They called him Oddball. His real name was Roger Bootham. It was a nickname given to him in school, and it seemed to have just stuck. Sometimes it was even spoken by the teachers. A name unwanted by Roger, of course, but if you asked not to be called that, then, well, it stuck for life. Children can be cruel. Children who grow up to be cruel adults.

Now Oddball was twenty-one years of age, studying for a music degree at the town university, and of course, he was called it by the other students.

He had one older brother and an even older sister. One of those sisters who does everything society deems of them in the exact order. Gets a boyfriend at eighteen. Gets a good job as a medical technician with good prospects. Gets married at twenty, moves to London in an elegant house. Gets pregnant with a perfect baby, then climbs the career ladder. The rest of her life mapped out.

His brother Simon was not quite like his sister, but similar. He was at the same university, studying for a degree in civil engineering, although he was finding it more difficult than he realised, and sometimes had wondered just whether his heart was really in it. Still, he pursued. It was he who was responsible for the perpetuation of the name Oddball. If children and adults can be cruel, sometimes brothers can be worse.

Simon didn’t hate Oddball. He simply picked on him as big brothers sometimes tend to do. Going to the same schools and university, two years ahead. Some of the other students picked on poor Oddball because he seemed, well…odd. One of those kids who seemed to stand out as a black sheep. Small and gawky, slightly pale. His clothes one size too big Out of proportion.

There was just something off or odd about Roger.

In most schools throughout history, there was always that one kid who was always a little bit weird, but there was no explanation for it. Nothing to pin down as a reason. The other kids would pick up on it and call him names, weirdo, freak, scruff, but Roger couldn’t really see that he seemed to be the odd one out, because unlike some kids, who are the class oddity, the one who doesn’t make friends, seems to shun the others, likes being alone, barely utters a word to anybody, the kids who ‘want’ to be alone, Oddball was the opposite.

He liked people, wanted to join in, and was talkative. Would talk a lot of waffle, his mouth working faster than his brain. He tried his best to be one of the kids, to be accepted by the others. To be liked. He would go through phases where he would obsess over something and wouldn’t shut up about it.

He was convinced, or had convinced himself, that he could read the minds of animals. He could understand what they were thinking, what they were trying to say, and could communicate telepathically. He told anybody and everybody. So he would be skitted for it, of course, even by adults sometimes, but it simply went over his head, and whilst it was not replaced, it blended into another obsession where he was convinced that the dinosaurs were in fact, put on the earth by aliens, and his evidence was that it can’t be disproved.

‘Think about it right,' he would say, ‘…dinosaurs were brought here by UFOs,’ and then that in turn gave way to his latest topic, the aliens carrying over, because he was telling people he had been abducted by aliens.

‘Guess what happened to me, go on, guess,' but he couldn’t wait, just came out with it. ‘I got abducted. I was asleep, right, and then I was experimented on, look, I’ve got a scar to prove it.' He would show the right side of his skinny ribs, and sure enough, there was a scar, and it kind of looked recent, although it had healed. Roger genuinely couldn’t remember getting it, other than his abduction, where a laser had opened him up on that side. He can’t remember pain, though, just blurry images of figures milling around, almost as though he was on an operating table.

To those he told, and it was many, including tutors, he always received variations of the same answer. You were asleep. It was a dream.

‘No, it wasn’t. I was abducted by aliens and experimented on.' He was exasperated by people’s lack of belief. Not one person took him seriously, in anything. Even his brother Simon and their Mother Shiela, who were talking about Oddball, were exasperated.

“Mum…no, we can’t take Oddball with us to Ibiza.”

“How many times have I told you, stop calling him Oddball, and you can’t not take him with you. You can’t leave him behind. Think how he would feel if you didn’t even ask him”.

“Mum…we’re not bringing him. It’s a lad’s holiday, and he’s not one of us. It’s me, Dozy, Fungus and Boghead. Oddball will only hold us back. He’ll start telling people he was abducted and they’ll run a mile”.

“You can’t leave him behind, that’s not fair. I’ll even pay for him.” Just then, Roger came in from university, and as usual, he headed for the kitchen, where he saw his brother and mother looking at him when he walked in.

“Simon’s got something he wants to ask, haven’t you Simon?” his mother said, and Simon looked dejected, defeated, and sighed exaggeratedly.

“Me and the lads are going to Ibiza next month. Would you like to come?” The words hurt coming out of his mouth, and that was it. They couldn’t go back in.

Oddball’s eyes lit up.

“Ibiza!” he said loudly, “that would be amazing”.

So for the next month, before they were due to fly out, the holiday was the topic of his mostly one-sided conversation, but the topic behind that, of course, was his supposed abduction, which he truly believed had happened to him.

Simon, however, was not a happy bunny, and even his friends, whom he was going with, weren’t too pleased.

“Are we really bringing Oddball?” said Fungus, “he’s just gonna bang on about his stupid theories, and people are gonna wonder why we brought him”.

“How can we get him not to come with us?” Simon asked, his eyes full of hope. Fungus thought for a while and then nodded to himself.

“I think there is one way,” he said, “but it will cost you money. Probably about twenty quid,”

“I’ll pay it,” Simon said quickly, “whatever it is, I’ll pay. I don’t want my stupid brother ruining our holiday”.

“Well,” said Fungus, lowering his voice as they were on a university campus, “one of my dad's mates is a bit dodgy. Small time drugs, that sort of thing. If I can get a little bag of coke, you can plant it on Oddball before the flight, then grass him up to the police, and bingo, Oddball’s going nowhere”.

Simon just stared at Fungus for a few moments, then handed him thirty pounds in cash.

After a day or so, Simon had his little bag of cocaine and then felt guilty about what he was going to do.

Would it be so bad really if Oddball came to Ibiza? Would he really bore people to tears with his theories?

The instant answer to Simon was yes. Yes, he would. He cannot come with us.

So he saw Oddball on campus, chatting to someone by a statue of an old professor who helped establish the university, and they actually didn’t look like they wanted to head for the hills. The person actually looked interested in what Oddball was saying as they walked slowly along. There was also a tutor sitting beneath a tree on a bench with his packed lunch. One of those trendy tutors. Cream suit. Thinks he’s one of the students

Oddball was engrossed in his conversation, and his slow walk would take him past the tutor in about a minute.

A wave of apprehension and more guilt came over Simon, but he decided it was now or never. Miss this opportunity, and Oddball was coming to Ibiza.

So, with the small bag of cocaine hidden in his hand, he approached the tutor as Oddball was coming into earshot.

“Sir, did you know that Oddball has been taking cocaine. I didn’t think that was allowed”.

Oddball and his colleague stopped. Simon walked across to his brother, shoving his hand into Oddball’s coat pocket and taking out the cocaine bag, emphatically showing it to the tutor, who simply gawked at them, mouth full of banana sandwich.

“Didn’t know you were into drugs, Oddball. Wait till mum finds out, and, oh no…that means you won’t be going to Ibiza with us, doesn’t it?” The tutor got his bearings, put on his professional face and approached a confused Oddball.

That evening, Oddball was in a cell at the nearest police station. Normally, he would have been given a caution and told to not leave the area as they may want further questions. Either way, he was not going on holiday, because in the early hours of the morning, at a 4 am flight, his brother and friends would be flying to Ibiza. He couldn’t have gone even if he had been let out. His passport confiscated.

However, as it was evening, and the police station had reduced its staff, Oddball was told he would have to spend the night in the cell. He could go home in the morning.

So, in a foetal position on the bed, Oddball stared at nothing, knowing why his brother had done it, and his mind raced that night, even knowing that Simon would be up in the air now, swanning off to Ibiza, and here was poor little Oddball, trapped in a cell.

He almost cried that night, but before the tears could come, he finally fell asleep.

In the morning, the desk sergeant did his morning routine of checking the occupied cells by opening the hatches to check on the occupants.

Two drunkards were out for the count, having been arrested fighting and separated into different cells, spending hours shouting across at each other until they both passed out. They only showed signs of life because one was snoring, and the other had a guttural wheezing coming from his dribbling mouth.

One dour-faced man in another cell was pressed into a corner, his arms folded tightly, staring at the wall. Or staring through it. One of those bitter at being caught barely uttered a word, and whenever asked anything whatsoever would always answer ‘No comment’

What’s your name? No comment. Would you like a drink of water? No comment. Are you bitter at being caught because you’re a bone-headed idiot? No comment.

However, when he checked in on Oddball.

He was gone.

Elsewhere, Oddball was slowly rousing awake, his vision blurry, feeling like he was waking from a coma, or years of sleep.

He was in a bright room, and there was blurred movement over him, and voices.

When his vision cleared, he looked up and remembered.

He had been here before.

Aliens, he thought. I’m abducted again.

They looked human, but their eyes were white and none had any hair. Two males and a female.

It seemed like he was in a dentist’s chair, as they were all dressed similarly in deep red uniform

Two were conversing near a door, and another was searching through equipment.

One of them noticed Oddball was awake and approached, the female, who really did look uncannily human.

“Hi,” she said, “you’re awake”. Oddball just stared wide-eyed for a few moments before uttering the word: ‘Aliens’.

The woman smiled and looked back at her colleague.

“Thinks we’re aliens,” she said, then looked back at Oddball, shaking her head.

“No, we’re not aliens. We are evolved humans, 2.4 billion years in the future of your time. We have finally cracked time travel, but it’s still early yet. We can reach back into the past and bring you, or anyone here. Made easier by the crystal we implanted inside you last time, so you can go back and forth”. Oddball tried to process this, a rare time he was quiet and couldn’t think of anything to say. She continued:

“Evolution slowed down, or didn’t have much reason to change, which is why we still very much look the same as you. No reason to evolve much”.

“What’s it like out there?” Oddball finally asked, gesturing outside.

“Unique, even a little odd,” she said with a wry smile. Oddball thought for a while, then nodded to himself.

“So I can travel back and forth anytime I like because of this crystal implant,” she nodded.

“Alright, please do me a favour. Remove the implant. I want to stay here”.

“Okay”.