The Fifth Child

Canterbury, England.
February 13th, 1925.
10:07 P.M.

Amory slowly emerged from the doorway with easeful caution, glancing around from beneath the crooked brim of his hat and gingerly pulling the door shut behind him.

Unlike the yellow door he’d entered—the one he happened to exit was old and heavy, and he turned around and surveyed it before facing forward again, glimpsing up and down the wide, spacious corridor that he’d found himself in. It appeared to be a long, dim hallway that was as wide as it was vacant, clean and white, almost like a hospital, but with no tiles in the floor, and no fluorescent lighting overhead.

Amory gazed up at the ceiling, seeing a line of rounded bulbs hanging down from above, spread far apart from one another all the way down the hall, emitting a bit of light, but not much. Wherever he was had electricity, but this was a time before such a luxury was commonplace everywhere in the world. This must have been a place of some level of importance.

He paused and adjusted his hat, as well as the tie and the open suit jacket, hoping the Smooth Criminal outfit wouldn’t make him stand out too much. Then, he turned to the right and decided to follow the large corridor, feeling rather lost. He was expecting to appear somewhere during the day, or perhaps somewhere that he recognized in Mapleview—but the windows along the wall were all darkened by the night sky outside, and he most assuredly did not recognize the place whatsoever.

Gulping, Amory slowed to a stop and glanced over at the nearest window, stepping toward it and gently placing a hand to it, peering outside. It was a tall, elegant window—and outside, he could hardly see anything amidst what appeared to be a town, with scarce few lights visible amidst the buildings, all of which looked rather old, and one of them even appeared like a castle. The area looked entirely unfamiliar, and the longer he squinted at it attentively, the more certain he became that this was definitely not Mapleview, North Carolina.

“Where am I…?” he murmured, stepping back from the window and slowly resuming his pace down the hall.

Moments later—two people came into view further down the way, walking the opposite direction he was, and Amory spotted them, lowering his hat and hiding his eyes from their view, feeling a sudden spark of nervousness inside.

The two people approaching him were both women—two women in plain white uniforms and small hats to match them. Their outfits instantly reminded him of Elaine’s orderly outfit from Moonvale, but they were of an older style, and they were tighter around the waists.

“D’you think?” one of the women muttered to the other as they walked the corridor.

“I do… and I suspect he’s only interested in harboring an heir,” the second woman replied. “He’s shown no regard at all for the health of the poor woman. He says he will show the proper concern when there is a reason to…”

“Oh… rubbish,” the first woman grumbled, shaking her head.

“And the rumor is that they weren’t even married when they conceived the child,” the second woman whispered. “I don’t believe he cares about her at all, quite honestly. He wouldn’t even marry her, and now, he seems not to care at all that she’s not long for this world.”

“God bless the poor soul,” the first woman sighed. “Honestly… just because she’s Irish doesn’t mean she isn’t human.”

The two nurses continued chatting as they walked past Amory, and he glanced back at them in passing, then faced forward again as he marched on, making a thoughtful expression.

Those two women spoke with an accent—a specific kind of accent that he’d only ever heard from two other people before, Crowe and Valek.

He slowed to a stop for a moment, turning around and watching as the two women walked farther away.

Amory bit his lip, wanting to call out to them and ask them where he was, but he feared he may get himself into trouble if he did. So, he merely sighed, looking to the side and gazing out one of the windows again at the mysterious town outside.

“I’ve gone a long way from home this time,” he murmured.

Just then—a terrible scream echoed from behind him—making him nearly leap from his skin.

Amory whipped around in alarm—his heart jolting—and the woman’s scream bellowed from down the corridor, echoing out of a nearby doorway.

Swallowing, he broke into a brisker stride and appeared at a large, open entryway—but it didn’t lead into a small room. It was the entrance to a big, spacious area containing several slender hospital beds, though only one of them was occupied, the second-to-last bed nearest the exit.

On that hospital bed was a sandy-haired woman laying on her back, partly covered by a white blanket, her legs propped up on two devices, and a doctor was hunched over her private area, the woman screaming and howling in pain. Two nurses and a man with a black suit and hat stood around the woman in labor, and the doctor was yelling for her to push harder.

Amory stopped in the entryway, then ducked halfway behind the wall, peeking out and quietly watching the scene from a moderate distance.

“Vict… Vict…!” the woman in labor panted hoarsely, her hairs messily flown back, and her face shiny with sweat, reaching up at the man in the black suit and grasping weakly at him.

“She wants to hold your hand, Victor,” one of the nurses informed the man.

The man in black continued staring down at her with his hands pocketed, making no move to grasp her hand or show her any comfort or support. He merely stared at her from under his tilted hat, saying and doing nothing.

“ Victor …!” the woman sobbed in agony, crying and sputtering as her breaths grew rapid.

The man still did nothing, simply gazing down at her as if he couldn’t care less about the terrible pain she was in.

Amory continued to watch from nearby, his brow hardening, feeling a grave churning in the pit of his stomach, his heart aching for the poor woman on the bed.

“You’ll have to control your breathing and push, Eileen,” the doctor instructed the woman, who was almost beginning to hyperventilate now.

“Vic… t… please …!” the woman named Eileen pleaded desperately at the man in black, reaching up for him once more.

Yet still, the man did not react at all.

Amory inhaled a slow, heavy breath, his visage darkening, feeling a sense of agitated indignation deep inside that was becoming difficult to ignore.

“Sir, please—take her hand,” one of the nurses requested. “She must calm down!”

The man in black wore no expression at all, and even now, he still did not take her hand.

Eileen began whipping her head from side to side, gasping and panting in an absolute panic just before another tortured scream exploded out of her, tears streaming down her face.

At last—Amory could no longer stand it.

He marched out from behind the wall and strode directly over to the hospital bed, stopping right beside it, just across from the man in black.

The man in black raised his head slightly, his face still covered, but he was obviously gazing across the bed at the newcomer in white. The doctor and both of the nurses gave Amory a strange glance as well.

But he didn’t care; Amory stared directly down at the poor, miserable woman, taking her by the hand and clutching it tightly with both of his.

Then, Eileen slowly stopped struggling, meeting his eyes and seeming to fall deeply, calmly still.

“It’s okay,” Amory told her in a soft, warm voice, a gentle spiral of blue swimming through his eyes.

Eileen’s gaze bled into Amory’s, and her chest began to rise and fall steadily slower, her head relaxing back, and she looked far more at ease than before.

The two nurses exchanged faces, then one of them turned to the man in black, eyeing him questioningly.

“Who is this…?” the nurse asked, motioning over to Amory. “Is he a part of the family?”

The man in black barely spared the nurse a glance, then returned to glaring at Amory from under his hat, saying nothing.

Amory continued to stare into Eileen, revealing a smooth, comforting smile, holding her hand to his heart.

Then, his eyes flickered up at the others, and he let out a breath.

“My name is A…” he uttered, pausing and clearing his throat, then glancing down at his outfit. “Ahm… Michael. My name is… Michael.”

Eileen stared up at him with an enraptured gaze, as if he had embodied the very essence of hope itself, a broad, wonderful smile emerging along her exhausted face.

“Like the angel,” the women breathed in a faint, dying whisper.

Amory met her eyes again, giving her hand a gentle shake.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, his eyes giving a brief shimmer of blue once more. “Like the angel.”

Eileen’s smile widened more, tears rolling down her face, and despite how very weak she was, her fingers twitched within his grasp, and she began to clutch onto his slightly more.

“Take care of him,” she choked.

Amory stared, his mouth drifting agape, glancing down at her pregnant stomach. He had no idea who this woman was, or who this baby would be—but, for a reason he didn’t know, he simply nodded at her, and he held her hand even tighter.

“I will,” Amory promised.

Eileen beamed through her fatigue, allowing her eyes to close restfully for just a moment.

Then—with a strength she should not have possessed—she clamped her hand onto Amory’s viselike—and she tightened every muscle in her body—releasing one final roar of pain as she began to push with all her might.

“Oh—it’s working,” the doctor exclaimed, hunching closer and preparing to deliver the baby. “The baby’s nearly here! Keep going! You’ve almost got it!”

Eileen shrieked and pushed with every ounce of her strength.

Amory’s hands clasped even harder around hers, and he took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto her, and his power beginning to course through her like a warm, divine heartbeat.

Then—she let out a hoarse, crackling screech and tossed her head back—the last bit of her strength flooding out of her all at once—and the newborn baby, covered in blood and ooze, had finally emerged in the world beyond his mother, now cradled gently in the doctor’s hands.

Instantly—Eileen fell entirely still atop the hospital bed, her body motionless, her head slumped to the side, and her eyes closed, her chest no longer rising and falling, every sign of life having vanished from her at once.

The woman’s hand went limp in Amory’s grasp, but he continued to hold it, gazing down at her with a remorseful expression, his heart aching again. The meek, tiny squeals of the baby echoed from a short ways away, and the doctor severed the umbilical cord and carried the baby across the room to clean it, the nurses both releasing heavy breaths and giving the mother of the newborn a sad stare.

Frowning, wearing a painful visage, Amory slowly reached one of his hands out, placing it to Eileen’s chest, and he closed his eyes, focusing, trying to mend, or heal, or bless.

His mind reached into her, and his power traveled through her, trying to repair whatever was inside her that had caused such turmoil, just as he’d done with Aravali’s wounded arm, and just as he’d done with the toxicity in Zyon’s system—but, this time, his power found nothing to heal, and his mind reached no place to mend or bless. There were no injuries, no poisons, no things that could be fixed; the woman’s body was entirely spent and depleted, and she could simply no longer carry on.

So, he withdrew his hand, and he let out a deep, grave breath, gingerly placing her limp hand onto her heart and giving her a mournful stare.

The doctor soon returned with the freshly-cleaned and swaddled baby in his arms, and he, the two nurses, and Amory all stood quietly around the hospital bed for a long, somber while, a heavy sense of funereal bereavement in the air as they all respectfully spared the mother a moment of silence.

“Sir,” one of the nurses broke the silence after what felt like an eternity, speaking to the man in black, though her downtrodden gaze remained on Eileen. “What shall we do with her…?”

The man in black didn’t reply right away.

“Chuck her in the bin,” he rasped softly moments later.

Then—a light powered on in Amory’s mind, and he blinked, finally tearing his eyes from Eileen and looking up.

He gazed across the bed at the man in the black suit, narrowing his eyes at him, and feeling both surprised and befuddled—because he most assuredly recognized this man’s voice.

The man in black slowly raised his head, revealing more of his face from under his hat, still staring down at the dead woman as if she was absolutely nothing to him.

“I’ve gotten all I ever wanted out of her,” Valek disclosed.

Amory stared, rooted to the spot, mouth easing open, and heart beginning to pound. He surveyed the man before him, noting his every detail—the same dark eyes, the same stubble along the chin, and the same cold face of apathy that he so often wore—that very same man he’d known since he was thirteen years old—and Amory suddenly felt so shocked, his head went light, and nearly began to spin.

Without thinking, he took a step back, swallowing roughly and turning away—and he broke into a speed-walk, marching out of the room without a moment to spare.

Amory walked out from the same wide doorway he’d entered from, stepping behind the wall and pressing his back to it, and he let out a long, shaking breath, clasping his head atop his hat and slowly sinking down to the floor.

He sat against the wall of the dimly-lit corridor for a moment, unsure of how much time was passing, but he didn’t care; his head was low, and he stared down at the floor beneath him, utterly shaken to the core, his heart racing as quickly as his mind, trying desperately to make sense of it all.

Then—something clicked in his thoughts.

Amory slowly raised his head, now with a thoughtful visage, and then, he placed a hand to the wall and climbed to his feet again, peeking back into the large room.

He gazed inside, where the two nurses had started asking Valek questions far across the room, their voices hushed, and their backs facing him—but Amory’s eyes landed on the doctor, who was now standing at a table in the center of the room and readjusting the swaddle of the newborn baby, the infant crying loudly atop the table’s surface.

Amory’s gaze landed solely on the baby, and it remained there for a long, quiet while.

Now, many things began to make sense to him.

Zyon first mentioned the mission of rescuing the children of time the very first time that Amory ever time-traveled, during their first ever visit to Evervale Manor. He mentioned that those who had escaped Canterbury Lab needed to be rescued—firstly, the adults, who resided in Moonvale in 1988, and secondly, the kids, who had been scattered through time during the lab’s destruction—but only now did Amory realize that the angel had never once clarified precisely who the children of time were.

They weren’t just the people who had been sent through time, and they weren’t just the people who had ended up in Moonvale; they were all of the people to ever escape from Canterbury Lab, and all of those who resided within the one-hundred-year schism of fractured space and time.

All the people to escape from the Canterbury Lab, who resided between 1925 and 2025— those were the children of time.

And—as Amory now knew—the fifth and final lost one was none other than Vincent Hawthorn.

Amory continued to stare into the room at the baby, his expression soft, and his gaze distant.

Zyon had told him that he was the only person who could pursue the fifth child, and that he would have to timewalk in order to do what needed to be done.

He was certain that he wasn’t here simply to kidnap Vincent and flee with him. Doing such a thing would result in paradoxes, and it would completely erase and ruin all of the futures that Amory knew to be reality.

Still—he must have been here for something. There had to be a reason that he was assigned the task of traveling all the way back to the day Vincent was born.

Amory slowly turned away from the room, leaned against the wall again, and gently rested his head back against it, sighing deeply and closing his eyes.

He said a silent, peaceful prayer.

And then, he merely waited, standing in still, tranquil silence as he awaited an answer.

Moments later, as his eyes eased open, the answer came to him.

That woman, Eileen—Vincent’s mother—she was not just in labor on this fateful evening. She was also on her deathbed, and now, as Amory pondered deeply on the scene that had just unfolded, it became clear to him that she may not have been able to deliver Vincent at all if not for his own intervention.

“That’s it,” Amory breathed.

Yes, this was it; this was his purpose here.

He wasn’t meant to rescue Vincent from wherever he was lost—or at least, not just yet.

As of now—he was meant to travel through Vincent’s life, and to ensure that he would reach whatever destination he was meant to arrive at.

And, as this conclusion came to him—a low, familiar rasp whispered faintly to him from the farthest reaches of his mind.

Yes , Zyon’s voice affirmed.

Amory breathed out an astonished little laugh, raising his head and looking to the corridor ceiling, as if God was looking back.

“If I’m here to save him… if I’m here to focus on him so much… does this mean he’s… alive?” he murmured hopefully. “In the future… is… is Vincent still alive…?”

He fell silent again, waiting patiently for a reply.

Keep going , Zyon instructed.

Amory huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “Cryptic…”

He leaned around the wall and peered into the room at the baby again, then ducked back behind it and took a deep breath, nodding as he did.

“Okay… keep going… okay,” Amory murmured, closing his eyes once more. “Where now…?”

He waited quietly.

Five years , came Zyon’s voice.

Amory made another nod, opening his eyes and wearing a bound and determined face now.

“Five years it is,” he disclosed, his eyes beginning to brighten a brilliant blue.

And then—in the isolated back hall of the private Canterbury hospital—he vanished into thin air at once.