The Time Mage

Chapter 1: The Truth

Cold. That's what I was. I was very cold. I felt my arms hugging my legs to my chest, but when I reached down and tried to pull my bedcovers up higher, my hands only grasped air. I opened my eyes and looked around, but the room was pitch black. I blinked a few times in hopes of getting my eyes adjusted to the dark, but it was a fruitless attempt. I reached in the direction of my nightstand and felt around until I found my phone. Using the soft glow from it's screen, I looked around once more and found my blankets laying on the floor near the base of my bed. 

Slowly, I slid off my mattress. I grabbed my sheet and comforter and threw them on my bed, using my hands to smooth them out as best as I could. I was about to get back in bed when I heard voices coming from the next room. I went to the door and listened. 

"Shhhh, talk quietly. We don't want to wake her."

"We're not going to wake her. It's the middle of the night. She's fast asleep right now."

There were two voices, aa man's and  a woman's, and I recognized them immediately as my parents. I could tell by their voices that they were worried about something. 

"They'll be here in less than 24 hours. We need to get moving."

"Margot, I don't know how much longer we can keep this from her."

"Not yet Ben. I'm not ready to tell her yet. She's our daughter!"

"You know very well that she is not our daughter, and I think it's time she found out!"

Those words echoed in my head. I wasn't their daughter. How could that be possible? If I wasn't their daughter, then whose daughter was I? 

I didn't hear the rest of their conversation.  My mind became hazy, and I faintly remember turning the door knob and opening the door. 

They turned, and I could tell by their eyes that they were surprised to see me awake. My father let out a deep, long sigh. 

"How much did you hear?" he asked, but I could tell that he already knew I had heard the worst of it. 

"A lot," I replied, my voice cracking. 

"Emmaline," my father said softly, "your mother and I need to talk to you, and you need to listen. Your very life may depend on it."

*   *   *

They brought me into the kitchen, and we sat down. My dad sat across from me while my mom sat next to me. She was stroking my bushy, brown hair. I was wearing the red and white flannel pajama pants a friend had gotten me for my 17th birthday. I also had on my high school field hockey shirt from our senior day, which had taken place a week prior. My parents were still wearing the same clothes they had worn during the day, showing that they had not yet gone to bed. 

We sat in silence for a couple seconds. We probably would have continued sitting in silence for a full minute if I hadn't spoken up and asked, "Who are my real parents?"

I felt my mom (or the woman I had thought was my mom) flinch beside me, as if my words had physically hit her. She made a strange croaking sound as though she was trying to speak, but the words were stuck in her throat. I finally glanced in her direction, and noticed that she was crying. Her tear streaked face made my heart hurt. Even if she wasn't my mother, I had still spent almost seventeen years loving her, and I didn't like seeing her this way. 

The longer I stared at her, the more I was reminded of how little I resembled her. She had straight, fine blonde hair, while my dad's hair used to be cherry blonde and now looked more sandy. Both of my parents have brown eyes, while mine are blue. People had always mentioned how different I looked, but my mom had always told me I looked just like my great grandmother had. 

My attention was drawn back to my dad as he spoke. "We aren't really sure who your parents are."

"Not sure? What do you mean you're not sure?" I asked, trying my best not to raise my voice. I just wanted to go back to bed and pretend none of this had ever happened. 

"Emmaline, please, just listen. We have a lot to explain," my mom said in a pleading voice. I shut my mouth and prepared myself for whatever explanation I was about to hear. 

"The person we believe to be your mother gave you to us. She had rung the doorbell, and when we opened the door, a basket was handed to us. You were inside. You were about two months old." My dad paused. His eyes looked far away, and I could only imagine what he was remembering so clearly. "She didn't say anything, and we were so shocked that we weren't sure what to say, either. She placed an envelope in the basket before she turned and ran away."

There was a moment of silence, and for a second, I thought the story was over. Then my mom started to talk. 

"Inside the envelope was a letter. Written on it was your birthday, October 17th, and your full name, Emmaline Jera Turner. It also had some..." She paused and made a face, as if she was trying to think of the right words. Then she continued, "It contained some instructions, specifically regarding your 17th birthday."

"Instructions?" I asked, unable to grasp an understanding of what she meant.

"Taped to the envelope was a ring, much too big for your tiny fingers at the time, but the letter told us to hide it and keep it safe until your 17th birthday. On your birthday we are supposed to give it to you."

I glanced at the oven clock, it read 2:47 in the morning. My parents followed my eyes, and my dad nodded his head, showing that he understood what I was thinking. 

"I'll go get it," he said, standing and moving to exit the kitchen. He stopped in the door way and turned to my mom. "Honey, go ahead and explain the rest of the letter. You know, the dates."

"Dates?" I asked. "What dates?"

"Well..." My mom began hesitantly. "Do you remember your thirteenth birthday?" I nodded in response. "Do you remember how we had to call the police because there was a group of people that were surrounding and watching our house? It happened again a week after your fifteenth birthday, too." I continued nodding my head. "The dates that those events happened on were written down on that letter. There  were only three dates written down, and the last one is today's date. Your birthday."

She stopped talking as my dad reentered the room, carrying a small, black felt box. He placed it on the table in front of me. I picked it up and opened it, peering in curiously as the gold banded ring. It had two, triangular cut opals with one of the tips of the triangles touching, creating an hourglass shape. It didn't look peculiar in any way, and opals were a common gift for me since it was my birth stone. I put it on, half expecting the ring to start glowing or for me to feel power course through my veins, but nothing happened. 

"Okay..." I said, looking back up at my parents, "so today the house will be surrounded and we'll need to call the police just like the last two times, and then we'll never have to worry about it again."

I watched my parents faces, waiting for a smile or sigh of relief as they realized I was right and their was nothing to worry about. Instead, they both turned towards each other, staring into one anothers eyes for what felt like an eternity. I would've sworn they were communicating telepathically. After a while, my dad turned and looked at me with a very serious expression.

"There were two things that were distinctly different between tomorrow's date and the other two dates. The first difference was that there was the time '6:30' written next to tomorrow's date. the second difference was the underlined and bolded word near the last date that said RUN."