Participants:
| Scene Title | When Will Tomorrow Be? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Stranded in 1947, Delilah, Elaine, Tom, and the kids try to figure out what to do next. |
| Date | July 8, 1947 |
The cracked faceplate of a Yamagato Awasu reflects the light of high, ceiling-mounted lamps, and the dour expression of the mobile device’s owner, staring down at it.
Tom Porter has been staring at his phone for a while now. The OSI agents left it behind when they departed, and now the device that caused so many questions that no one wanted to answer sits just outside of its owner’s reach on the corner of a small table. Tom looks at it like it might bite, squinting as he considers the cracks in the glass face and what they imply. Cracks that could’ve been in his face if it weren’t for—
For—
Tom turns, looking back at the small group of Delilah, Elaine, and the kids sitting on cots facing one-another, framed in by portable curtains on metal frames. Tom looks back to the phone, his right hand trembling as he does, and he reaches for his phone but hesitates. Instead, Tom tucks his hand back into his pocket and turns away.
“Hey,” he says with a crack in his voice, approaching the others, “I—I gotta ask something and it’s gonna sound stupid.”
Matthew, seated beside Delilah opposite of Walter, looks up when Tom approaches them.
“How the fuck did we get here?”
Walker Air Force Base
Roswell, New Mexico
11:12 pm
July 8th
1947
“It’s not a stupid question. A pretty rational one, all things considered,” Elaine’s reply is soft. Calm, but worried, and the tone is mostly for the sake of not disturbing any of them resting. “That’s not exactly my place to say. I have a hunch. But I’ll tell you one thing—this is not a period of time you want anyone to know about…”
She pauses for a moment. “One of the few times I’m glad I have a passion for history. Not exactly how I hoped to use it.” The redhead rests her gaze firmly on Tom. “We’ll find a way home. But if they start getting the notion that anyone is ‘different’, we’re likely going to be buried in some kind of government facility and never heard from again. So we need to stick together.”
Elaine knows she didn’t answer the question. Even if it wasn’t direct, she dances around the topic about as closely as she feels she can. Hopefully he’ll get the hint.
"They already know we're different, don't they?" Delilah wonders quietly, though shakes it off a moment after. "Tom," She visibly drags her teeth over her bottom lip in silent consideration. "I don't know, exactly." But she does theorize, even if just passively. A look goes to the sleeping Walter.
"Elaine… what can you tell us about the now we're in?" The How isn't as important to her, and Tom's insistence on trying to figure it out is met with gentle distraction. "What do you all remember, before waking up? If we can piece anything together, maybe it will make a difference."
From the cot, Odette rolls over a little, holding the stuffed pig in her arm so he can look at them with beady little black eyes in his pink little face. He doesn’t look like he would be smart, but neither does she. “Doctor Schwein advises us to look for tags on things. Like mommy used to sew onto my clothes when I was a baby— so if I got lost people would know where I belonged.”
It hadn’t worked for how she had been taken, but other mommy, other Elaine, had done things like that. Because the world she had lived in had been safer than this one, but it still had dangers.
Tom and Matthew both give a long, silent look at Odette at right around the same time. They share a glance between each other, and then Tom starts pacing and runs his hands through his hair.
“I remember seeing headlights,” Tom says, trying to focus on something less crazy than this. “There was a—a car or a truck or something heading right for us. I think—I’m pretty sure I remember the bus getting hit but then it was just—I was just in that field.”
Matthew nods, brows knit together, and looks from Tom to Delilah. “Same. I saw Tom look like, all freaked out, and I looked over my shoulder and I just saw a bright light and then…” his eyes unfocus as he stares off into the distance. “Then we were here.”
“Oh my god,” Tom says with a sudden look of horror, looking down at his hands. “What—what if I did this?” Spiraling into a panic, Tom begins to breathe faster “I—I had an accident. At the diner at—at work. I had a seizure and I—” He starts pacing around. “I heard this guy’s voice and—and—and then—I mean I—I did a blood test and—” Tom reaches down for his back pocket to pull out his wallet, then starts patting around.
“I uh—I…” Tom’s panic starts to fade as he begins rapidly checking his pockets. “I had to register,” he mumbles, checking his inside jacket pocket. Nothing. “Where’s—where the fuck is my wallet?”
“You’re awfully quiet, son.” Ryans says of Tom, who fixes the agent with a dead-eyed stare of a deer in headlights.
Tom paws at his pockets more, eyes wide.
“I— uh, yeah that’s… y’know there’s— I— I hit my head.” Tom says with a stammer. Ryans tilts his head to the side and walks over to Tom, closing the distance between the two. Tom freezes as Ryans eyes his hairline, then steps in closer and brushes his fingers through Tom’s hair as if looking for an injury. What Tom doesn’t see, what no one sees, is Ryans’ other hand slip into Tom’s back pocket while he’s distracted, lifting his wallet.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Well,” Ryans says, taking a step back just as quick as he stepped in, tucking Tom’s wallet into his coat. “Don’t want you having a concussion. We’ll get a doc up here to check you out, make sure you’re all good.”
“That fucking Tommy Lee Jones looking guy lifted my wallet.” Tom says with indignation and exasperation. “I—I got mugged in the past?” He sputter-mumbles, then just keeps mumbling to himself. “Of course I did. Mom was right. I shouldn’t have left home.”
"With the assumption that we're in 1947 and everything is the same historically, any mentions of 'special abilities' could potentially be bad. We're lucky we're not in Germany, at least, but we have no reason to believe they'll 'give us bus fare' and I'm not entirely sure we can lend them any trust," Elaine's expression is grim. Her daughter's mention of tags gets a smile, but the suggestion that Tom's wallet is gone turns that smile into more of a grimace.
"So they're going to figure out something, the question is… what," she looks quickly to Delilah, squinting a bit as she does her best to recall what those terrifying moments were like. "I do remember the light. I didn't see what it was, really, it was kind of blinding and so fast… honestly I didn't even have a chance to even think about what was happening. Waking up… I thought we were dead."
"Hey, hey, calm down…" Delilah stands from the bedside to take Tom by the elbows. An assertion without the shaking. "You're alive, right? That's what matters. All your fingers and toes? Good."
For all that she reassures him, it's partly for herself as well; when she looks away it is to Matthew, brows knit in a twist of concern. One hand rakes through red hair as Lilah takes a few paces in thought.
"So… we… escaped, then. From what? It wasn't you, Tom. I don't think, anyway." At this point, she's all but confirmed that she believes it was her son, but how? He hasn't trained that hard- - he's been working on small potatoes… "What is it that you can do? You can tell us, we're the same."
With hands on hips for a moment, Odette looks back at the boys as they dismiss her idea, and proceeds to check the pillows and blankets, but apparently comes up empty handed cause she plops back down where she was among the ruffled blankets and pillows and pulls the poor maimed raccoon up into her lap as well. With it’s missing eye. “I told you, they’re superheroes,” she adds to Tom, as if to give him a ‘see’.
Tom looks down at Odette, one brow twitching. He still can’t wrap his head around her. When he looks up to the others, he notices Matthew suddenly taking a notable interest in things. Tom swallows, audibly, and then starts to pace again.
“I don’t know,” he says with a gasp of exasperation. “I manifested back in October, gave myself a seizure, but nobody is sure if that’s related to whatever it is my ability is or not. My Registration card is SLC Positive, but marked as Unknown.” Brows furrowed together, Tom scrubs the heel of his palm against the side of his head. “But I can’t… do anything. I can’t fly, I can’t like, shoot lightning or anything. I just… I don’t know.”
Matthew makes a sound in the back of his throat, then looks over at Delilah with his brows raised, then over to Elaine and Odette, then back to Tom. “I—” he starts to say, then makes another small noise and hunches his shoulders forward. “I wish I could help,” isn’t what he was going to say. But it is now.
“It’s fine,” Tom says with a sigh, shoulders sagging. “So if—if this is real, if this is possible can’t we…” his eyes track from side to side. “Like, can’t we… stop 9/11? The bomb? I mean—we could find Sylar when he’s a baby and kick him into the Hudson river!” He says with a broad gesture. “We—we could save the whole world, stop it all from happening. Everything bad that’s ever happened.”
"That's a very altruistic thought," Elaine notes as she observes Tom. "But you really think we're the first people in the history of history to time travel? There's…" She pauses for a long moment. "Pretty sure the world isn't black and white. Have you ever heard of that quote where a butterfly flaps its wings and causes a typhoon somewhere else? It sounds pretty ridiculous. But if I were to knock down a domino? It starts off a chain reaction that knocks them all done. One piece, big puzzle."
She looks back to those around her. "So we need to remember that we take tiny steps and don't do anything major." She pauses for a moment. "Besides, it's 1947. As far as we know, we're not going elsewhere in time. So… good luck living long enough to change those bits of history." She gives Tom a serious but still compassionate look. "Think about all those time travel movies and stuff over the years, they never end up fixing anything by changing something major."
She pauses for a long moment. "Okay, so hold on a second. Crash landing somewhere in history should make a big ripple, right?" She smiles at Tom. "Humor me for a minute. Just picture this as a thought experiment." Her gaze shifts to the others. "What do we know about this particular time in history? This time. We haven't made a ripple because we haven't changed history. We already changed it. We were here. Does… that make sense?"
Dee gives Matthew a look in return that speaks of reassurance; she can tell his quirks from all else, and if he doesn't want to say what's actually on his mind- - that's fine.
"Not everything with positives is a firework show. You're in good company there." Lilah turns a short look to Tom, her smile somewhat tight as she listens to Elaine attempt to Think him into Sense. It's a convoluted road when it's brand new to someone.
"Roswell's event was already a thing- - now whether it was us or not… I have no idea. Nothing is linear, there's no guarantee that anything will be the same from here. For all we know, in this timeline the Red Scare fizzles out."
"I hate that I'm starting to sound like Richard." Delilah asides to Elaine, her expression tense despite her teasing. "It makes my head hurt." For more reasons than one, as the other redhead can tell from Dee's brief examination of her sleeping boy.
“We could also be in another world!” Odette adds, with that childlike enthusiasm that only a kid could have. “I was born in another world. I don’t remember a lot, but it looked like our world in some ways, but wasn’t. The war never even happened there!”
The topic would make any sane person think this kid might just has an overactive imagination— if they weren’t just talking about time travel. “Or maybe we are in a different world now cause we made it a different world!” Yes, this makes total sense to a child.
She looks down at the stuffed pig, as if hearing him talk. “Doctor Schwein says we’re breaking the laws of the universe. But that’s just like what daddy did!”
“What happened to this child?!” Tom suddenly yelps, brandishing a hand down at Odette while looking expectantly to Delilah and Elaine.
“Dude, chill out.” Matthew says with a furrow of his brows, as if Tom is the one over-reacting here. “Mom told me all sorts of stuff about time travel before, ‘cause she thought it might be important for—”
“You mom?” Tom about-faces, looking at Matthew. “Wait—wait, just…” He brings his hands to his head. “Wait.” Starting to pace around again, Tom breathes in short and exasperated huffs. “Wait, just, wait. This is—this is a thing? You’re all—this isn’t weird to any of you?” His voice cracks a little there, and he starts to sound broken. Wandering away from the group Tom mumbles. “Oh this is just time travel get with it Tom.”
Matthew slowly angles a look over at Elaine and Delilah, his brows lifted to the heights of incredulity. “Is… he gonna be okay?”
Then, quieter, and more honestly: “Are we?”
Meanwhile
Nearby
Under the glow of a green-shaded desk lamp, Howard Frady stares at a stack of typewritten documents all stamped with the letters OSI in red block print. Paging through the files, Agent Frady frowns and rubs one hand over the back of his neck. It is a long list of American citizens with photographs paper-clipped to the documentation. One by one, Frady goes through the stack, checking each file:
ABRAHMS, N
AGUILAR, H
AMES, L
BISHOP, J
BISHOP, A
CRAWFORD, G
DEVEAUX, R
DEVEAUX, L
DEVEAUX, C
FOLMAR, M
FORD, S
FORD, P
HADLEY, M
HADLEY, T
JONES, B
KRAVID, T
KRAVID, B
LINDERMAN, H
LINDERMAN, W
LINDERMAN, D
LINDT, K
LINDT, E
MICHAELS, S
SHAW, Z
SHAW, G
SULLIVAN, A
Sighing, Frady reaches for his cigarette smoldering in the ashtray and takes a drag off of it, setting the stack of files down. He traces his fingers along the front of the top file, stopping at a line that reads {STATUS: OBSERVE AND DETAIN}. Exhaling smoke through his nose in twin plumes, Frady wheels his chair back and slowly stands up, walking over to a bulletin board at the far end of his office with a map of the United States pinned up to it. Several red flags are pinned to the map in cities around the country.
“Working late?” A voice from a dark corner in Frady’s office calls out, causing Frady to jolt in place and wheel around with a gasp.
“Jesus, Ryans.” Frady says with a hand at his chest, cigarette nearly having fallen from his mouth, “don’t do that!”
Agent Ryans smiles, then stoops forward and stalks over to the bulletin board. He looks at the red flags, fifteen in total, then back to Frady. “World’s getting awfully big, isn’t it?”
Frady nods with a raise of his brows, then motions over his shoulder. “You think those people are, y’know, one of them?” The question elicits a snort of amusement from Ryans, who scans over the map again.
“Maybe. They might have also been sent here by a Special. We don’t know.” Ryans says, looking distracted by the map. “The doc is going to have a look at them tomorrow, see what he can figure out. We don’t have a way of knowing until they demonstrate their ability, so, we just have to be patient and see.”
Frady hones in on something Ryans said, disregarding the rest. “Sorry, sent here?” He asks, plucking his cigarette from his mouth to knock ash on the floor.
“Oh, right. You haven’t seen this yet.” Ryans says, producing a leather wallet from his jacket. He hands it over to Frady. “I lifted this off that Tom fella’.”
Pursing his cigarette in his lips, Frady takes the wallet in both hands and folds it open. He rifles through a few cards, pulling each one out at a time and squinting at them. With each one he looks at Ryans, watching the other agents’ amusement. It’s only when Frady gets to an identification card that he stops, turning it over a few times.
“The hell is a Safe Zone?” Frady asks. Ryans, however, slinks around and instead motions to a line lower on the ID card.
DOB 04/08/1992
Frady stares at the line, then scans down to the issue date of the card, showing a date even further into the future. He flexes the card between two fingers, runs his hand over the metallic chip inserted into it.
“Ryans, what is this?” Frady asks, his cigarette now dangling off of his bottom lip.
Ryans just smiles, then slowly spreads his hands.
“We’re gonna find out.”