"You have a visitor. Get up."
David Villanueva opened his eyes and looked at the guard standing outside his cell. The guard, a burly man whose very presence was intimidating, looked at David with disgust. David knew if there was a way for the guard to get away with it, he would beat him to within an inch of his life, if not all the way. Were he an uninterested third party he would have found it ironic that the guard for a drunk driver in a cell was the brother of the woman who now lay in a hospital bed fighting for her life after being hit by that same drunk driver. That was why David was in a single cell. It wasn't unusual for prisoners to curry favor with guards by doing what the guards could not.
David slowly made his way to his feet and shuffled to the door. The guard called into his microphone and a moment later the buzzer sounded. The guard yanked the door open and grabbed David by the front of his jumper, pulling him out so hard that he practically flew across the hall and slammed into the opposite wall. David groaned but didn't fight back. He'd done that once before and still had bruises from it. He was sure he had at least two broken ribs as well. But he found no sympathy with this guard or any of the others.
"Move," the guard commanded, shoving David down the hall.
Stumbling but catching himself before he fell, David shuffled quickly toward the private conference room. At the door he stopped and waited for the guard to open it. The guard refrained from hitting David as he passed him, but the shove was unnecessary. The door slammed shut behind him.
David looked at the man sitting at the table. He was about middle age and more or less normal and average in every way. He was wearing a light gray suit with a pale blue shirt. He wasn't wearing a tie. On the table was the only remarkable thing in the room, a dull black briefcase with silver combination locks.
"Who are you?" David asked.
"You may call me Leonard," the man answered. "Please, sit down. This won't take long."
David pulled out the other chair and sat down.
"Are you my new attorney? The other guy said he didn't want my appeal."
"I am not here about your case, David. You were out with friends, you had too much to drink, shrugged off the idea of getting a ride home, then subsequently drove your vehicle through a red light and struck a beautiful young woman one week before her wedding. She is likely to die from her injuries. I am not offering you any plea deals or reduced sentences."
David put his face in his hands. Even through his alcohol-impaired memory of the night he could clearly see the side of the car just before he hit it. He hated himself. And for a moment he wondered what would happen if he attacked the guard standing outside the room. The guy would probably kill him. It seemed like a fitting ending.
"If you're not here to help me, what do you want from me?" he asked with an air of defeat. "Is there a civil suit against me?"
When David heard nothing, he removed his hands from his face and looked up. Leonard was looking at him. No, not looking. He was glaring at him in a way that made the guard look friendly. David shuddered.
"I deal in choices," Leonard began in a soft, clear, serious voice. "In fact, we all do. Are we getting out of bed now or in 10 minutes? Do we call in sick to work or take an aspirin and hope it goes away? Do we drink too much and get behind the wheel of a car?"
David cringed at the last question. It left an empty feeling in his stomach to hear his life put in a form that left no doubt as to why he was where he was.
"Most of the time," Leonard continued, "we only get to deal in what is. Today, David, you get an opportunity most people never do. Today, you get to choose a 'what if.'"
"What do you mean? What is that?"
"What if you had the chance to go back in time and change one decision you made? What if your present reality," and Leonard made a sweeping gesture with his arms toward the prison area, "could be altered?"
David sat stupefied. There was nothing about what he was being told that even vaguely resembled reality, and yet he found himself clinging to it as a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. If only it were a real possibility.
"How?" David asked, desperate despite himself.
Leonard turned the briefcase just a bit toward himself so that he could spin the combination locks. He then pushed the latches and the catches on the briefcase snapped open. He opened the briefcase just enough to reach in and pull out a manila file folder. Without a word, he closed the briefcase and spun the locks again.
"David Villanueva," he began in a voice that was as chilling as it was soft, "today I am offering you a choice. You will not be offered this choice again." He placed the file folder on the table and slid it toward David. "Inside there are three sheets of paper. One of them is blank. That is the choice for you to simply stand up and walk away. The other two describe an event in your life at a specific date and time where you made a life-altering decision. If you choose, simply tell me which one you would like to change."
David tentatively put out a hand and touched the folder. He didn't open it. He looked at Leonard.
"Are you serious?" he asked. "I can change my past?"
Leonard did not answer. He sat there staring at David without blinking. David looked down at the folder. He went to open it and noticed that his hands were shaking. His first attempt to open the folder resulted in a crease that ran from the top left all the way down to the bottom right.
"Sorry," he said, his voice also shaking.
Leonard did not respond.
David opened the bent folder and spread the three sheets of paper in front of him, not trusting himself to pick them up. The first one he had put on the far left was blank. He gave that one almost no consideration. The middle sheet showed a date and time that made David shudder. It was the night he had caused the accident but at a time about ten minutes before the accident had occurred, the moment when the bartender had asked him if he wanted another. The one on the right perplexed him for a long moment. Then it came to him. About four years ago he had been at work when the phone had rung. It was his brother asking him for a loan. It had been for a few hundred dollars, an amount he could afford, but he and his brother hadn't been on good terms for years and he had hung up the phone on him. He hadn't heard from his brother since.
"How do you know about all this?" David asked, not looking up.
"That is none of your concern," Leonard answered icily.
David looked up...and wished he hadn't. There was something about the man sitting across from him that made him believe the choices he was being offered weren't necessarily in his best interest. And yet he couldn't help but look back at the papers in front of him.
"Take the two you do not want and place them back in the folder," Leonard said, his voice almost friendly.
"And then what?" David asked, looking up again. "Then what happens?"
"Your life changes. Or not."
"Do I get any hints?" David asked after a minute. "Can you tell me what happens after I choose?"
"Your life goes on," Leonard answered, his voice again turning to ice.
"And if I don't choose one of these?"
"That in itself is a choice."
David looked at the sheets of paper. He picked up the blank one and slid that into the folder. He hesitated only a few seconds more before he picked up the middle one and placed that in the folder as well.
"That one," he said, pointing to the one where his brother called. "I choose that one."
Leonard nodded. David was about to ask how it all happened when he disappeared from the conference room. Leonard picked up the folder and stood up. As the door to the conference room slid open, instead of the guard, there stood Makesha.
"I know what you're doing," she said, her tone almost angry. "That is not our purpose, Leonard."
"You don't know what I'm doing," he answered back evenly.
"I'm fairly certain I do."
"Supposing you do, is there anything wrong in it?"
"Right and wrong are subjective."
"Then why are you opposing me?"
"I'm warning you, Leonard. The penalty for violating our purpose isn't pretty."
Leonard looked at her defiantly. She folder her arms and glared back. She stood about an inch taller than he did in her bare feet, but with the two-inch heels and her hair down in its loose curls she seemed much taller than that. Her light brown eyes, which at times could be incredibly warm, were almost flinty. Leonard let out a long sigh.
"Trust me, Makesha," he said softly, almost begging. "Trust me."