Grandfather

Sound came first, then light, and then, finally colours that slowly focused into objects. You were sitting in the middle of a small, pleasant, library-type room that had the ring of the familiar. You felt rope about your wrists- your hands were bound to the arms of an old, wooden chair. A man, dressed in an immaculate black business suit, stood leaning against the mantelpiece beneath which a brazier smouldered. It was him all right. A little different from what you remembered, but not distractingly so. The high forehead and black-grey widow’s peak, the thin line of a mouth that was framed by a dark goatee. Jet black eyes that stared out with harsh and knowing authority. He had always been a tall man, looming over you as a child, but the straight immovable poise of his body made him seem still taller.

“You’re awake,” there was a slight rasp to his voice, but strength too. “Now we can get started.”

There was a breathy gasp, and when you turned your head you saw Channel standing off to the side, half-dressed and looking in a frightened daze.

Your grandfather followed your gaze. “Oh, her? I’ve had my hooks in her for a while. It comes in handy, to lay subconscious tripwires in those around you. She’s a very useful tool.” His eyes hardened on you. “She didn’t even have to say anything, the moment the thought came into her head I was able to see the memory of you. Liar that you are.”

“What makes you think I’m lying?” It was false bravado, but it was the only defence you had.

“I take care not sire any bastards,” he seemed insulted that you would even suggest it. “Though it doesn’t escape me that you and I share a resemblance. Might you tell me who you are, and what you’re really doing here?”

You considered it, wondered if perhaps the man might even help you return to your own time. But there was also a deep tickle in the back of your head, a warning that this man might not be inclined to help you without asking for something in turn.

“You’re wearing a copy of my family ring,” he noted. “I can draw a few conclusions from that, but I think it might be faster if I take a look at your brain and find the answers myself.”

“Wait!” You felt a stab of panic. Your grandfather was an imperious man. How would he take it if he looked into your mind and saw that you had fucked his wife? But before you could argue further, you felt deep claws sinking into your subconscious, psychic talons trying scrap inside the dark recesses of your brain.

Instinctively, you imagined a giant door between yourself and the grasping hands. It was smashed down in moments, and you quickly threw up a brick wall. That took longer, the big and invisible hands pounding on the brick and mortar until they began to come loose. Before it could, pictured a moat and portcullis, and on the other side you threw a vault door behind it.

Your grandfather’s dark eyes fixed on you with greater concentration, a vein bulging at his temple. His teeth clenched in a snarl, and you found yourself sweating terribly, your head aching. In a last ditch effort, you allowed an image slithered to the surface of your mind, just a small thing that might distract him for a moment.

It was your seventh birthday, and your grandfather was reading to you from a book about Napoleon. It was one of the more pleasant memories from childhood that you had, and at once you felt the pressure on your skull ease.

He stared at you again, this time with more curiosity than determination. “Time traveller…” he sounded amazed. “So, Smith was not mad after all…”

As the old man was lost in thought you turned your attention to Channel, who was looking very concerned and confused by what was happening. You felt a pang of sympathy and hoped that your grandfather hadn’t screwed with her mind too much.

“So,” Victor Maywood said, recapturing your attention. There was a Machiavellian flame burning in his eyes as he studied you. “Grandson…Michael. Shall we talk about the future?”