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A Crack in Time

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Will was on his way to Hannibal’s house when there was a blinding flash of light in the middle of the road. A man, visible only by silhouette, appeared in the middle of it. Will swerved to avoid hitting him and pulled over to the side of the road.

He stormed out of his car toward the stranger. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“You’re on your way to Hannibal Lecter’s house,” the man said. He sounded oddly familiar.

“Jack?” Will asked, holding up his arm to shield his eyes from the light. For some reason, the man was wearing a Hello Kitty onesie. “Is that you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The light blinked out behind him. He looked like Jack, all right, but he was thinner, with white hair and beard to match. “I’m from thirty years in the future, and I’m here to say you need to bone Hannibal Lecter.”


Jack steeled himself to listen to all the same arguments he’d heard over the last three decades. Will was going to protest that time travel wasn’t possible and he wasn’t even attracted to Lecter in the first place. Not like that. He always said “not like that.”

“Time travel isn’t possible,” Will said.

“Look at me,” Jack said. “I’m over eighty years old, Will. You’re on your way to Hannibal Lecter’s house to tell him you can’t go to his dinner party. You’re going to give him a bottle of wine. How would I know all of this if Elon Musk hadn’t partnered with Sanrio to send me here from the future?”

Will rubbed his beard and leaned against his car. “I’m hallucinating, or–or sleepwalking.”

Jack hobbled over to him and punched him in the dick—but not too hard, because if this latest attempt at persuasion worked, he might need it later.

Will wailed and doubled over. “Why did you punch me in the dick?!”

“You ever been punched in the dick while hallucinating or sleepwalking?” Jack asked. “I’ve found through much trial and error that it’s the quickest way to get you to realize you are, in fact, awake and experiencing reality.”

Will slowly straightened himself up again, but kept a protective hand over his groin. “All right, so you’re from the future. But if you know so much, then you have to know I’m not attracted to Dr. Lecter. Not like that!

Jack sighed. “Yes, you are, and this was the night you realized it. You’ve had a semi ever since you saw him save that man in the ambulance earlier today.”

Will gasped. “Th-that was just the excitement. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, the excitement of seeing that sexy, skilled man up to his elbows in blood,” Jack said. “Now, go over to his house and bend him over his kitchen island.”


Will was still reeling from the revelation that time travel was possible and that he might want to bang his new friend, as well as the stunning pain of being punched in the dick, but a coherent thought managed to occur to him.

“You can’t possibly have spent thirty years doing this just to play matchmaker,” he said.

“It’s the only way to save the future from the Chesapeake Widower,” Jack said.

Will was confused. “Is that a Ripper copycat?”

“Can we sit down?” Jack asked. “Elon Musk can invent time travel and prostate wi-fi, but apparently curing sciatica isn’t ‘cool’ enough.”

They got into Will’s car and he drove them to the nearest parking lot, which seemed safer than just hanging out on the side of the road waiting for someone to rear end them in the dark.

“Look,” Jack said when Will cut the engine. “I’ve tried this hundreds of ways. I’ve even tried keeping you two from meeting in the first place, but it never works. Somehow you always meet. Either because Alana dragged you to a party where Lecter was also in attendance, or because you were tracking down the Chesapeake Ripper for me and found him.”

Something about that flared in Will’s brain with a big red warning light. “Wait, what?”

Jack ignored him. “The thing is, the Widower is worse than the Ripper. He’s so upset after his husband dies, that he goes on to kill half the world’s population. He’s like Thanos, but better looking.”

“Who’s Thanos?!”

“Future stuff,” Jack said, waving a dismissive hand. “Forget it. The only thing you need to concentrate on is boning the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“What—”

“If you two realize you’re in love and take a trip to Pound Town now—”

“Jack, what—”

“—and I mean, really just turn him inside out through the booty—”

“JACK, WHAT—”

“—I think he’ll be so happy and so content that he won’t even care about killing people—”

Will, unable to get a word in edgewise, laid on the horn until Jack finally fell silent. He sat there, blinking at Will, the bow of his Hello Kitty onesie slowly flopping down over his foreheard.

“Can I talk now?” Will asked. Jack nodded, wordlessly. “Okay, then. Am I to understand from all of this that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“And that at some point in the future, I die and he flips out and kills a lot of people? And in thirty years you’ve come up with no way to prevent that except for me to play penis pony to his horny cowboy? I can’t just kill him?”

Will winced as Jack reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders, with far more strength than he would’ve expected from an octogenarian. He looked deeply and intensely into Will’s eyes.

“Everyone you know tries to get you to kill him,” Jack said, slowly and with careful emphasis. “Literally everyone. It never happens.”


Jack watched Will as he thought over everything he’d been told, worked out every scenario and problem for himself, before he came to his decision.

“So I have to fuck him,” Will sighed.

“Well, I suppose not necessarily,” Jack says with a shrug. “You could try being extremely close, platonic frien—”

Will’s eyes widened. “No! No, no! We can’t leave anything to chance if the whole future depends on it, Jack! I’d better fuck him!”

Jack fished around in the pocket of his onesie until he found the small jar he’d stashed there. “Here, use this. It’s a rapid healing ointment from the future. Should help with your dick pain so you can get right to business. Sorry again about punching you.”

He opened the passenger side door and got out of the car. He clenched his butt cheeks and signaled to Elon with his wi-fi that he was ready to be zapped back to the future. An instant later, a glowing gateway appeared in the parking lot.

“Wait,” Will called out just before he could step through. “Why the Hello Kitty get-up?”

Jack shrugged. “Something to do with the exact composition that makes time travel possible,” he said. “You can’t even use a Mimmy onesie, and that’s Hello Kitty’s twin. It’s gotta be Hello Kitty for some reason or the time-space continuum rips your atoms apart and turns you into cosmic pizza sauce.”

Will made a disgusted face, and Jack didn’t know if it was because of the thought of getting your guts smeared across space and time, or if it was the thought of having to wear a Hello Kitty onesie for thirty years.

He would never find out, because he stepped into the gateway just then and back into his own timeline. The Tesla- Sanrio Bureau of Time Travel was bustling with activity, with other agents in their onesies ready to spring into action if they were needed. Everyone paused as they realized he’d returned.

“Did it work?” Jack asked.

“Let me check my prostate,” Elon said as he hovered onto the main floor. He looked concerned for a moment, then thoughtful, and finally relieved. “You did it, Agent Crawford. Will and Hannibal boned three times that night and lived happily ever after. The world is saved. You can finally hang up the onesie, for good.”

Cheers went up all through the Bureau. Jack’s prostate buzzed as congratulations poured in.

Jack sniffed back tears as he patted his plush cat ears. “I think I’ll take the old uniform out for one more drink,” he said. “One last time… to say goodbye.”

-the end-