I breathe in puffs of air with force. I need oxygen. I blink several times, open and close my eyes, until I realize that we are back in the basement of Mr. Stonecraft's house. Paris waits impatiently for the glass partition to move automatically and jumps off the pallet, running in search of her father. I do it much more slowly, trying to sort out the thoughts in my head. On the one hand, the shock I have suffered from the knowledge that I have traveled back in time. On the other, the shock of seeing that woman, the same one who appeared in my dreams...my mother. To have her just a few centimeters away... Was it really her? Now more than ever I have the firm decision to use this damned machine to meet her. It is a unique opportunity, which I have to take advantage of no matter what, because it may not be repeated.

—You have to adjust the coordinates again and send us to the right time. —Paris says nervously to her father, who is behind the computer screens. She has not had enough time, perhaps because of the excitement, to tell him where and, above all, when we have been. —We have to go back. I have to go to the Collapse. I have to... I've waited so long...

I reach Paris and put a hand on her shoulder, as a way of trying to reassure her. I don't think another time jump and another trip full of experiences, new news and difficulties, is the right thing to do. We both need a shower, some sleep and to assimilate what our senses, all at once, have experienced. But I'm just Paris' slave, so if she wants to go, I have to go too. That way, at least, we would get this over with once and for all and I could first ask her to take me to my mother. To give me the promised freedom.

—Are you all right? —Matt Stonecraft touches his daughter's face with his hands as he ignores her incongruous words, which stumble out of Paris' mouth. —You'd better get some rest.

—No! Dad! I have to...

—Paris! You have to think about what happened and what you've seen, heard and felt. Get used to the idea. Understand it. What you are asking me is not possible, for the moment. If there has been a temporary mismatch, I will have to work on it. And, at the very least, it will take hours. Give me a few days. Give yourself a few days and we'll try again. —He finishes this last sentence by looking me straight in the eye.

—You don't understand! I have to go to the Collapse, gather information. —Mr. Stonecraft hugs his daughter, pressing her to his chest. She cries. It's the first time I've ever seen such contact and affection between the two of them. He kisses her forehead and looks at her.

—Listen to me, Paris. Everything is going to be all right. Trust me and especially you. You are going to get what you want and you will achieve, as always, everything you have proposed and propose. It is normal that, this, that life, sometimes fails. —He points to the wristwatch in Paris' hand, which I sense has the mechanism that has made us live in a time that is not our own. —There are temporal mismatches, difficult to predict and program, because time does not stop moving, always forward. In real life it is the same. Unforeseen events arise. Things happen that change everything completely. The trick is not to stop trying. To get up after falling down. And you, more than anyone, know that. So, please, now it's time for both of you to rest.

Mr. Stonecraft gives me a nod and I understand. I nod to him as he turns back to the keyboard and computer screen.

—Come on Paris. —I pull her into my embrace and lead her out of the basement.

She's tired. As am I. Excited to have realized something she could only imagine. She had experienced, first hand, a slave rebellion, what she could only read about in books. But she is also disappointed. That's normal. She has not achieved the goal that was so close to her. I have to help her walk, because her muscles seem to be stiff and she can't move. She has not stopped crying, probably because of anger and helplessness, making her gray eyes stain her cheeks. She collapses as she reaches the stairs. I help her up and out of Mr. Stonecraft's lab. When we reach the living room, she seems to regain her momentum, her strength, her will. Her desire to be herself, on her own. She pulls away from me.

—Let go of me —She says to me in a whisper— I can forgive, but I don't forget easily. That kiss should never have happened. You betrayed all my trust... —Wow. Looks like we're back together.

—I can say the same to you, Paris. —I point my finger directly at her. —You cheated on me. —I get serious and move closer to her. —You didn't tell me about a damn machine that makes you appear twenty years ago. About the risks and all the danger my life was going to be in. This is not that game.

—I told you! I didn't know how to do it!

—What else have you cheated me out of? Huh? —I don't understand why she's so angry with me. I don't buy the kiss, that's just an excuse. She liked it. She wanted to kiss me too. If she's angry, she must be angry with herself.

—What do you care about that?

—Ah, don't you?

—No! Because that's why you're a slave, isn't it? To obey! And you shouldn't even ask me such questions. I—she raises a finger at me—I command you. So don't ever address me in that tone again.

I see her teeth, her fury and her face. Nothing is left of those angelic features. She has reminded me of my position. To the world where I belong: the world of slaves. She has gone too far. Paris has gone too far. I know it and she knows it. She didn't mean what she said. But, in the end, it's only the painful truth. She's the owner, I'm the slave. I can't demand anything from her.

—Damn it! —I let go. Now I'm really angry. Humiliated. I belong to her, what more can I say. —After all, you and Edgar aren't so different either.

I don't want to see her anymore. I leave her standing there, pensive. Breathing heavily. I slam the door of my room. And I cry. The strong Eric comes crashing down. But there is hope. I've seen my mother. It's her. And I believe I have found a place on which to build a future, filled with freedom. Paris...She is just another one of the elite and she will not easily lose or give up any and all of her privileges no matter how much she is against slavery. She proved it with those words. I cry because I thought I could trust her. I cry because I don't care about anything. I cry.

I wake up with a sticky face from crying even when I was sleeping. I don't know how many hours have passed. I look out the window and see the moon. My head hurts. I go to the shower, letting the water wash me clean. I feel dirty as if I am to blame for being a slave. A condition I did not choose and for which, at times, I curse myself. I try to erase my slave number with soap. I rub my wrist so hard that I end up hurting myself.

I come out of the bathroom, more relaxed and calmer. And there she is. Paris. Waiting for me. Sitting on the bed. She has dark circles under her eyes and I guess she has cried a lot. In one hand she's holding two crystal glasses and in the other a bottle of rose wine. What's she up to?

—What are you playing at, Paris? I'm just your damn slave. —I pretend I'm not and keep drying my hair with the towel, my back to him.

—Eric, I'm... I'm so sorry. —She reaches behind me and grabs my hand. —You know what I said...You know I don't really mean it. It's just... fuck! I don't know. —Paris lets her guard down, she's not as strong as she seemed before. She tries to tell me something, but she can't.

—The words hurt. More than anything else. But you don't have to apologize. You just told the truth.

—No Eric, no. I consider you more than just a slave. You're... a friend...

—A friend? Come on, Paris. You have to accept reality. Don't disguise it. No lies. A whole ocean separates you and me. We can never be friends. That's why that kiss bothers you so much. Because no matter how much you liked it, you can't have it forever.

—Eric, I have my life. My choices. Edgar.

—A kiss is just a kiss it doesn't have to bend any path. It doesn't have to hurt anyone.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

—A kiss. Just that, just that's enough to wreck years of work. Eric...

—I'm here to help with that, remember?

—That's why. Let's keep our distance. Let's leave the kiss behind and... I have to stay focused on what's really important and so do you... so do you.

Paris places the two crystal glasses on the table and fills them halfway with rose wine. She hands me one. I taste something that has been deprived to my palate forever. It is strong, bitter, but it leaves a certain aftertaste in my mouth.

—Do you feel like talking? I have several things to tell you...

I don't understand. A few hours ago, Paris was full of fury, rage, against me, to the point of humiliating me. Now she wants to drink wine and talk to me. I guess it's her way of apologizing to me. I don't know if it's the right thing to do. Suppose I should stay angry or reach out to her.

—As you wish, you know I only obey.

—Eric, please.

—It's okay —I smile— I forgive, but I don't forget. —I grimace at her and she smiles, too.

I open the window and let the sea breeze bring me back to life and leave me, from the cold, with goose bumps. So, in silence, I can hear the crashing of the ocean waves in the distance. Paris settles on the bed and asks me to do the same.

—Perhaps the first thing to do would be to apologize for telling you the half-truth. You understand that I couldn't tell you everything at once. This was the very important mission I wanted you to go on, which is still pending. I know that, in spite of everything, it is still somewhat confusing to think about what happened to us today. In fact, I didn't think it was really possible until a few months ago.

—It's been very real.

—Fortunately, yes. You see, being a historian in this technological world is not easy. A society that's... like time. Remember what my father said? That it only moves forward. It doesn't have a second to look and think back. My only professor at the University confirmed that he would retire this coming year and, then, there would be no one left to lead the History studies, suppressing it completely. And I could not allow that. I wanted to take the position, but...I lacked higher education. A research. Not just any research, you know, I wanted to do something that would impress all the Provinces. And time has gone by and I have nothing. And time keeps passing and I have to finish it.

—But, Paris, a study of the Collapse, as we've talked about... wouldn't that close the doors for you?

—On the contrary, if I show what I can do, they'll want me.

So, Paris, after all, is not a total enemy of the system. She's just another piece of the puzzle.

—Didn't you want to shake the pillars of the Provinces? Weren't you against the system?

—Of course, I am. But to overthrow the system you have to work from within it. I'm sure that if we know what happened in the Collapse, if we get more information from the Goddess, from the Priestess, it will open an opportunity to end slavery. —How naive. Either a slave rebellion triumphs or no freedom is possible—. My father, seeing me in such a hurry with the Collapse research, told me about a possible solution: to travel directly to the past. He told me that he had already worked on a time machine project, together with one of his friends, during the years when he studied at the University.

—You mean that the man we saw there was already working on... all of this?

—That's right. The thing is that they had to give it up. They needed money and they didn't want to endanger their discovery by making it public. You know how tech companies behave...

—The Scofields... —I whisper, thoughtfully.

—Exactly. That's why he put that project in the drawer and dusted it off when he saw me so distressed. I can assure you that my father's eyes shone brighter than mine. It must have been something very important to him. All that. Maybe it was like going back to youth. The nostalgia of growing up...

—Did they get to test the machine?

—I don't know. I never asked him that. He just told me it would work. I didn't want to hear anything else.

—And Edgar? Does Edgar know that...?

—No way. And besides, he can't find out. The only condition my father gave me was that this secret couldn't get out. The Tecnofield Science Company would do everything possible to obtain the invention and profit from it. For them to know about it would endanger my life, my father's and, of course, yours as well.

—But if they are...

—The Scofields, yes.

—And Edgar is one of them. He'll inherit the company, sooner or later.

—He's not like his father or his brother.

—You trust him. — I nod, and she nods.

I look at Paris, trying to figure her out. She's still an enigma to solve. I feel that she leaves me breadcrumbs every day, along the way, which I pick up little by little. She tells me what I can know, just enough to keep me hooked. I don't know what else she's hiding, but it's becoming more and more clear to me that I have to help her and run away. Be free. Paris is getting into a lot of trouble with the State and the Scofields. It won't be long before this time bomb goes off. And I don't want to be around when it does.

—Will you tell him? Will you tell Edgar about the time jumps?

—Of course not, I could put my father in danger. Me. Did you not hear me?

—Didn't you say you trusted him?

A long silence separates us. I get up and go back to the window, to get some air. I don't know what to say. I have learned that I have to be quiet and just listen. It is she who has to speak.

—You know, with the time machine...I haven't seen my dad this excited since...when I was little and the three of us were at home. —Paris ducks her head and changes her tone of voice. It becomes deep. —We had a hard time when Mom...when Mom left us.

—Are you sure she left you?

—She left, Eric. She just left. She left my dad because he was too busy with his professional life. He barely spent any time with us. The Tecnofield Science Company knew they had the best scientist in the Provinces and they didn't waste him. They paid him well, but he sacrificed his family life.

—Your father worked for the Scofields?

—Yes. I've already told you that the best scientists do. If not by hook, they do it by crook. They have their methods...

—Not very legal, as far as I can figure.

—They know how to poke where it hurts. And through pain they control people. Murder, bribery...

—A real mafia. I don't know how you can be with one of them.

—I guess Mom couldn't take it and ran away. —Paris dodges me and goes back to talking about his mother. It's like he wants to get it out. Like she's never talked about it out loud. —But what I still don't understand is why she left me alone with Dad, why she didn't take me with her if she saw that my father was incapable of taking care of his family.

—Paris, don't we have enough to cry about today? —I try to cheer her up as I see her eyes glaze over, again. She laughs as the tears fall and she wipes them away with the sleeve of her shirt. —I'm sure your mother had a good reason for leaving. Sometimes, at Mr. Gordon's plantation, I thought about my mother too, convinced that something had to have happened to make her leave, to make her die. There was a reason. And I found out, just recently, that she was sentenced to death. Your mother, I'm sure, has a good explanation for everything that happened.

She has been honest with me, opening her heart to me. Talking about a subject that I know is taboo for her. I also allow myself to tell her some of the thousands of reflections I have had throughout my life about my mother. And to think that just a few moments ago Paris was talking about keeping your distance?

—Why are you telling me this? —I ask. —Don't you understand that this brings us closer together?

—I don't know, Eric. I want to answer questions I know are going through your mind. And...to get it off my chest. I feel like I can talk to you about anything and...

—I get it. But what you can't expect me to do is pretend like nothing happened. You're the boss. I listen to you, I encourage you. I help you. That's what's in our contract.

—But Eric...

—For me, that's keeping your distance.

The doorbell rings. Paris and I look at each other. Who could it be at this time of night? The doorbell rings again. And again. Whoever it is, they must be impatient. It rings again. And another. And another. Paris runs down the stairs and I follow her, slowly. Paris opens the door and Edgar appears in the doorway, his hair disheveled and the helmet of the hoverbike in one of his hands.

—You and I—he points his finger at her, menacingly—we need to talk. Now.

He holds out a hand. Paris turns her head toward me, clasps Edgar's fingers, and he pulls hard on her, pulling her out of the house. I walk down the steps three at a time and when I reach the door, I see Paris struggling with Edgar.

—Get off me! Edgar! Edgar!

—Hey. Let go of her. —I tell her— Don't you have eyes in your face? Hey. She's telling you to let her go.

—You shut up, okay? Nobody gave you permission to speak, slave. Do you understand me?

—Edgar please! Are you drunk? Leave me alone! We'll talk tomorrow!

I can accept Paris to treat me as she wants. She's my mistress. But not him, no matter how much of a Scofield he is. Paris can't go with him. I lunge at him and push him, to get him to let go.

—What are you doing? Don't you ever touch me again, you dirty slave!

Matt Stonecraft appears in the doorway. I look at him and he nods at me. Paris has dropped to the floor, while Edgar tries to drag her towards the hoverbike. I walk over to Edgar and punch him in the face, knocking him to the ground. I lean over to Paris, who is crying and shivering.

—Are you all right? Come on, get in the house.

No Paris, we can't keep our distance.