NINE TIME MACHINES: Do you want to undo your entire life on planet earth?

CHAPTER 10

The church bell wakes me on Sunday morning. It's my daily unsolicited reminder that Ebony is still lying in her grave, the well-maintained and most prominent plot among her latest admirers, paid for by Father Paul because there was nothing left after the theft, not even for her daughter who needed it most. She's been lying there since September 19th 2014, four years after we moved to Leer Island, from where I can't seem to remember, and mere days before my eighteenth birthday when she was supposed to finally tell me about my father.

Yes, somewhere out there is a man who might be my last hope for survival but he doesn't know I am his. I sigh heavily and grab the piece of paper that Hazel cut out from the office newspaper. It's a three-day prayer that I tried once before with no results. Hazel said it was because I did it wrong then convinced me to try again. And that's the reason I'm spending what's left of my money on what some might call frivolous things. I borrow three candles – red, white and black – from my cupboard and arrange them on the black metal stand to begin.

"My God is real. I am a child of the light. He will remove me from this rotten place."

I light the three candles and repeat the same words ninety-nine times. Afterward, I curl up on the floor covered in nothing but the usual tears, thinking that I'm not supposed to be here, held prisoner by this narrow spring bed and tattered walls. Am I not cut from good cloth, the daughter of a famed daughter? I stare at the candles' flames, the black one sputtering fiercely, the white tall and proud, and the red indecisive. Why am I even doing this again when it didn't work the last time? Am I simply a glutton for punishment? I lunge in their direction and blow them out in a fit of rage; then throw them off the metal stand.

"Stop lying to yourself!" Then I take a deep breath. "No one's coming to save you this time."

My chest heaves up and down, throat tightens and fingers tense up. A draft blows through the window and quickly becomes an icy blanket. I grab the worn spread off the bed. Those bitter winds were the first thing to greet me when I made the switch. How did I ever land the top floor where the elite lived again? Oh, yes! I remember now. The bank job.

It was the first time since moving in that the matron was ever impressed with me. But it lasted all of five months, just long enough to clear my debts and save a tidy sum. That too dwindled as the weeks passed. Now the bills have risen again, to the point where Matron Caine keeps dropping hints. And now no more hints, just action. It was only a matter of time anyway. Who knows? But maybe if I come up with a good plan I can still save myself? Perhaps even one that involves moving back down to the ground floor, converting the coins beneath my bed to help with my bills and stretching this wilted life out for as long as humanly possible.