UNKNOWN GUEST

#3 A Shelter

After a minute of silence, Clint broke it with a question. "Shouldn't we try calling your parents?"

No need. I shook my head. "Not like they're dying in concern." He raised an eyebrow. I had to explain with another cover," Well, they were never around, always busy, since years." 

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Really? That busy to not be around you for years? What do they do?"

Why should I say? What job do my parents have? "Similar to what you do, I guess?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Don't tell me they... are they from the CIA?"

He slammed on the brakes, his face serious. "Hey, kid, are you here to trick me or something?"

You already have been tricked, my uncle. I shook my head. "No, Mr. Hawkeye. I'm not a spy. I'm only 17. I don't care what you guys are doing."

He seemed a bit relieved. Let's have some fun, shall we? I smirked. "And, I'm not gonna tell anyone that you're married."

Uncle Clint narrowed his eyes at me. Hold your horses, boy. What should I cover this up with? I nodded at his ring, and he seemed to relax a bit as he understood the signal. Then he asked, with curiosity creeping into his tone, "So, I assume you don't like your parents much?"

"No." I shook my head, feeling a pang of honesty. "I love them. It's just... they don't love me much."

He scoffed at my comment, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "It's impossible, Jason. There is no parent who doesn't love their child. I'm sure they have their reasons for not being around much."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Now he seemed like the Uncle Clint I was used to. In my world, he would always cover up with these assurances—that mom and dad were busy, they had their reasons, they loved me, and blah blah blah.

He resumed driving, the road ahead dimly lit by the car's headlights. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again, "Okay. I'm taking a risk by letting you know about my family. Utter a single word about it to anyone and you'll—"

I completed his warning, trying to lighten the mood. "Have your arrow in my skull. Understood."

He huffed again, a mix of amusement and irritation. "Smart kid."

I looked at Uncle Clint and asked, "By the way, Mr. Hawkeye, what date is it today?"

He glanced at me like I was some crazy idiot, which I probably seemed like. He sighed, looking ahead as he continued driving, "8th March."

No, I needed the bigger picture! He would definitely think I was some alien or something if I asked what year it was directly. I had to come up with another strategy. "You should always reply fully if someone asks you the date. Suppose if someone asks me what time it is, I would say, 'a quarter past 9,' not just 'a quarter.'"

He sighed again, but it worked. "Alright. It's 8th March 2012."

Oh sh*t! Language, but I didn't care. It's 2012. That means I'm thirty years behind my time. Dad wasn't even awake in this time; he would wake up from his icy sleep after a few months. And Mom, God knows what she was doing right now.

I tried to keep my composure, but my mind was racing. What was I supposed to do here, in this time? How could I blend in without revealing too much?

The car pulled over towards a dusty driveway and stopped in front of a cottage, a beautiful one with ivy crawling up its sides and a warm light glowing from inside. Uncle Clint stepped out, and I followed suit. He ran around to the trunk to grab his bag, but as he did, he hissed in pain, wincing slightly.

He met my eyes and forced a smile. "A small cut on my shoulder."

Yeah, if Aunt Laura sees it, he's going to have a hard time. I nodded and blurted out, "Wish we had a regen patch, it would have healed in minutes—"

Uncle Clint narrowed his eyes at me. "What patch?"

Oh, hell no. Regen patches were invented in 2036! What should I say? I stuttered, "I, uh... mean, first aid patch? I think your wife will be worried."

He kept his eyes on me, his suspicion growing. "You're a strange kid. Asked me the date, now saying some patch."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, stay the night, don't cause any trouble, and get out of here next morning."

That's mean, but I can't complain. I nodded. "Understood."

He headed towards the entrance, and I followed him quietly. The cottage was quaint and cozy, with a wrap-around porch and a swing that creaked softly in the breeze. The wooden steps groaned under our weight as we climbed them, and the door opened with a welcoming creak.

I looked around the living room as we stepped in, the room was empty, probably because Aunt Laura had already gone to bed. Before walking away, Uncle Clint turned to me, "You need a change of clothes, kid?"

I nodded, "That would be too kind."

He rolled his eyes and walked further inside down the hallway. In a minute, he came back with a pair of sweatshirts and threw them towards me. I caught them and mumbled, "Thank you so much."

He murmured before walking into the bedroom, "The couch is all yours." Then he disappeared, leaving me alone, standing in Uncle Clint's house—a place I had visited millions of times in my own time in the future. Now, it felt weird and surreal.

My eyes landed on a photo frame above the TV set. In that photo, there were Uncle Clint and Aunt Laura, smiling warmly. A little girl and a boy were sitting on Aunt Laura's lap. Lila and Cooper. Both were almost 10 years older than me in the future, but now, it seemed like I was the older one here.

I stepped closer to the photo, examining their younger faces. It was strange to see them like this—innocent and untouched by the hardships that I knew they would eventually face. The living room itself was cozy and inviting, a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside.

I sighed, feeling a pang of homesickness. Not for my own home, but for the familiarity of the people I knew in my time. Seeing Uncle Clint and his family like this, so unburdened by the future, was both comforting and disconcerting.

I changed into the sweatshirts he had given me and folded my own clothes neatly. As I settled onto the couch, I couldn't help but think about how different everything was. This place, these people—they were a lifeline in the chaotic world I came from. Here, they were just starting out, oblivious to the trials ahead.

The room was quiet, the only sound being the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened. The weight of the mission I was on, the necessity of keeping my true identity a secret, and the surreal experience of being in the past all pressed down on me.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and my eyelids grew heavy. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, a visitor in a world that wasn't quite ready for me. But for now, I was safe, and that was enough.