Fields of Blood

4

For a long time, I sit in stunned silence, just staring at the computer screen. I sit there for so long it's four a.m. when I next check the clock. I have to be up in an hour. No point sleeping now, I think, and copy out the email. It looks worse in my untidy handwriting, luckily. If anyone else were to see this... I don't know. Something bad would happen.

When I've finished, I close the laptop and re-read the paper, checking.

I was sixteen years old, living in Yorkshire. Probably on the very farm - or nearby - that you yourself are living on. I woke up early one morning - much earlier than usual, about five a.m. It was light, oddly, and I looked at the hills as I did every morning. Instead of the usual deep green I was normally greeted with, they were red. I could see what I thought were bodies on the grass, and the sun glinted off metal scattered around. Weapons, probably, or armor. I wasn't stupid enough to go up to try and check. I moved away as soon as I could, which meant crashing with a friend in London for a while until I got a job. But that's not my point. As you said, your sister was the same age. What happened to her was a form of time-travel. Search enough and you'll see a pattern in our family history. She - and I - existed in two timelines at once. It's supposed to be impossible, and as it is only happens in very specific locations, and only when you're of age. In our case, it happened to be sixteen, but it can be younger or older than that, depending on the person. Usually, it's somewhere between fifteen and nineteen. When you've travelled once it is possible to control it. I don't know how, I try to avoid it as much as possible. I was nearly shot down after a jump to World War Two and I've never tried again. I suggest you do the same, if it happens to you. Don't research further. Leave it be. The world can be a very scary place, Samuel, and you'll only regret it if you delve into the darkness. 

It's all there. I almost didn't believe him the first time I read it. It sounds insane - but the one piece of advice my father ever gave me was, "If it's insane, it's probably true. The lies always, always, sound more plausible than the truth." Which is why I have to try. Maybe I can travel back further than Vic did and stop whoever killed her. Or at the very least, I can avenge her death even if I can't stop it. 

This thought brings the first smile in months onto my face, and it feels like a weight has disappeared from my shoulders. For the first time in three years, I have a plan. So when Grandad calls "Sam!" not ten minutes later, I practically bound downstairs and outside, the stupid smile still plastered to my face. He looks taken aback but doesn't mention it; and neither does he mention getting over Vic. Grandma doesn't say a word either, and I'm grateful. I have no explanation except the truth for why I'm so happy, and I sure as hell ain't telling them that. 

*** 

Later that day, I'm so exhausted I fall asleep in front of the TV. I wake up next morning on the sofa to Grandad coming in from milking, my muscles stiff. I stretch and stand, walking into the kitchen to see Grandma making pancakes. For a second I wonder why she smiles happily at me instead of sympathetically, then I remember my huge smile from the day before. I grin nervously at her and slip past, up the stairs for a shower. 

I trudge downstairs again, plastering a grin onto my face. I'm suddenly exhausted, physically and emotionally. I just want things to be back to the way before. I guess I'm not great with loss, but I miss her. I also miss not having to get up for the milking. Still. If I'm lucky, I can fix it. 

With that thought, I wander outside to help the last few people with the straw - and stop dead in my tracks.