They Could Kill You

Janie| Chapter 4

"My favorite trip to the past was not so long ago," he says, flashing a white grin to the audience as his gaze roams, making eye contact with as many people as he can as he speaks. "Only 27 years ago, my little brother Darcy drowned in a pond at the back of our property. He was 2 years old, and had graduated to a toddler bed just that week.

My family spent years speculating on just how it happened, maybe dad was too loud getting up for work and that roused him. We don't know who forgot to lock the backdoor. Whether it was shut and he opened it, or it was left open. What we do know is that we woke to him gone.

We searched everywhere on the property. My mother was terrified that he'd gotten trampled under the horses."

He wipes a tear from his eye as he goes on, "her cries of relief were such music when we found the barn empty. But they turned to cries of grief so shortly after. He was wearing his bright yellow coat...it made him so easy to spot.

That little detail haunted me for years...he was so smart, he remembered his coat..."

His voice breaks and I hear sniffles in the crowd around me. I feel a tear rolling down my own cheek and brush it away in a hurry. How dare this man lower my guard so much that I expressed full emotion in a crowd of people?

"Of course, this memory is my least favorite. But with the modern marvel that is time travel, I am the only one who remembers that version of my family's history. Ladies and gentleman," he says with another white grin, "I would like to introduce to you someone very special. Darcy, are you here?"

The audience erupts as another man steps out onto the stage. It is the same man from the train earlier, black suit, black top hat, and antique-looking pocket watch.

As I look at the cheering audience around me, I can't help but feel a bit disgusted. Both with these con artists and with myself for becoming so wrapped up in his story.

"They're playing on our emotions," I say to no one in particular.

"How d'ya know?" The man in front of me asks, turning around so we're face to face.

I'm about to retort how easy it would be to fake such a sappy story and then present a brother who had been alive the whole time, but I'm taken aback by his look.

He is wearing a tan suit with a red tie, and a tan fedora. An open trench coat over the ensemble, with brown shoes that look like they were discontinued over half a century ago.

"Oh great, another actor," I mutter instead. "Sorry, no offense to you and your partners. I know we've all got to make a living. I just think you could make a more believable scam, or at least make sure people have time to sit and listen to this nonsense"

"Scam!" He scoffs, holding his hand to his chest, ignoring the part where I said I had better things to do. "Can't be a scam if he ain't gainin' nuffin from it," he says.

"Then why do it?" I ask.

"Pardon?"

"Why do it? Why pretend to travel through time if you're not going to try and sell the trip to the gullible?"

"I guess he just wants to make the world a little better is all. It's not surprising' that someone from your time wouldn't understand that."

"Why do you say my 'time' like that?"

"Because your time is the most selfish, disconnected, greedy place I've been yet."

"Right, and I'm sure generation 'segregation and suppressing women' was so much better," I say.

"Of course, that's irrelevant," I add quickly, catching myself, "because you're from now. Great acting though."

I turn my attention back to the stage, not wanting to hear his reply. But it comes anyways.

"Nice save," he whispers.

"That's a modern phrase," I say, still not meeting his eye.

He steps back so that we're shoulder to shoulder, so close that I can smell him. He smells like gasoline and I have to applaud his dedication to his role. "You're not gonna believe until you go yourself, are you?"
"Seeing is believing," I say.

I know this is the part of the show where actors in costume and accent are targeting those in the crowd that are skeptical, like me. If they insists enough that he can prove it, us skeptics may try it just to prove it doesn't exist.

But I'm not buying.

The "brothers" on stage are bowing, and then the skinnier one announces that they will accept questions. His voice floats over the crowd, and the calm hits me just like before.

What a perfect profession for a man who speaks like honey...he could charm almost anyone here out of their minds and their money. But I'm not gullible enough for it.

I should leave, but I want to make sure he knows that I'm not gullible enough for it. So even as some of the crowd dwindles, and escape routes open, I push forward towards the stage with my questions.