On The Count of Three

part 3

Tristan worked in silence, and Twila tried hard not to disturb him. But he worked with such confidence, it was hypnotising. The chiller box weren't what she had expected. The simplicity of the aluminium foil, the thermoelectric device and what Tristan called a space blanket, seemed almost impossible.

How did he know these things? Who had taught him? Twila wondered what he might be thinking of her. Did he want to know about the scar on her cheek? Had he deduced that she was all alone? Shaking her head, she decided not to follow that train of thought.

"Will it work?" she whispered. He glanced at her and gave her a small smile.

"It's not perfect, but it should be able to get you into that school." Tristan flicked a switch, and Twila held her breath as the low hum of electricity came from the device.

"What now?" she asked.

"Now..." he said. "We wait. And while we wait, you can help me figure out a way to get back home. I'm not sure how you managed to call me here, but I am pretty sure this isn't the time I belong in."

"What do you mean?" She frowned.

He scratched his head, ruffling his hair in a way that Twila found kind of cute. Surprised at the unintentional admission, she quickly abandoned those thoughts and fought to concentrate on what Tristan was saying.

"... think you accidentally breached some kind of barrier into the future—or even another

universe—when you tried to reach the spiritual plane." He shrugged. "I'm not sure how you did it, but I know this is no part of London I've ever been to." As he spoke, he leaned against her workbench and crossed his arms.

"How do you know?"

"Sorry, what?" He tilted his head slightly to the side.

"How do you know that you've never been here before? You haven't stepped outside."

Tristan averted his eyes. "I scouted the place while you were freshening up."

At his words, Twila could almost feel her face turn pale. He had scouted, snooped, in her home. "W-what..." She coughed lightly, trying to get rid of the lump that was gradually forming in her throat. "Where did you go?"

He avoided looking at her. That wasn't her imagination; Tristan didn't want to meet her eyes. The panic inside her slowly subsided, replaced with hurt.

"I'll find a way to send you back," she said. Her voice was monotone, void of any warmth. Turning on her heels, she walked out of the work room, leaving Tristan behind.

"Twila..." he called, but she ignored him.

She headed straight for her room to plump down on her bed. Exhaustion took over, and she felt her eyelids getting heavy. A shuffling of feet could be heard from the hallway, and Twila imagined Tristan waiting outside her door.

Part of her wished that he would come inside. She squashed those thoughts right away. Even though she craved the comfort of another human being, she knew that it would only hurt so much more when he left her.

With that thought, she stared into the wall as the light faded with the sunset.