entangled state

pg |mention of slurs

"Neighbour says his name is Linke Gering."

With John's words, Robert felt his blood run cold. He pulled his hand out of the victim's pocket, clenching a fist around the coins found there.

"Whoever let this Hun in the country clearly didn't read the Bryce Report," he continued.

"That's not fair," Robert said, even as he felt anger boiling up in him. "This ... he's just a kid."

"They're all barbarians."

Robert closed his eyes, trying to push away the rage and disgust. This boy had nothing do with his brother's ship getting lost at sea. He was far too young and had likely died just as Charles had - scared and alone. It made no sense to blame all Germans for the loss of his twin, or for the attack that cut his own service short, preventing him from being by Charles's side.

Even if he couldn't have saved him, at least his brother wouldn't have died alone.

None of those thoughts were relevant to the dead body in front of him, but he couldn't help it. Part of him hated the poor boy.

"Linke! Linke!"

He turned just in time to see a young man appear in the doorway, only to be quickly pushed back by John. Robert unsteadily rose, grateful that his partner couldn't see him stumble. His father's influence wouldn't mean a thing if his fellow officers doubted his ability to move around with his prosthetic leg. Maybe they would understand that he was just getting used to a new model. Maybe not. But the Germans had already taken away his career in the Navy; he wouldn't let them take away this second chance at a life of service.

"Do you live here?" John asked.

"My brother's in there. What happened to him?"

Robert stepped outside to see his partner pushing the young man up against the wall. In spite of the mild German accent, the man looked more Irish, with bright red hair and piercing blue eyes. He didn't resemble the blond victim lying inside at all.

"I'm Constable Robert Horwood. You didn't answer my partner's question. You live here?"

"Tell me what happened to my brother."

"If he's the brother, his name is Rechte, according to the neighbours," John said. "Another stupid Hun name."

He could see John's face turning red, and it seemed like at any moment, he might slide his forearm up from the young man's chest to his neck and just start choking him.

"Why don't I talk to him while you finish sketching out the scene?" Robert put one hand on John's shoulder and the other on the young man's arm. John finally relented and went back inside.

"Are you Rechte?"

"That's what my adoptive family calls me. It's not my name."

"So what should I call you?"

The young man had been staring angrily off into the distance, but he met Robert's eyes at that question, looking somewhat surprised.

"Delta," he said.

"Fine. Then, Delta, what do you know about what happened here?"

The fury that had abated slightly flared up again in his face. "I know my brother is dead."

"How do you know that?"

"I just know."

Robert felt his chest tighten at the words, ones he had spoken not all that long ago to his own mother, when she had asked him why he was "giving up" on Charles, why he was so certain of his demise. Their parents may have thought spiritualism was pure hokum, but his connection to his twin was undeniable.

As was the empty feeling when it was cut.

"You have to find who did this. You have to make them pay."

As his thoughts returned to the present, Robert swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Delta's eyes were wide and looked as if tears would spill from them at any moment.

"I'll do everything I can to bring them to justice," he promised. Not simply as a constable, but also as a brother who knew what that kind of loss could do to a soul.

-

His foot ached as he exited the hospital. As did his heart.

The newspapers would soon hear of the death. In spite of having a proper English name, his wife had confirmed he was, indeed, of German descent, although it had been something he sought to hide. So it was possible this was the fourth victim of the killer John privately called the "Hun Ripper" even though only one of them had been what you could properly call "ripped".

This one had still been alive when discovered by the maid, and Robert had hoped he would be able to learn something about the attacker from him.

Alas, he passed away before they arrived.

The tube train got him home more quickly than he desired. Their son had been sick for the last few days and it was taking a toll on his wife. He didn't want to burden her with his own worries and frustration on top of everything else, but it was hard to act normal. The last thing London needed was another Jack. At least there was no panic among the populace yet.

Lost in thought, he nearly tripped over a lump on their front steps. A dirty, crumbled newspaper, and even though only part of the headline was visible, he knew what it said - BLOODY SCENE IN WHITECHAPEL. From the man murdered two days ago. The papers hadn't made the connection yet; the first victim was beaten, the second was shot, the third had his throat slit, and the most recent one had been strangled.

As he picked it up, he instantly regretted it; there was something cold and wet inside, probably a dead rat. He shook it loose, intending to kick it out into the street. But though the light may have been dim, he could clearly make out that what fell was not a rat but a human heart. He froze in horror for a moment before his investigator instincts took over and he examined the newspaper.

What he had thought was dirt was more likely blood, and written below the headline, in very neat script, "Do not look any further into this case lest you find your wife's heart inside the next one."

Tossing the paper aside, he rushed into his home to seek out his family. He lit a lamp with shaky hands and finally found his wife was safely asleep in their bed - he could hear her light snoring - with their son lying next to her, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

His heart was still pounding as he went outside to retrieve the heart and the newspaper. But try as he might, he couldn't find them.

It wasn't so late that the streets were empty, but surely if a stranger had stumbled upon a bloody heart, they would have screamed. He fumbled for his weapon as he staggered back into the house.

He didn't sleep that night.

-

He ignored the greetings of his coworkers and went straight to his boss's office, only to find it empty. So he sought out his partner instead, shoving the newspaper in John's face.

"What is this rubbish?"

"It's what the coroner concluded."

Robert shook his head in disbelief. "You were there with me. You saw the bruises. You couldn't possibly think -"

"They were determined to be caused prior to death."

John crossed his arms over his chest as if to indicate the conversation was over. Frustrated, Robert turned back towards their chief's office.

"He left for France this morning," John said, this time in a softer voice. "They're finally going to be able to see his daughter."

"Well, that's fantastic! Did the doctor finally stop asking for so much money?"

He glanced down at the newspaper in Robert's hand. Just for a moment, before looking away, but it was enough. He would never question Clifton's integrity, but Mary had been ill for so long, with only the one clinic offering a possible cure.

John stepped in closer, spoke even more quietly. "Just take the money. He promised to get his son help. It's just four dead barbarians. The chief gets help for his daughter, I get out of debt, you get ... whatever you need. Don't pursue this."

His mouth felt dry as he stared at his partner, listened to his admission. "Nobody offered me money. I got a bloody heart left on my doorstep with a promise that next time, it would be my wife's."

"What?"

"I was threatened to drop this case. Are you saying you and the rest were paid off?"

"Maybe ... maybe he figured you wouldn't take the ... the ..."

"Bribe," Robert said with disdain. "No, I wouldn't take a bribe to subvert justice."

"Justice?" John snorted. "He told us all about the men his son killed. They were rapists and perverts."

"And you believed that? That first one was just a boy."

"They're all like that! You know what that one did to my wife!"

With that, John grabbed his hat and headed out, leaving Robert standing there while their fellow officers were pretending to not hear the squabble. He sat at his desk because he couldn't think of anything else to do. How could he continue to investigate a case that his chief had declared closed? Had this mysterious man paid off Jimmy, too, or had Clifton just ordered him to change the autopsy report? And if this man had enough money to bribe multiple officers, then he certainly had the resources to follow through with his threats.

-

He walked the entire way home, even as his body protested.

They were rapists and perverts, John had said, but there was no evidence of that. Even if he could believe that the three men had hidden that kind of life from their wives and children, what about that poor boy?

Lydia, the aunt who had taken in Linke and Rechte after their father had died, had sobbed hysterically when she was told. They were good boys, she cried, as if they were both dead now. Their mother - her sister - had married young, with suspicion that she was with child on the wedding day. She gave birth seven months after the ceremony to a baby that was already dead.

Their father was never the same after that. How Rechte joined the family, Lydia wasn't sure. She only knew he was "abandoned" and went without a name for three months; the father thought if he named the child, it would curse the one growing in his wife's womb.

Perhaps he was correct about the cursed womb; his wife gave birth to four children, only one of whom survived the night. She had - maybe in jest - named the child Linke since he was the one "left".

It wasn't the right word, the aunt had said, almost apologetically. Sarah's German was never very good.

And with that, they decided to name the brother Rechte. Left and Right. A matching set.

He was a good boy, a kind boy. Not very smart... And with that, Lydia's frown had deepened and she glanced towards the room she said the boys shared. But the world is fine without smart people if they aren't going to be kind.

Robert could only assume it was a veiled insult of Rechte. Delta.

The people he spoke to had nothing but nice things to say about the younger Gering boy; when it came to the elder, he was described as cold and arrogant. He didn't like to socialize with others. Thought he was smarter than everyone else. He didn't seem to have any friends and liked it that way.

But Linke ...

Even when his aunt and uncle could barely keep food on the table, he was willing to share his meals with the stray cats who would gather out back. He was kind even to the other boys at school who made fun of his odd accent. He helped his cousins with their lessons and brought medicine to the cripple down the street.

There were men in this world who deserved to die. This boy wasn't one of them.

By the time he reached his doorstep, he had decided. He would send his family off to stay with his sister. Once the train had safely arrived in Glasgow, he would contact the papers. He would tell them the truth.

Suddenly his feet wouldn't move. The paralysis terrified him and he struggled against it, losing his balance and toppling to the ground.

"You're all the same."

Relief at realizing he could move his legs again was tempered by Delta's cold voice.

"Wait. I can explain."

"I don't want to hear your lies."

Robert's arm shot up into the air and he found himself helpless as his hand wrapped around his revolver. He couldn't even cry out as the metal was pressed against the side of his head. His voice just wouldn't work.

No, please, he tried to say. I'm going to fix it. I'm going to -

--

He woke to the splash of cold water on his face. His head ached. When he tried to reach up to wipe away the liquid, he realized he was restrained.

They found me.

It was hard to see when he forced open his eyes. He appeared to be in a dimly-lit room with a single light source off to his right. Once he was finally able to focus, he saw a woman sitting in front of him, staring at him like he was an experiment, a puzzle.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying his best to hide his German accent. He already knew. He had read the news, heard the whispers, seen the reports on what they did to Eichmann.

It had to be Mossad. They had come for him.

"I'm not ... not what you think I am," he continued, not waiting for an answer.

"You are Dr. Heinrich Vogel, formerly of Sonderbehandlung 14f13, part of a panel of doctors who would select concentration camp prisoners for extermination. Those who were too sick, or elderly, or just not able to work very hard."

"Bitte, you do not understand."

"You personally selected almost 800 prisoners for elimination."

"I did not -"

"Of those you selected, over half of them failed to survive the trip to the Brandenburg Euthanasia Centre."

"No, please."

"You did well in covering your tracks. You certainly fooled your superiors. Where did those 407 prisoners go?"

Her words made him stop his pleas. Was he wrong? Was this woman here to punish him for his sins of the past, or here to punish him for not being sinful enough?

It seemed unlikely that any of his former commanders or coworkers would be seeking him out. So he closed his eyes and took the risk.

"They did not die. We ... we worked with Danish and Polish resistance. We could not save them all. We only sent those to the Centre who were going to die anyway. I ... I did my best. I'm an old man, please."

"You participated in the Nazi regime. You're not a saint."

"What man is?" He let his head drop. "If you wish to kill me, kill me. If you wish to return me for trial, then do so. If you wish to torture me, you are no better than those I served."

Silence, that stretched out seemingly to eternity. He finally lifted his head to see the woman staring intently at something to her left. She pursed her lips and gave a definitive nod. With that, a man emerged from the shadows. Even in the dim light, Vogel could see the vivid red hair with small streaks of grey. His eyes appeared to be glowing.

"We're not actually here to discuss your complicity with the horrors of the last world war."

He couldn't quite place the strange man's accent. English, perhaps, but not quite. American, maybe, but with a hint of German or Dutch. So perhaps he was still in America.

The strange man held out his fist, opening it to reveal a gold chain with a cage attached. As the man stepped closer, a glint of blue flashed out from between the tiny bars.

Vogel gasped. "I haven't seen that in ..."

"Fifty-seven years," the man finished. "You gave it to a woman when you handed her a child and told her it needed refuge. The woman knew her husband would sell it, so she hid it under the floorboards of her kitchen. She only gave it to the child when she was about to die from influenza."

"And you are that child?"

The man nodded. "You told the woman that my life was in danger but that no one would suspect to look in her home. When she told you she couldn't afford to feed another child, you gave her an outrageous amount of marks to cover my care. Perhaps you had no way of knowing that her husband would waste that money on alcohol and gambling and it would be gone within a year."

"What is it you want? Revenge?"

"I want to know where I came from."

He scoffed, shook his head. "You would not believe me even if I was to tell you."

"We know you were involved in classified research even then. Was I some genetic experiment? Did I not achieve your standards?"

"Nothing like that."

"Then tell me!"

"You were sent here through an alien device." Vogel stared down the stranger, expecting violence or disbelief.

Instead, he only arched an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "Go on. Tell me everything."

Stunned at the easy acceptance, he sat there mute until the young lady caught his attention with the tapping of a pencil on a pad of paper.

"You heard him. Everything. Now. I can write as quickly as you can speak."

For what felt like hours, he gave up almost every detail he could remember about the transporter. How long it took them to reach a breakthrough with the display. How the baby boy had just appeared one day, scaring everyone in the lab. When the machine whirred to life, they became convinced it was a bomb ready to explode and were startled when someone finally opened the pod.

He told them how his colleague posited that it was an alien device and their commander had laughed, saying he had read War of the Worlds too many times. He even tried to recall what he could about their language. They had never fully deciphered it. During the second war, research into the device stopped and he had been reassigned.

With his throat sore, he slumped in his chair.

"I tried to save you. My superior... he wanted to start experimenting with ... with you."

"Is that all?"

The man asked the question, but Vogel focused in on the woman, who had retrieved a pistol from somewhere and had it pointed at him.

"Yes," he lied.

He had failed her for seven years, and he still didn't know if the woman he paid to smuggle her out of the country had managed to get her to safety. If she wasalive, he would protect her now. He would do this.

The man narrowed his eyes at him. As silence dragged on, he felt a chill down his spine and an odd pressure at his temples.

Finally, the man simply muttered, "Phi?" As if he had pulled the name straight from Vogel's mind.

No.

No.

He jerked against the restraints, knowing it was futile, hoping only that the woman would react.

With good aim.

The bullets pierced his chest and he gasped. He wished there had been another way. He had been a failure as a husband, as a father, as a soldier, as a doctor, but he could do this.

The man grabbed his shoulders and shook him, yelling something that Vogel couldn't make out as he felt the blood leaving his body. In his dying moments, he filled his mind with any senseless thing he could think of.

If the strange man could read minds, he would only be left with a poor casserole recipe.

--

Hilda drummed her fingers on her desk as she waited, unsure how he would react. It had taken longer than she hoped and had given her answers she hadn't anticipated.

She heard the creak of the door hinges and footsteps growing closer. When she finally glanced from the screen up to Delta's face, she was surprised to see sadness in his expression. He let his guard down more around her more than the others, but even so, she didn't think she'd ever seen him look sad.

"You said you had information?"

"Yes. I think ..." She paused, took a deep breath. He never liked qualifying language. Either you did or you didn't. "I have made a breakthrough with their language."

"I'm impressed it only took you two years."

If anyone else had said it, she would have taken it as sarcasm; but there was genuine admiration in his eyes. More than anyone else in the organization, he knew what a difficult task it was.

"As you suspected, the machine does keep a record of every transport. There's a record of a transport from 2029 back to 1904."

"So Vogel was telling the truth."

"Partially. He told you appeared suddenly in the pod and that's when they realized it could transport material. The machine recorded that both pods were activated."

Delta nodded, as if he had been expecting it, but even so, the blood seemed to drain from his face. He reached out for the chair that was just out of reach and she swiftly moved it behind him so he could sit.

"Perhaps... perhaps when I was transported, the necklace was put in the other pod."

"I'm sorry, no."

"What have I told you about apologizing for things that aren't your fault?"

She felt her cheeks grow warm, but she continued. "The machine records not only that there was a transport, but what materials were used. The other pod definitely contained organic material with a mass... comparable to yours at the time."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs, his hands clasped together. "My twin."

"You ... you knew?"

"No. It's simply the most likely scenario."

"Well... about ten months after you two were transported in, there was another transport to 2008. One pod. The mass was about twice as much. You were placed with the Gehrings by then, so -"

"The most likely scenario there is that they transported my twin for some unknown reason. Possibly just to test the device. They might not even have known what they were doing."

She nodded. "My conclusion as well."

"Excellent work." He stood abruptly and she found herself following suit. "Presumably that is why the machine is still dormant. How long do we have to wait until it can be reactivated?"

"The transport in was seven months ago. Are ... aren't you interested in what happened to your twin?"

"Are you saying you know?"

He sounded almost angry and it gave her pause. But she couldn't take it back now.

"I looked into births and adoptions close to the date I found in the transport logs, then restricted that to government employees in and around Bethesda. Three days after your twin was transported to 2008, an elderly couple adopted an infant who was supposedly abandoned in one of Maryland's safe haven areas. There's no record of anyone trying to find the child's parents, or of the couple going through the procedures to get approved for adoptions. In fact, there's no records at all, except that the adoption happened. The files are sealed, but when I broke into them, there's nothing there."

"That is odd, but -"

"The baby's name is Phi," she blurted out. "Vogel said you had the word 'delta' written on your foot when you came through the transporter. There's just too much for it to be a coincidence. I think ... your parents gave you those names. I think when the researchers sent Phi through the transporter again, they did the same thing. Or maybe wrote a note to go with her. Whatever they did, I thi-there's strong evidence that she's your sister."

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "I want the family under surveillance."

"Oh. Well. Um. The family moved two months ago. No forwarding address."

"Find her," he barked as headed for the exit. "We still don't know all the players in this little game. If she's here, she could be a piece of the puzzle."

"Yes -" She winced as he slammed the door. "- sir."

After all her hard work, at best he was disappointed in her; at worst, he was angry. She hated feeling as though she had let him down. She ran her hands through her mostly grey hair, sighing when she saw one of the few remaining auburn strands had come out.

--

"You're anxious, aren't you?"

"A little." Claudia sheepishly looked up at him through her stringy hair. "Maybe more than a little."

"That's to be expected." Brother joined her on the couch, wincing slightly as he sat.

"Should you be up and moving around?"

"I'm recovering more quickly than anticipated. I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern."

It was strange, thinking about Brother - their leader, their holy father, their holy master - as needing to have joints replaced. Who could they pray to as he went under the knife? God was a lie and man was corrupt. They could only hope that the doctor could perform the surgery was as good as Brother thought she was.

"You've done well with your outfit."

She couldn't stop the smile that cracked across her face. She had spent hours researching the era, carefully picking out fabric that would fit in the time period, before hunching over her sewing machine until it was just right. She smudged dirt onto it, into her cheeks, into her hair, until she looked sufficiently like a poor street urchin.

Nobody, either now or before, would suspect she was a master of the art of eight limbs.

"Will you be ready?"

She nodded. Truth be told, she was nervous. She could break a man's neck without a second thought, would lay down her life for Brother the moment he asked, and had gone on her fiftieth skydive over the weekend, but this had butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Her success seemed to be guaranteed. It was true that Left was dead in this timeline, but within minutes of the transporter becoming active for the first time in their custody, the blood samples she was being asked to retrieve arrived. So whatever happened when she arrived back in Germany, it was inevitable that she would make it to London, save Left, harvest his blood, slaughter those who tried to kill him, and make it back to the transporter to send the necessary DNA to the future for cloning purposes.

They needed the DNA. Simple fact. But nothing she did would change the fact that Left was dead. Saving him would just create another timeline. With infinite universes, weren't there already an infinite number of timelines where Left was still alive, hopefully experiencing a happy life? It may have been a different level of infinity, but no matter how many times someone went back to save Left, there would still be an infinite number of universes where he was still murdered. Not to mention the universes where he died of other causes. It may have been simply unfair, but it also seemed simply ... pointless.

It was wrong to question Brother.

However... there was no plan for her to return.

She was to stalk the Holmes family for as long as she was alive, ensuring not only that they fell from power but never rose up again.

"Brother ... as I won't be coming back after tomorrow ... do you think it's time?"

He had promised her when she was recruited. Promised her that he knew the nature of her birth and could give her the answers she wanted, once she was ready. That was five years ago and she didn't know how much more ready she could be.

After a long silence, he moved to the other side of the room where the computer station was. She tried to wait patiently as he moved the mouse, tapped on the keyboard, and finally printed some documents. When he came over to her with the papers in hand, it took all her resolve to not just snatch them from him.

"This won't be your first time in the device."

Claudia stared at him in confusion. Since joining Free the Soul, she had only been in this room twice - now, and when he brought her here four months ago to ask her to consider the mission.

"In the early 1900s," he continued, "German researchers were experimenting with this device. Since it took ten months to recharge, they weren't able to run as many tests as they liked. They had a single human subject who they transported to various points in time. In 1907, they transported you to 1974. The machine was in the United States then, and the researchers apparently deposited you outside a church."

It was as if someone had punched her in the gut. She had never particularly been one for gossip, but she knew it was rumored that the clones created by the transporter were devoid of souls. The Lefts that had been copied were privately referred to as Hollow Men. She knew, rationally, that they wouldn't be any different than the ones growing in the bio lab, but sometimes when she looked at them, it was as if there was nothing behind their eyes.

Outsiders might have thought a group called Free the Soul would welcome such a thing, but ultimately it was merely an anagram. Or would be, if they hadn't dropped "of Y."

If she had been transported, if she was just a copy, does that mean she had no soul, either? Who was she even a copy of? An old nervous habit returned, and she twisted a lock of her red hair around her finger.

"How can you know who my parents are, then, Brother?"

The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. She never questioned him. Nobody ever did. Well, Hilda, sometimes, but she was closer to him than the others.

Instead of chastising her, however, he simply handed her the papers.

"This will be hard to believe, but you originated in the future."

"No, I didn't originate anywhere! I'm nothing! I'm just a - ow!"

She cried out when he slapped her across the face. "Knock it off," Brother ordered. "Calm down."

Her cheek throbbed, but she held her tongue.

"As I was saying, you were initially born in our future, then transported back more than a hundred years, and then transported again to 1974."

Good thing one can't be doubly empty, she thought.

"I don't yet know exactly why your parents sent you back in time in the first place, but I do believe it was because your liv- your life was in danger."

"Then ... you do know my parents?"

"In a manner of speaking. Your mother was a nurse. Your father was a student. They were unable to care for you, but all evidence indicates that ... that they loved you."

"How ... I'm sorry, Brother, but if ... if I came from the future, are my parents even alive yet? Can ... can I meet them?"

"It's impossible for you to meet them."

Her shoulders slumped as her head fell forward, only to have Brother put his hand under her chin and tilt it back up.

"I did as you asked, and you are welcome to take this information back to your quarters and read it tonight. Are you still willing to do as I have asked?"

Claudia fixated on the papers he held out. Even upside down, she could make out some words. Cheerful. Pacifist. Abuse in past? Cocky. May sacrifice self. Immature before SHIFT.

Before SHIFT? What did that even mean?

"There's no question," she said softly. "Of course I will. My devotion to you is complete, Brother."

For a moment, she thought she saw his eyes widen in surprise. True surprise, brief and almost unnoticeable.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Bright and early." She took the papers from his hand and somehow made her way back to her room.

As soon as she started reading, the floodgates opened, washing away all her carefully placed makeup. Maybe it's better this way, she thought. I never belonged in this time. I'll never know my family, stuck in some distant future. I'm a soulless husk lost in time, and at least by doing this, I'll have purpose.

Wiping her eyes as best she could, she focused on the first sentence.

The mother's name is Diana.

(fin.)