come back here.”

The pull to return intensified, the edges of the room beginning to blur. I placed my hands gently on his shoulders. “Remember this memory, okay? Hold onto it. You’re going to be amazing, Tommy. You’re going to change lives for the better.”

He reached up, placing his smaller hands over mine. “I’ll remember.”

And just like that, the room faded, and I was back in the present.

Tommy’s voice pulled me from the daze. “You okay?”

I blinked, realizing I was still holding the glittery elf topper. Slowly, I nodded, my grip tightening around the ornament. “Yeah. Just… remembering.”

We were back in our apartment, the hum of the city outside muffled by the walls. Tommy’s expression was gentle, patient. “It happened again, didn’t it? A flashback?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I went back to the first Christmas after your accident. You told me about your dad’s plea deal… and why you jumped at the last second when the car came at you.”

Tommy nodded, sitting beside me on the couch. “And what did you say to me back then?”

“I told you the truth. About your dad, about everything. And I told you that you’d grow stronger because of it.”

His smile was warm with his memories of the event, “You always know the right thing to say, even when you don’t think you do. I needed to hear that after coming out of the hospital and hearing about my dad’s plea deal. Kayleigh had stopped making phone calls to me, so I felt really down about life.”

I leaned back, staring at the elf in my hand. “It’s hard, Tommy. Knowing what happened, what could’ve been different. I feel like I’m carrying all these broken pieces, trying to make sense of everything for everyone. But, you are right, I am not God and can’t fix everything.”

He reached over, resting his hand on my arm. “You don’t have to carry them alone, Evan. We’ve got each other. We’ll figure it out—together.”

I looked at him—the man who had been through so much and still found a way to smile, to love. In that moment, I realized he was right. The past might haunt us, but it didn’t define us. What mattered was the life we were building, one moment at a time.

As I set the glittery elf on the shelf, its pink sparkle catching the light, a familiar feeling stirred within me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.