Twenty Tolls of the Clock (for Chrysm)

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Julius C. Franklin was at his desk scratching away at his journal with his blue fountain pen. His desk was a mess with papers strewn across the room. His once expensive mahogany bookshelves had become crooked and dusty. His diplomas on the wall, including his doctorate in engineering and certification in steam technology and mathematics were now lying on the floor with their glass cracked. The time was nearing 7:00 in the evening.

Julius himself was a thirty eight year old man with medium length brown hair. He rarely kept his hair neat and his suit and hat were well worn. He used to take better care of his appearance, but lately he had lost interest in such a tedious task. He was once considered a prodigy by his peers. But what goes up must come down.

"September 3, 1893

I had the most terrible day. I fell asleep at my desk again last night - I was supposed to escort my daughter to a dance yesterday. I awoke to a knock on the door. It was as kid who delivered me a notice that the University has decided to stop funding my work. They do not feel the money they are investing has justified the glorious machines I have provided them. Of course, I have not yet informed them of the 'time machine' as those fools on the board would call it.

Then I had the distinct un-privilege of running into that woman. For anonymity, I shall call her H, short for Harpy. She made a fool of me and mocked my research. I told her she would regret it and stormed into director's office and demanded that H be made to apologize to me. The director told me that the Queen had passed a mandate forcing the development of an underwater naval warship and he was under immense pressure to oblige. I told him that the project was boring and pointless since steam cannot dissipate under water. He then told me that if I would not work on it, he would assign the project to H. He then summoned H into his office and told me to hand over all my notes to her and help her with whatever she wants for the 'submarine'. I had to undergo the humiliation of handing over my notes to H while she mocked me. Then she had the cheek to dismiss me saying that she did not need my help.

I then returned to my home, to the only thing that should matter in this world, my daughter. But the ungrateful wench is among the numbers of my enemies who do not understand my genius. She accused me of caring more for my work than her and even had the nerve the strike me! And so I returned to my office at the University.

Therefore I have decided to do the thing I thought I would never do: Test my 'time machine'. The machine is a large clock with thousands of mechanisms too complex to explain to an idiot. But the user must undergo a ritual of chance for it to work. I have set up 20 glasses of whiskey. To one I have added cyanide, surely enough to kill me. Each of those glasses represent a different timeline. In one of those timelines I die. Another timeline is the present one, so if I drink that glass, nothing will happen. The other eighteen glasses will allow me to relive a part of history. I have calculated that a 1:20 chance is equivalent to approximately 12 hours sent back in time.

If you should find me dead tomorrow, I pray you destroy the large clock in the corner. The 'time machine' is too dangerous for an inferior mind such as yourself.

Signed,
Julius C. Franklin"

Julius spun the tray containing the twenty glasses grabbed one of them. He entered the giant clock, shut the door and drank the glass. The bell rang twenty times, each time shaking him to his very core.

***

Julius woke up to the sound of a knocking at the door. "Who in the blazes is that?" he asked, slightly hungover. A young man handed him a letter. "Yes, another letter about how I lost my funding. You already gave me this yesterday, you imbecile!" The young man answered clearly afraid, "You must have me mistaken with someone else, sir, this is the first time I've been here," he said, running off.

Julius suddenly remembered the events of yesterday. "I'm not dead!" he shouted. He ran off excitedly into the hall. "Isn't this where I first saw that woman yesterday?" he thought.

[Chrysm]

'September 3, 1893

6:44 PM

My life is a total nightmare! I can't believe my father forgot about the dace recital last night. Not that it mattered all that much to me, as I hate dancing. And since he forgot about it, I took the opportunity to pretend I wasn't well enough for it when I called the director to tell him I wouldn't be able to be there.

So instead of spending the night dancing, I went out with my friends. The only people in this world who actually care about me'

18 year old Felicia Franklin paused in her diary entry. She tapped the end of her pen against her forehead as she thought for a minute, before resuming

'As much as I love my father, I can't help but feel like he acts like I don't exist. Every time I remind him of fun stuff we are supposed to be doing together, I find him slouched over his desk muttering to himself, so focused on whatever he's doing to even notice me standing in the doorway

This morning was no different. I often wonder if he even notices time going by. I have got to find a way to get him out of the study for more than a few minutes at a time. If what I have in mind doesn't work, I may as well be dead along with Mother'

She stopped writing at that point. She gave a sad sigh as she looked up and out the balcony window of her luxurious bedroom. She then got up and headed out to the hall. There was no doubt her father would still be in his office at the university. After the emotional outburst she did earlier in the evening, even having the nerve to slap him across the face, she half guess he'd be there all night. She was actually a bit surprised he didn't tan her right then and there

She slowly moved through the long and semi-dark halls, both lost in thought, and feeling upset at how she had acted. She soon came to the dining hall, where, situated above the fireplace behind the head of the table, was a portrait of her deceased mother. She glanced up at it, a sad, lonely expression forming on her face

"What can I do to make him understand?" she said out lout, as it speaking to her mother as if she were right there "Why does he have to be so caught up in things that don't include me? When will he snap out if it?"

She stood there in the large room for quite awhile, not even flinching as the nearby antique clock began to strike hour

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As Julius walked down the hall, he began to eagerly await the arrival of his nemesis. Yesterday (to him at least) she had publicly insulted him, but this time he would take the time to respond cleverly and erase her attempt to embarrass him. 'I'll be dancing as the tears of humiliation pour down her face' he thought excitedly.

'Dancing?' he thought as he paused in his tracks. Didn't Felicia have a dance recital coming up soon? Did he miss it? He didn't much care for it, but he felt he should at least pretend to care since it was important to her. Of course, she never talked about dancing... Though, perhaps the reason she was angry last night was because the recital was today and he had missed it. He remembered the burning in his cheek from her slap. At the time he just left, but now he was feeling a little angry about it.

Julius decided that he would return home in the afternoon after Felicia finished her schooling. But for now, he would need to secure his job and pride.

[Chrysm]

After a while of waiting, a woman in her mid 20's came sauntering down the hall. A smirk on her face. She felt like she was he absolute best at what she does. And she intended to prove it. There was one who seemed an adequate rival, and she was determined to humiliate him in the worst way possible

f he hadn't heard of the new project, she'd tell him and day she intended to do better than he could. He did seem to be......a bit.....loopy. She had heard rumors of the inventions he makes and thinks he's nuts, as she heard the university was planning on cutting his funds. She hoped to push it further so they'd fire him, so she could take his place

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Julius found himself nearly rubbing his hands together with anticipation. Any moment she would try her witty insult that had hurt him so dearly yesterday. That is unless he cut her off with a witticism of his own. "Henrietta," he said, intentionally not calling her professor or by her last name. "Your research is more muddled than the lungs of a Charles Dickens protagonist." Julius paused and then decided to explain his joke, condescendingly assuming Henrietta not intelligent enough to understand it. "That's because Dickens often wrote of chimney sweeps who are apt to inhale a good load of soot."

Julius tipped his hat to his nemesis hoping his insult had landed.

[Chrysm]

Henrietta froze in her track as he said this, seeming taken aback. How could he have come up with a remark almost as sharp as what she had intended to say?

She stomped right up to him, getting in is face, her expression sporting the darkest scowl she could muster. But at the same time a rose blush was spreading across her face, and she stuttered and stammered for a witty reply

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Julius was thrilled by Henrietta's indignation as well as her ungraceful attempt at a retort. He decided to push his luck further. "And your fashion sense is less reminiscent of Jane Austen than of Edgar Allen Poe. Frightening, that is to say. Quote the Raven, 'Never more shall you wear such hideous rags lest security confuses you with a Manchester prostitute, who was beaten up by a homeless man!"

Julius was thrilled by his perceived success, and offered his hand to shake to a few onlookers who had gathered.

[Chrysm]

"Why...you......pompous....." she stammered, still at a loss for a snarky remark. Before he could make anymore comments, she stormed off in a huff, shoving aside any who were too slow to move out of her way

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Julius celebrated a small victory as his nemesis stormed away, stammering. "What did I do next?" he mused to himself. "Oh yes, the director." He quickly walked to the director's office and burst in, much like he had the previous day. "That Henrietta. She must be unstable; we were having a pleasant conversation and she stormed out, stammering, and crying." Julius envisioned what it would look like if Henrietta had cried and smiled.

"Anyways, what is this nonsense about the lack of funding? I am merely days away from producing a state of the art submarine military vessel with the full firearm capabilities of a battleship. Has the crown decided to cut back military spending?" Julius smiled as he knew the opposite to be true.

"Professor Franklin," replied the Director in a whiny voice, "it must have been a mistake, we would never pull your funding. Actually we were going to assign another researcher to work under you. You said you will be done in a few days, right?"

"Yes that's correct," replied Julius. "And I choose Henrietta as my personal assistant."

"Yes, professor," the Director conceded. "I will send a messenger to bring her here so we can inform her of this," he said as he passed a note to his assistant.

[Chrysm]

Once Henrietta reached her office, did she slam the door, lock it, and then collapse to the floor and begin sobbing. How did he come up with such an annoying set of comments? She knew he was often vey scatter-brained and not all that social

There was no way in hell she'd try to get back at him now. Nor would she even think of working with him if he offered. But she swore, somehow, someday, she would get back at him for this. She couldn't recall ever being this humiliated