Through the Storm

Chapter Eight

Hours later, I was right back in my spot by the tree, writing down everything I could manage. It was a desperate attempt to stay connected, grounded to reality. Plus, this way there'd be a written explanation of my recent adventures for Kevin or the future Kevin, if someone found me laying dead somewhere.

Sunday, September 9, 2007,
6:30 p.m

In the last forty-eight hours, I've made seventeen attempts to get back (or forward, actually) to October 30, 2009, and they all failed. The second attempt threw me back to February of 2006, outside in the middle of a snow shower. I nearly froze my ass off.
Everything is jumbled in my head. Sometimes I feel alive, and other times I'm convinced this is some freakish purgatory. There's too many dates to remember, too many times. Do I even exist anywhere? Am I actually someone if I don't have a home base?

With all the attempts, I ended up in some random past date. Then I came back here. As if there's nothing in the future. Like, September 9, 2007, is THE END OF THE WORLD. Right now, I'm so exhausted I can't even think about time travel. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a few moments...

"Hey, kid. Get up."
Someone shook my shoulders, then jabbed a finger into my chest.
I sprang up from my spot in the grass and nearly plowed into the two police officers standing in front of me. The sun had completely set while I slept.

"You can't sleep here," one of the officers said.
"Sorry." I snatched my black bag off the grass before shuffling towards the sidewalk.

I wanted to throw the stupid bag in the Hudson. It felt symbolic of my selfishness. My stomach twisted in knots again. This was my punishment for ducking out.
For leaving Mitch there to die. I pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes and forced myself to focus.
Stay sane.

Curling up into a ball of grief two years in the past wouldn't get me a step closer to saving Mitch. Or figuring out what the hell was going on with my dad and that weird trip back to 2003.

I crossed the street and walked into a diner. Every step was agonizing. Something must have happened, to drag me this far into a state of complete exhaustion. And pain. Like knives poking me all over.

Food. I needed sustenance of some kind to keep me going, even though eating was the very last thing I wanted to do right now. This was like a bad case of the flu, the feverish, delusional state my mind was in. A mix of physical and emotional, and I didn't know what dominated.

"Is it just one?" the hostess asked.
I nodded and followed her to a table near the door. I ran through the nightmare again in my mind. Not the craziness that followed leaving 2009, but the event just before. That was my nightmare and it was still crystal clear.

Who were those two men in Mitch's room? Why were they asking about my dad? About government people approaching me? That's him, one of them had said. And how could they have somehow known what I can do?

"Can I get you something to drink?" the waitress asked.
"Coffee, please. Oh, and where is your restroom?"
She pointed to my left.

I stumbled into the bathroom, leaned my head against the wall, and closed my eyes.

Please let it work this time.