The Titan Code

4. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

SINCE my brush with possible death I certainly changed my attitude. I went over to see my parents and even stayed the night in my old bedroom. It felt good to be around others. A few odd neighbours and acquaintances popped in to say hello and for the first time in many years, I felt sociable and included, as if my Gift was just a footnote in my story.

It still sucked having to continue my lies, in no small part because my Mum kept trying to ply me with iron-rich foods, as if I want a side of spinach with every meal, but I know she means well and is happy to have me here despite the years of neglect on my part.

I've even revived a sort of regular text conversation with one of my old school friends which certainly feels like it's heading towards an actual, real catch-up.

I decided to set up my phone to film myself because being in the presence of people prevents me from travelling and I was curious if anything else did, but apparently any sort of recording device does the same thing. So I braved the devastating migraine to get a few days of relief from having to travel anywhere, even though I had to miss a day of work from the crippling pain. It was worth it to be able to stay at home safe and not be in the middle of a minefield.

The thing about real life is that it's relentless. I'd love nothing more than to give up work to really understand myself and visit every lunatic conspiracy theorist who has ever blogged about something vaguely similar to my situation. I'd love to stay in bed after a horrible run of journeys and write poetry about my emptiness but I can't. I have bills to pay; I'm terrible at poetry and what good does it do feeling sorry for myself? All it does is make me feel even more crap and I must accept that I have no answers for my Gift, and I probably won't ever know. I'm an ordinary person trapped in an impossible situation which still sounds crazy even to me.

Since my bad run of outings it seemed to calm down for a while; I only travelled every few days and I went to places where the threat of death was pretty low, so I count that as a win. Work's been standard and I might be closing in on that coffee date with my old friend, so props to me.

I head to bed with my usual get-up looped through my arms and try to remember what it was like to sleep without a bag strapped to my chest. I actually start laughing as I catch sight of myself in the mirror: I look like the Michelin Man dressed up for cat-burgling after an overnight camping trip and for the first time I'm so glad nobody has to see me like this.

I fall asleep fairly quickly but it's not long before I wake up with that familiar tug around my middle as I am again about to be transported magically to another place. My bedroom begins to fade from view as the blackness covers my eyes. When I begin to register a new scene I notice it's somewhere very dark itself and I can't recognise anything immediately.

But something's different.

As I fade in to this new place I can see the outline of a person in front of me, but they're not a solid body. They are unusually shadowy and seem to be reforming at a slightly different rate to me. It can't be, surely...

Is someone travelling in front of me?

*

I can't wrap my head around it and I'm full of worry, fear, excitement and probably ten other emotions I can't fathom yet. I think it's a man and I think he's noticed me also.

Have I really just met another?

As my body fully forms and I feel the cold air around me I take a step forward. He turns fully to me and I can see clouds of frozen breath come from his mouth. My eyes are adjusting slightly to the limited moonlight and I can see he's in joggers and a t-shirt and he is tall.

"Did... did you just... travel?" I say in a whisper, feeling too anxious to register anything else. He inclines his head.

"Yes," he says simply, hands stuffed in pockets. It seems as though he's processing it all, too, and doesn't know what to ask next.