Through the Storm

Chapter Ten

My eyes flew open and I watched three drops of blood fall into the porcelain sink. A hand reached out and stuck a paper towel right under my nose. The bloody nose was yet another piece of evidence that this exact moment in time was my new present. My new home base.

But something was different. I had been alone in the restroom when I left. If I knew Kevin's formula, I'd be able to figure out exactly how long is been leaning against the wall in this bathroom, looking like a vegetable.

"Here you go, son. You should pinch the nostrils," a deep voice spoke right into my ear.

A tall, dark-skinned bald man stood beside me.

"Thank you," I said, and for a second he looked at me like maybe he recognized me, but everything was jumbling together and he was gone before I could think twice about it.

My nose only bled for a minute, and after washing my hands I left the restroom.

The waitress set my coffee on the table. The same waitress who had greeted me before I went into the restroom. Damn. Same place. Same time.

She smiled as I slid into the booth. "Ready to order?"
I pointed to the first item on the left side of the menu, not even caring what it was. "I'll have that."

"Grilled salmon with seasonal vegetables?"

I shrugged and then nodded. Just as she started to turn away, I remembered something.

"Wait! I forgot to ask...do you have a copy of today's paper?"
It was pointless, but I had to check.

"Of course, I'll be right back with that."

I tapped my fingers on the table, waiting for the answer I already knew. She dropped the paper in front of me and I groaned as I read the top. September. 2007.

Always the same. Eighteen times now. It was eight-thirty at night.

A couple of minutes had passed, but that was all. I'd been in the past for the longest stretch yet.

"Is everything okay?" the waitress asked.
"Sorry, I'm just disappointed the final performance of..."--I glanced down at the headlines--"Annie is canceled. Love that song, 'It's the Hard-Knock Life.'"

The waitress twisted a loose strand of hair around her finger and shifted for weight.
"Yeah...uh...your dinner should be ready in a few minutes."

I pulled my journal from my bag because Kevin's voice rang through my head again. This used to be fun. Like an adventure. But with each failed attempt to save Mitch, Kevin's words began to take on a much deeper meaning.

"You have to document everything, down to the minute."
"Why?"
"First of all, so you know how old you really are. Second, so you know if you changed anything. And third, in case you forget."

I didn't change anything. Ever. But I still recorded it all, using Kevin Olusola's heinous format. I laughed out loud the first time he wrote it out, casually, like it was a packing list for a summer camp.

But the thing is, most of this stuff didn't ever apply to my previous record of a two-day jump. That's why I never took it seriously.
Now I did.

TIME-TRAVEL PRIORITY CHEKLIST

STEP 1: IDENTIFY CURRENT DAY/TIME:
September 9, 2007, 8:30 p.m.

STEP 2: MINUTES PASSED IN PREVIOUS TIME:
(July 1, 2004)
165 minutes

STEP 3: IDENTIFY AGE, IN THIS YEAR, OF SFF
(Self, friends, family).
Scott Hoying (the younger me): 17 years old.
Rick Hoying: 42 years old
Kevin Olusola: 16 years old
Mitch Grassi: 17 years old
Courtney Hoying: deceased