Episode 1

A lone figure stood just north of the traffic lights gazing intently at the blackened earth where the eighteenth century home of the blood drinkers had stood.

Remorseful that he had survived the final battle, Ben cast his green eyes around the dark hamlet of Donashey, north Canada.

“At least the mayor has finally agreed to build street lamps.”

He shook his head at the crazy reality of this cold and remote hamlet. Wooden frontages reminding him of the old frontier towns, springing up during the dark days of the gold rush.

As he turned to leave, his mobile jingled and he answered it promptly. He was not too surprised to hear the hoarse voice of his editor upon the line.

“Get yourself off to Trinity Street my lad. We could have a suicide there.”

Ben disengaged the phone and climbed back inside his silver ford. He gunned the engine and crossed the lights heading west, to where the crime scene was located.

As he drew up, he spotted the familiar patrol cars, some of them still flashing their blue lights in vain. He climbed out and gazed upon the modern apartment building that some regarded as a true monstrosity.

When he reached the door of the first floor apartment, a patrolman stopped him.

“You really cannot come in here mate.”

Ben smiled, reaching inside his grey trench coat to produce the press pass. As he showed it, a familiar voice drifted from the interior.

“Is that detective Harris by any chance?”

The patrolman handed the pass back and nodded.

“You can go in but be careful.”

Ben found himself inside a short hallway as Harris stepped into view. A rather short but bulky man, the unlit cigar drooped from the corner of his mouth.

“You got here quick enough.”

Ben smiled and replied, “Why not light that?”

The detective grunted and said, “Bad for my health mate.”

“So what do you have?”

“Pop in here and promise not to retch.”

Ben was led into the tidy bedroom, and saw the reason for the warning. A young man not more that eighteen was hanging from a hook. His blue face and bulging eyes indicative of asphyxiation. Even the protruding tongue looked sinister.

“Do you know much about him?”

Harris picked up the drivers license and read the name.

“Keith Write.”

“Means nothing to me detective.”

Ben glanced around, noting the papers upon the bedside cabinet. Being a curious individual, he wandered across and picked them up.

“This looks rather interesting.”

He gazed down at the red coloured titles, every one of them headed, the time society.

“Ever heard of them?”

Harris nodded.

“Just a bunch of cranks led by professor Xentoph.”

Ben recognised the name of course. He had been drummed out of mainstream science over his weird theory concerning fixed points in time.

“Mind if I check them out?”

“Do what you like Ben. This is simply a suicide. We won’t be looking for anyone else.”

Ben put the papers down and waddled back to his waiting vehicle.

“Larkman Road is not far from here,” he muttered.

He drove carefully the three blocks, until he drew up outside the wooden fronted headquarters of this fringe society.

“Seems that someone is home.”

He climbed out and pushed the door open, entering the small hall where the elderly gent sat at a simple desk.

“Professor?”

The grey haired gent glanced up at the reporter. His grey suit far too large for his thin frame.

“Can I help you?”

“Does Keith Write mean anything to you sir?”

The professor closed his eyes in vain.

“What has he done now?”

Ben took a deep breath.

“He hanged himself at home. I’ve just come from there. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Are you the police?”

Ben shook his head and showed the pass.

“Donashey Bugel,” the professor muttered. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything strange in his behaviour recently?”

“Not that I noticed sir. He kept away from my group ten days ago.”

“Did he give any reason?”

“We had an argument that is all.”

Ben pricked his ears up.

“What was that about?”

The gent sighed deeply and thought back.

“He interrupted my lecture to point out it was all rubbish. We had to eject him.”

“You don’t like criticism?”

“I relish it as a matter of fact. He was simply too loud.”

“You must admit sir that your theories are quite outlandish.”

The professor had heard this before and the response was automatic.

“Have you any idea what the fixed point theory means?”

Ben was an honest guy and shook his head.

“Sit yourself down then and I’ll try and explain it.”

Ben shrugged his shoulders and pulled the seat back before sitting.

“I’m all ears sir.”

The professor grinned at the eager pupil.

“I should have you stuffed. Anyway, kidding aside. Throughout history, fixed points have popped up from time to time. The fall of Rome, D-Day, and the killing of Kennedy.”

“Sounds logical so far.”

The professor raised his palm for quiet.

“These points are quite critical you know. The branching theory of quantum physics states, that for every decision we make a new universe is created.”

“I have heard of that sir. Though I don’t accept it.”

The professor looked stunned.

“What do you mean that you don’t accept it?”

Ben was brilliant on the defensive and showed off.

“If I had driven past instead of stopping, a new universes would have been created. That’s simply daft.”

“The multiverse is a solid theory,” the professor argued. “We can prove it too.”

“So what has that to do with fixed points in time?”

The gent grinned.

“They underpin everything as I indicated. If you change one of them, the remainder collapse like a house of cards.”

Ben thought this over.

“It’s an interesting line of argument, but surely we simply don’t have that capability?”

The professor gazed into his eyes and said quietly, “Let me show you something.”

He stood and led the reporter towards the rear wall where two newspaper headlines hung in brass frames.

The first read, ‘All saved from Titanic.’

The second read, ‘1500 dead as Titanic sinks.’

Ben recognised both at once.

“I’m a buff you know. The publisher was heavily criticised for raising false hopes.”

The gent nodded sadly.

“Like everyone else you are missing the point.”

“You had better fill me in then.”

“The first headline came out precisely at the point when reality split. That is why it exists today.”

“Are you suggesting an attempt was made to change it?”

“That is one possibility, though I rule that out on the grounds that we would not exist today.”

Ben scratched his head.

“So was this the subject of your debate when Keith Write intervened?”

“It was indeed young man.”

“I wonder why he hung himself then.”

The professor shook his head.

“Perhaps my follow up disturbed him.”

Ben raised his eyebrows.

“Can I see it?”

The professor wandered over to a small cabinet and opened it slowly. His withered fingers drew out another front page. When Ben read the headline, his blood ran cold.

‘Small pox toll hits a million.’

He glanced at the date, noting it was three months hence.”