Sunny

Administrator Chao glances at the ancient black-and-white photograph of two smiling boys. The older boy, a lanky blonde with sad eyes, has a protective arm around the smaller, sandy-haired boy with a shy smile.

“The little guy is my uncle Somerfield,” Christoph Brandt says. “Everybody called him Sunny because he had a sweet disposition.”

“It’s a shame he died so young,” Chao replies, pushing her glasses up off the end of her nose as she examines Christoph’s request. 

“I want to do this for Lucas, my father. He was only eleven when Sunny died,” Christoph says.

“You understand you can only do things that affect the lives of you and your relatives. Even then, there could be consequences. You can’t try to save President Kennedy, keep the Beatles from breaking up, or stop Bed, Bath, and Beyond from going bankrupt.”

“I get it. My father is the calmest, nicest man in the world until you mention Grandpa Willie. Then he breaks out in a sweat and wrings his hands as if the world is going to end. I want to know why, and I want to know what happened to my Uncle Sunny. Everyone says he disappeared. But eight-year-olds don’t disappear without someone else’s help. And I want to know what my grandfather did to make everyone hate him.”

“What do you remember about him?”

“I only met him twice. The last time was when he was dying in his bed from cirrhosis. He didn’t look so fierce and angry then. But the first time… He came to our house when his sister, Margit, died. I was young, eight, or nine. He came into the house like a hurricane, shouting orders. My father seemed to shrink in front of him, but my mother gave him hell, insult for insult. I got the feeling their hatred for one another was real.”

“What do you think made him so angry?” Chao asks.

“Everything. My mom said it was because he lost the love of his life in a car accident, that he was drunk and went off the road and she drowned in a lake. When his sister died, he was at our house for three days. He wanted to whip me once for waking him up. It was noon! I’ll never forget it. My mother tore the belt from his hand and said, ‘You’re the one who needs a beating.’ My dad, just stood off to the side, frozen.”

“Do you think your grandfather was a bad man?”

“From what I was told, yeah. My dad said Grandad was an alcoholic who hated being a bus driver. Can you imagine a man like that in charge of kids’ safety? I don’t know if he was always mean, but the only moment I saw a hint of humanity in my grandfather was when he was dying. My father whispered to him, ‘Say hello to Sunny and Frankie’. My father seemed to enjoy saying that to him. There were tears in my grandfather’s eyes when he died.”

Administrator Chao puts the time transport transceiver around Christoph’s wrist. “Close your eyes. You might feel a little lightheaded. When you wake up, you’ll be where and when you need to be.”

Opening his eyes, Christoph realizes he is standing in the hallway of a modest house, looking out of a screen door at a spacious front yard framed by blooming apple trees.

“Well, what do you wanna do?” a young boy’s voice asks.

Christoph turns to look at a small boy with a bowl haircut and a mischievous smile standing next to him.

Christoph looks down at his hands. They are tiny and boyish. He laughs at the rolled-up dungarees, striped T-shirt, and Keds he’s wearing.

“…I’m a boy…,” he mumbles.

“Of course, you are nimrod. C’mon Sunny, what do you wanna do?”

“Sunny? I’m Sunny?”

The other boy’s dark eyes pop with surprise. “Okay, I know your real name is Somerfield. Maybe we should call you ‘Funny’, because you’re sure actin’ that way.”

A lanky, older blonde-haired boy with a sad expression walks up the driveway heading toward the house.

“It’s Lucas. Let’s get him!” the other boy shouts.

Bursting through the front door, the boy runs toward the closest apple tree. Sunny follows, marveling at how well his miniature body responds to running.

Picking up a handful of apples, the boy throws them at Lucas. One of the apples bounces off Lucas’ shoulder and another whizzes by his head.

“You bushwacking knucklehead!” Lucas yells. “I’ll kill you, Frankie Conigliaro!”

Dropping his books, Lucas charges at Sunny and Frankie.

Sunny hurls apples at Lucas, hitting him in the chest with a rotten apple that splatters goo across his checkered shirt.

“How dare you assault your own brother!” Lucas cries out, laughing.

Firing a fat ripe apple, Lucas hits Sunny between the eyes. Dazed, Sunny plops down in the grass.

Frankie hovers over him. “You all right, Sunny?”

Sunny looks up at Lucas. “Dad?”

“Wow, Lucas, you really walloped him,” Frankie says.

Lucas shakes Sunny. “It’s me, Lucas, you knucklehead. You should be thankful I’m not Pop.”

“I’m really Sunny... What year is it?”

Frankie twirls his fingers around his head, crossing his eyes. “It’s 1947, nimrod.”

“…And I’m alive…”

Lucas musses his brother’s hair. “You won’t be if you throw any more apples at me.”

Lucas hustles through the back door and into the kitchen. Sweat breaks out across his forehead as he paces the floor.

Sunny slowly downs a glass of milk, his curiosity rising.

“Don’t go out there,” Lucas says.

Sunny sees their father standing over Kilroy, their placid six-year-old German Shepherd. Willie is waving a stick and screaming at the bewildered dog, who is sitting on his haunches looking quizzically at his owner.

“Kilroy doesn’t fetch too good,” Sunny says.

“He’d better learn quick,” Lucas replies.

Willie hits Kilroy over the head with the stick, beating the dog until it whines and runs to the end of the yard.

“We should be thankful for Kilroy,” Lucas says. “He’s taken a lot of beatings for us.”

Walking back to the house after taking out the trash the next afternoon, Sunny turns to see Frankie talking to his father in the front yard. Frankie is wearing a new baseball cap. Sunny is perplexed because Frankie fears his father, yet he is talking and laughing with him.

Willie spots Sunny. Sneering at him, Willie turns and walks away.

The scent of whiskey still hangs in the air when Sunny approaches Frankie.

“What was that all about?”

Frankie squirms. “Nothin’. You know, your dad’s okay.”

“I thought you were afraid of him. What did he say to you to change your mind?”

Frankie starts to walk away. Sunny follows closely at his heels. Frankie stops when he’s no longer in earshot of Sunny’s house.

“I promised your old man I wouldn’t tell, but… He gave me this baseball cap.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Last week he gave me five dollars.”

For the third straight day, Sunny and Lucas cringe as they look out of the kitchen window.

Willie throws a stick toward the end of the yard.

Kilroy turns his head, looking curiously at Willie, who points at the stick.

“Fetch it, for Christ's sake!”

“Please, Kilroy, move,” Lucas whispers aloud.

The dog trots off. searching the yard. He finally picks up a stick, bringing it to Willie, who runs his fingers through his silver mane in frustration.

“It’s the wrong stick,” Lucas notes.

Willie waves the stick in Kilroy’s face.

“You useless fleabag!” he shouts, battering the dog.

After the third blow, Kilroy stands his ground, his head up, growling angrily.

Rearing back to strike his dog again, Willie laughs. “Finally showin’ your true colors, eh, schweinehund?”

Kilroy jumps at Willie, knocking him to the ground. The wrathful German Shepherd tears at Willie’s clothes, his salivating jaws fighting to get at his jugular.

Rolling free, Willie regains his feet, sprinting to the back door. He beats Kilroy to the door, locking it.

Barking incessantly, Kilroy snaps and scratches at the door.

Willie shoves Lucas aside. The smell of whiskey lingers as he passes them.

“What are you going to do?” Lucas asks.

“Same thing I done to them Nazis during the war,” Willie responds, marching toward his bedroom.

Sunny moves to follow, but Lucas holds him back.

Willie quickly reappears, stomping past his sons with a Luger in his hand.

“Took this German gun from an arrogant Nazi who thought he was better than us American G.I.s,” Willie says, proudly holding it aloft. “Guess I ain’t done killin’ Nazis.”

Kilroy backs away when Willie opens the door and points the Luger at him.

“Whatcha got to say now, schweinehund?”

“The booze has knocked him off his rocker,” Lucas whispers to Sunny. “He thinks Kilroy is a German soldier.”

Kilroy sits down on his haunches, whining apologetically.

Willie fires off two shots at Kilroy’s head.

Turning to his sons, his wild eyes widening, Willie snaps, “No tears for Nazis!”

Willie looks down at the blood pooling around Kilroy’s body. His expression softens and he shakes his head as if clearing out the cobwebs after a long sleep.

“Who… Who did this?”

“You did, Pop,” Lucas answers, his voice shaking.

“No… Kilroy was my only friend.”

Willie’s rage quickly reignites.

“You made me do it!” he shouts, waving the gun at his sons.

“Pop! It’s us!” Lucas shouts.

Willie’s anger dissipates as he stares at them.

He lowers the gun.

“Clean up that mess!”

Walking to the kitchen cabinet, Willie pulls out a quart of gin. Tearing off the top, he guzzles greedily at the bottle.

Frankie is heading toward the Brandt’s house when he sees Sunny and Lucas coming toward him pulling a wagon.

They pass by Frankie wordlessly, still in shock. A trail of blood marks the Brandt brother’s path as they haul Kilroy’s carcass to the dump.

Sunny runs into the house the next afternoon, dropping his books in a chair.

“Hey, keep it down!” Lucas urges, pointing to the nearby couch.

Willie is spread awkwardly across the couch, snoring loudly, an empty bottle of whiskey on the nearby table.

“Must’ve called in sick today,” Sunny comments.

“Yeah, he’s sick all right,” Lucas replies.

“I’m going to Frankie’s,” Sunny says.

“Be home by six. I’ll make spaghetti. And be careful. The police found the body of a boy in Cuffley today. He was strangled and molested. You know what that is, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Whoa, Cuffley’s only ten miles away.”

“That’s why I want you to be careful. The police think whoever killed him lured him to his death.”

The threat is forgotten days later when Sunny and Frankie invade the Brandt’s kitchen.

“Peanut butter, extra jelly for me,” Frankie says, enthusiastically pulling out the makings for a sandwich.

Sunny notices his brother in the dining room looking at a magazine. On the cover is a beautiful, partially clad woman.

“Man, where’d you get that?”

“Looks like a girlie magazine,” Frankie comments.

Lucas closes the magazine. “What do you know about them?”

“I got two older brothers. You should see the magazines they have!” Frankie says whistling.

“Lemme see,” Sunny says, grabbing at the magazine.

“Not a chance, knucklehead. You’re too young.”

Reaching for the magazine, Sunny accidentally tears the cover.

“Now look what you’ve done, knucklehead!”

“Sorry. What are you gonna do?”

“Get some tape, put this back where I found it, and hope Pops is too drunk to notice.”

Sunny and Frankie are still eating when Willie comes home. Putting his lunch bucket on the counter, Willie looks at the scattered bread and jars, huffing with disgust.

“Don’t turn this place into a pig sty, Sunny.”

“We’re sorry, sir,” Frankie responds.

Willie winks. “You got nothin’ to worry about from me, Frankie.”

Reaching into the cabinet, Willie pulls out a bottle of whiskey, then heads toward his bedroom.

“He hates everybody else in the world. But he likes you,” Sunny says. “Why?”

Frankie gives Sunny an impish grin. “Some kids have brains. Some are good at sports. I have a lot of cute going on.”

Willie’s voice bellows out for Lucas, who nervously enters his father’s bedroom with his eyes pointed toward the floor.

“You know what you done, don’t you?” Willie shouts. “You looked at my magazines, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me Lucas, or the beatin’ you get is gonna be ten times worse than the one you think you’re gonna get.”

“I’m tired of you beating me!”

“Oh? You wanna do somethin’ about it?” Willie counters, pulling his belt free. “DID YOU LOOK AT MY MAGAZINES?”

“Yes! And I saw the other things you keep in your drawer!”

Willie moves past Lucas so quickly that he has no time to move.

Seething, blue eyes as cold as icebergs, Willie burns a trail into the kitchen.

“You boys go outside and play for a while,” Willie says in a tone that says it’s not a request.

Sunny and Frankie quickly evacuate the kitchen.

The sound of Willie’s belt hitting Lucas’ bare skin and his agonized screams soon follow.

Frankie tries to ignore the tears welling up in Sunny’s eyes.

Lucas sees Sunny sitting underneath one of the apple trees absent-mindedly throwing apples at nothing in particular.

“Hey, knucklehead, why so glum?”

“It’s Frankie. He hasn’t been in school for three days.”

“Didn’t Pop say he went to see his grandparents?”

“I spoke to Mr. Conigliaro today. He said Frankie’s missing.”

“Maybe he ran away.”

“Why?”

Lucas is stumped for an answer. “Yeah, I guess that doesn’t make sense. His folks adore him, and his brothers look out for him.”

“Everybody loves Frankie,” Sunny mutters.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up. You know how he likes to go exploring. Maybe he got lost and he’s at somebody’s house having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich… Hey, I got a championship game this weekend. You wanna help me loosen up by throwing the ball around?”

The boys head to the garage where Lucas keeps his baseball equipment. Lucas picks their gloves up off a shelf, nearly tripping over an old bat.

Marveling at the tools and the clutter, Sunny notices a cap on the floor near his father’s tool cabinet.

He picks up the cap, dusting off the emblem.

“What you got there?” Lucas asks.

“A Red Sox hat.”

“Is it yours? Looks like it’s your size.”

“Uh uh. But Frankie had one. Pop gave it to him.”

“Our dad? He wouldn’t give away air, and it’s free. Where’d you find it?”

“Next to Pop’s tool cabinet.”

“Stay away from it. Pop’ll skin you alive if he knows you went near it.”

The phone rings.

“Probably one of the boys. We’ve been trying to get a practice together. Be right back.”

Sunny’s attention returns to the cabinet. He tries the handle, but the cabinet is locked.

Searching a nearby workbench, Sunny finds a set of keys. He tries three different keys and is about to give up when the fourth key turns the lock.

Inside the cabinet is a treasure trove for kids – baseball cards, bubble gum, comic books, and six small Red Sox hats.

An envelope crammed with cash, all of it in singles and fives, sits on the top shelf.

On the bottom shelf are pictures of boys Sunny’s age, some smiling, some looking confused, some undressed and frightened.

Sunny recoils when he sees a picture of Frankie. Frankie is tied up, his perpetual smile eradicated by death.

With his heart threatening to burst through his chest, Sunny turns to run to the house.

He freezes, whimpering, when he sees Willie blocking his path.

“Always askin’ questions, snoopin’ around, just like that cowardly brother of yours!” Willie says, lunging at him.

Picking Sunny up, Willie throws him down on the cold concrete floor. Willie’s hands feel like vises as he clamps them around Sunny’s throat, choking him.

Sunny tries to scream, but his cries are no more than gurgled whispers.

Sunny can feel his strength ebbing, his consciousness fading. He looks up at Willie who is lost in his rage, his nostrils flaring, his teeth grinding together in a rictus of madness.

Looking over Willie’s shoulder, Sunny sees Lucas standing in the doorway. Tears are streaming down his cheeks.

“…Help me…. Dad,” Sunny gasps at him.

Picking up the baseball bat, Lucas brings it down on Willie, smashing at the back of his skull until it’s obliterated, and the smell of blood hangs in the air.

 Lucas hugs Sunny.

“It’s over, son.”

When Sunny opens his eyes, he’s Christoph again.

“So, you altered Sunny’s fate.” Administrator Chao says.

“He was just an innocent child. He didn’t deserve to die any more than my grandfather deserved to live.”

“Before the timeline was altered your father saw your grandfather murder Sunny. He even helped bury him under an apple tree. Your grandfather went on to murder nine more boys before he died. Your father lived with the guilt of what he saw and did, but he lived. Thanks to you and your mother, his life has been tolerable.”

“And now?”

“Your father saved Sunny. Sunny went on to fight in Vietnam and came home as a decorated hero. He taught history, raised a family, and died peacefully in his sleep in 2014. But because he should have died in 1947, the fates of the rest of your family changed.”

“Including my father’s?”

“Yes. Lucas killed his own father in a most violent and horrible manner, and that affected him deeply. Knowing his father was a serial killer tore at him. Despite Sunny’s efforts to look after him, Lucas became depressed and started drinking. He killed himself while Sunny was in Vietnam. In the altered timeline your father and mother never met, and you were never born.”

Christoph looks down at his hands, gasping as they begin to disintegrate, disappearing.

“Knucklehead,” Administrator Chao says.