Through the Storm

Chapter Six

My eyes were still closed when I breathed in the smell of a lemon-scented furniture polish.
No rain, so sound of people...or trucks ready to crush my legs. Finally I looked around and immediately knew where I was.
My dad's office.

Through the clear glass windows surrounding the large corner office, I could see the traffic on Fifth Avenue. It was either morning or evening. And a weekday, most likely. Kevin had always warned me about my lack of direction during a time jump.
"Who knows where the hell you'll end up?" He had said.

I shook the thought from my head, reminding myself of the next important task: to find out the current day and time of this location. So I walked over the the computer and turned on the monitor. It was locked up, requiring a fingerprint scan to gain access.

The phone next to the keyboard had numbers on the tiny screen. Just as I leaned closer to look at them, beeping sounds rang from outside the door. Like a code box to a garage or something. I couldn't remember my dad's office ever having a code to get in. The whole building was secure.

Unless this was the future? What if I went behind October 30, 2009?

I didn't have time to think about that last question because it suddenly occurred to me that if this door opened and dad or someone came in, there was a chance they'd freak after seeing a version of me that shouldn't be here. On this day. Or this year. Whatever year that was.

I stepped into the coat closet to the left of the desk just as the door opened. Footsteps echoed across the floor and suddenly an arm was thrust right past my face. I pressed my back against the side of the closet, holding my breath, and watched dad hang up his long winter coat.
Clue number one: It's cold outside.

I could eliminate a few months. The door swung shut, but not completely. A tiny filter of sunlight streamed through, enough enough so I could see dad shuffling around his desk.
A loud buzz sounded through the silent office and I nearly had a heart attack, thinking someone must know I was here.

"Yes?" Dad answered.
It was the phone. Duh.
"Everything went as planned," a mans voice boomed from the slightly muffled speaker.
"Full report, please, Agent Freeman."
Agent?
It sounded like whoever was on the other end of the line snorted.
Then dad said, "Now!"
"Alright, alright, sorry. The two subjects, one male, one female, arrived at the scheduled destination unharmed."

"I don't think you understand the definition of a full report, Agent Freeman. Should I dock points from your training exam?" Dad said in a threatening tone.

"Fine. Thunder walked with the usual friends and arrived in time for jazz band rehearsal at seven-oh-two a.m. And lightening arrived at the scheduled location at exactly seven-fifty-eight a.m. Two minutes before the bell for homeroom. It would have been earlier, but she felt the need to stop for hot chocolate."

He was talking about Courtney and me.
Courtney. Who died April 15, 2005.
But thunder and lightening? Code names?
I couldn't write it down. Not here. So I closed my eyes, pressed my back more firmly against the closet wall, and forced myself to repeat the facts over and over.

I'm in a year before 2005. Apparently some kind of agent followed us to school and reported back to dad.

Yeah, I'll admit he's a pretty high-profile guy, being the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company. But having us followed by PI's or whatever the dude on the phone was seemed a bit extreme.

"She'll walked alone?" Dad asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Yes, sir."
I could hear dad pacing the floor now. "What about the girl two floors up? Peyton."

"I heard a source say she has the flu."
"And you didn't feel the need to give me this information? Had I known, I would have accompanied--"
"I've done six months of life-threatening missions for the CIA, in the middle of the desert. I can handle a couple of twelve-year-olds walking to school."

There was a pinch of annoyance in his voice.
The CIA followed us to school? Or maybe a retired or ex-CIA agent dad had hired had followed us to school?

Dad sighed. "My apologies. And thank you for the report. This is my first time not tailing them myself. I didn't realize handing over the job would be so hard for me."

What?!

"Stop worrying. You've got half the fucking CIA on constant watch. Those kids couldn't be more safe if you rolled them around in a bulletproof bubble."

"Agent Freeman, I wouldn't take any situation lightly. Even walking a couple kids to school. And you understand my most important policy?"

"Never interfere except when no other option exists," Agent Freeman recited. "I watched Thunder and a couple of friends drop eggs from his window onto that Russian man's car the other idea. Didn't breath a word."

Dad chuckled. "That was two days ago, right?"

"Yes, sir. January eleventh."

January 11. And I was twelve. Well...not me, the other me. The other me was twelve. I did a quick calculation in my head, concluding that it was January 13, 2003.
2003? Holy shit!

"I'll take care of it. For the record, that Russian guy is and asshole, but I certainly don't condone dropping objects from windows twenty floors up. Especially considering the fact it's illegal in New York. That's all I needed. I'll expect an hourly update."

I didn't even hear dad's feet move or any kind of sound to indicate he was approaching, but with one swift motion the door flew open, a hand clapped over my mouth, and he pulled me from the closet by the front of my shirt.
A second later, dad shoved me against a wall, pinning his forearm against my throat. He leaned his weight forward, leaving me with no escape.
Actually, I had a great escape. Time travel. But seeing my dad's face, smooth and confident, nearly seven years younger, it wasn't exactly easy to focus on jumping out of this year.

"You're younger than the others," he stated flatly. "How the hell did you get in here?"

What others?

His forearm still pressed against my throat and I couldn't breathe, much less answer him. Right now I was nearly seven years older than the kid he probably had breakfast with this morning. It made sense he wouldn't recognize me.

The calm expression remained plastered on his face, but his eyes were flickered with anger. Maybe even hatred. It sent a chill down my spine to see my dad look at me that way.

"How do you want to do this?" He asked. "Gun? Poison? Lethal injection?"
I was literally frozen with fear. He eased his forearm of my throat, only to grip it tightly with his fingers.
"Or I could kill you with my hands," he added.

I could almost feel the blood vessels bursting in my eyes. On the verge of a blackout, my vision was narrowing to a small window, just large enough to see his face. I didn't know if he could kill me while in a time jump or not, but the threat alone was a good enough reason to jump out of 2003. So I just left without even saying a word to my dad. A man who apparently possessed the ability to kill someone with his bare hands.

Who. The. Hell. Was. He?