Chasing History

Evan barely dared to breathe too loudly as he raised his camera up in front of him, ready to capture the scene that was so perfectly laid out there. It was the picture he had been looking for since he had arrived here, the one he had been searching for since he started this hobby.

Many people avoided this lonely building, situated in a huge clearing of finely kept grass in the middle of a wild and untamed forest. The trees hid the huge building well, covering up the history that was here, but for Evan, he couldn’t avoid it. He was tied to this abandoned place in more ways than he would like, and ever since he had been young it had dragged him back here.

If Evan searched through his memories, he could find a few hazy, grainy recollections of the place before it was abandoned and fell into decay. He remembered the noise – banging of the pots and pans in the kitchen, the creaking of the doors, the nurses shouting to one another down the busy corridors. He remembered the little boy – him – watching it all with wide eyes, taking in all of the action. He vaguely remembered the nurses who would slip him little treats and ruffle his hair, or let him follow them around.

Evan squinted through the viewfinder, positioning his camera carefully. He wanted this picture as much as he needed it. He had been looking for something to capture the desolate misery of this place for years, and he had finally found it.

It was long after the nurses had stopped shouting to one another now, and the little boy was a fully-grown man. He was a fully-grown man who understood one thing – as much as he wanted to leave this place, he never could. It was all he had. It was practically his family, and now everyone in it had long since gone, the building remained, always there, always watching over him with empty eyes.

Evan peered around the room before he pressed the capture button. He took in the floor, covered with the debris of the slowly decaying ceiling. He watched the light filter in through the gaps where windows, clean and shining, had once lived. He focused on the bath in the room, specially made to assist patients. Once gleaming, it was now filled with mouldy rainwater and dirt. The paint cracked and peeled off of the walls and the smell of damp decay filled Evan’s nostrils, but he wasn’t there in mind. He was back when the room was gleaming, and where his mother used to chase him around this very room to try and get him to at least wash his hair.

The camera clicked and Evan looked at the picture he had taken. Although it was perfect – the very picture he had always been looking for – the tears that sprang to his eyes were not happy ones, for this picture made him face the truth. The old building wasn’t how it used to be anymore, and his mother was dead. He was all alone, and the only thing he had was this building. Like Evan, it had long since been forgotten by all those who used to look after it, and, also like Evan, it was left to its own devices, even if those were slowly destroying it.

Evan allowed himself to slide down the dirty wall and onto the floor, still focusing on the picture in his hands. Through the grief he could feel the ever-present anger, and he sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He leant his head against the wall, feeling the bumpy, rain-damaged surface of it against the back of his head.

"No one’s coming back, are they?" he asked softly. Even though his voice was quiet, it echoed slightly around the empty room.

The old building seemed to creak in reply, and Evan gave a thin smile.

If he relaxed enough, he knew he could make it happen. He had a connection with this building that no one else did – he had been born within these walls – and it was to him that the building would show its secrets to. He allowed himself to fall to the very borders of sleep, so his eyes were free from flickering, his breathing was deep and slow, and finally he began to sense the changes around him. The wall against his head was repairing itself, and no rotten, decaying smell reached Evan any longer. The silence became less heavy, starting to be broken by echoing footsteps and voices, and when Evan opened his eyes, he was home.

"You again," came a voice from slightly to the left of him, and Evan turned to see the little boy with the dark hair and the bright eyes. "Mummy says I’m not allowed to talk to you, you know. She’s scared I’ll turn out like her."

"Then how come you’re always here when I turn up?" Evan asked the child, who frowned slightly. He chewed lightly on his finger, his head to one side, studying Evan closely.

"I don’t know," he eventually replied. "I just know when you’re going to be here."

"Evan!"

Another voice joined them, and both the child and the man turned to look at the door. Evan smiled to himself as his mother came in through the door, into the gleaming bathroom. Her eyes passed over where he was still sitting, slouched against the wall, until she focused upon her young son.

"Oh, Evan. What have I told you, eh?"

"I was here first this time," Evan’s younger self muttered sheepishly, and his mother gently stroked her son’s hair.

"Go on back to the room. We’ll talk about this later."

With a final glance at his older self, the young Evan turned out of the room. It was long after his little footsteps couldn’t be heard running up the hallways that Evan’s mother turned back around.

"What do you want?" she demanded, and Evan sighed.

"Mum –"

"Do you have any idea how much this messes everything up? Do you? They think I’m getting better. Now you’re messing around with my son, too!"

"I am your son," Evan muttered.

"But you’re not. My son is seven. How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven," Evan muttered.

"Exactly. So tell me how this works out?"

"I don’t know, all right?" Evan suddenly burst out. "Time and time again I end up back here. I don’t know why, I just do. There’s nothing any of us can do about it, is there? I know something’s up, I know there’s a reason why I can’t stop myself from doing this, and you’re the only one who knows what it might be. So why don’t you tell me what I want?"

There was a long silence, and then Evan’s mother sighed and ran a hand through her long, blonde hair. She suddenly looked tired, and Evan felt a pang of guilt.

"Let me see your camera," she eventually said softly, and Evan stood up, bringing it over. He showed her the picture – the very same room they were in, decaying, abandoned, ruined.

"Took it earlier on," he said softly.

"Every time you show me these pictures, the place gets worse," his mother said quietly. "So it is true."

"What’s true?"

“Evan," the older woman sighed again, and Evan knew she was having some sort of mental battle with herself. "Listen. In this reality, you’re much too young to understand what I’m about to say. You know you were born here and stayed with me because you had no other family to take you in. That’s because there isn’t any, OK? Your father was like you. He didn’t belong to one reality. He jumped, like you can do. I knew from the moment you were born you would have the same ... well, whatever you want to call it. Some say it’s a talent, and others say it’s a curse. But in this reality you’re in danger. This place is safe for now – I mean, it’s a psychiatric hospital. I can say whatever I like and I’m protected by the assumption that I’m crazy. But this place, as your pictures have shown, isn’t going to be around for forever. If you grow up here, with me, you’ll face a life of persecution and hostility."

"Where are you going with this?" Evan demanded, although he had a terrible feeling that he already knew.

Voices were getting closer and closer outside now, and one could be recognized as Evan’s younger self, chattering away.

"But I was told to go back to the room, but I didn’t realize it was so near dinner, so that’s why I didn’t bring Mummy back with me ..."

"I need you to take him back with you," Evan’s mother whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Please. It’s the only way."

"How?" Evan asked in disbelief. "He’s me! How can I cover that up?"

"He’ll understand when he’s older," was the reply. "I think he already knows, to be honest. Just, trust me. It will all become clear. He needs someone who knows what’s going on. He needs a father figure."

"His own father figure can’t be himself," Evan hissed, but the voices were getting closer now, and his mother fixed him with a pleading look.

"Please," she whispered. "I beg you to do this for me."

Her voice already sounded far away, and Evan cursed as he realized what was happening.

"Mum," he said quickly, as the walls began to return to their decaying state, the footsteps and the voices became further away, and the smell of decay began to return to his nostrils. "I –"

"Please, Evan!"

As the old abandoned building returned around him, Evan heard himself whisper into the empty room, "OK."

The room was still, and Evan looked around himself, his eyes prickling with tears, his heart thudding, his brain trying to comprehend what had just happened to him. He looked at the picture on his camera again, as if to reassure himself that at least something had happened as it should have done. He jumped as the silence was broken by another voice.

"Dad!" the voice shouted excitedly. "Dad, come look at what I found!"

Feeling light-headed, and barely able to believe what he knew he was about to see, Evan stumbled into the hallway, where a young, dark-haired boy was sitting in a rusty wheelchair, wheeling it around with some difficulty.

"You never told me how awesome this place was, Dad!" he said excitedly, giggling.

Evan looked at his younger self, and despite his confusion, felt a determined smile come across his face.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, walking over to where the younger Evan sat. "It’s pretty cool, hey?"

"I love it,” the little boy grinned. "You’re right, Dad. It’s like we’ve been here before, isn’t it?"