Holes in The History of The Universe

10: Laura (Part 4)

Samual's mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the stern, white lab coated lady examined her from the other end of the table, tapping a pencil to her clipboard. "Ma'am, I hope you understand that Project Wormhole is an organization that civilians have no business knowing about."

"Yes," Laura said with a gulp, "I do."

"Good." The scientist pulled a handkerchief from her glasses case and cleaned the lenses, still keeping her eyes on Laura. "Now I ask you again, where and how did you find out about us?"

"The internet," she said, trying to appear honest despite the subtle rattle in her voice, "on the dark web. There was information about other organizations there too, if you need to know."

"I see," the lady said, marking her words with a sigh, "and don't worry, I do find that claim, extremely possible," her voice was hardly comforting. She stood up, and bean pacing around the enclosed room like a shark. "We have thought long and hard on what to do with you, and after some research, you will be pleased to hear that we have accepted your claim as fact."

Laura took a shallow breath out, feeling a compoused leap in her stomach, the other woman just stared back at her, looking terribly inconvenienced.

"We have actually found quite a bit of evidence of your son's time travel incident, all we need to do is confirm that it is his. She pulled out two plastic bags similar to the ones used to pack sandwiches. Both of them were marked in a miniscule, typewriter esque font: 'Cell phone and case, carbon date, 1400 - 1500 A.D, Samual O'Dally,' and 'Page from a physician's death quota journal, carbon date, 1400-1500 A.D, Samual O'Dally."

The cell phone was, of course, cracked almost beyond the point of recognition, there were even pieces of dust covered glass scattered around the bag, not attached to anything, however, when she flipped it over, it was recognizable. Although the phone case had long cracked to pieces, with the paint faded and chipped, it's red color, with bright images of bass guitars, were still visible. "Yes," she said, trying her best not to yell, "I am fairly certain this is his."

She then pulled over the journal page, and skimmed through it's daily recordings before flipping it over to reveal a message: 'God bless you Samual, for allowing me to live this long, and forgive me for forcing you into this life. If you are reading this, then I pray you will have a successful career, and perhaps live long enough to enjoy life a bit more, maybe even bear an apprentice of your own. Love, Alastair.'

"That,' the woman said when she looked up, is a letter we suspect is addressed to him."

Laura stared, wondering why someone would say such a morbid thing towards her son, "what does this mean?" She asked.

"Based on that letter, we believe he has been taken in by a plague doctor." Laura continued to stare, and the interrogator used that as an opportunity to pull out a document, "Before we do anything, we will need your signature to confirm confidentiality, can you do that?"

She nodded, only giving the contract a quick glance as she allowed her hand to loop around the line at the bottom, and then a few more as the interviewer pointed them out.