Slipping Into The Future

Chapter 5

"Hamilton?"

Alexander startles at the sound of his name being called; he is dragged out of a strange haze. He blinks, staring at General Washington with his lips pulled into a crooked frown.

"My apologies, sir," Hamilton replies meekly. He salutes General Washington and is flooded with a strange feeling of deja-vu.

"I was asking if you have that letter to Congress prepared?" Washington inquiries, sounding patient and paternal.

Hamilton frowns. He looks down and sees an envelope in his hand. "Yes, I am to send it off after you review it, sir," Hamilton replies in a strange tone as if he is only saying lines that were previously scripted for him in a play.

"No need, Hamilton. You may send it off on your own," Washington replies almost dismissively as he waves him off. "I will check in with the aides later on. As you were, son."

Hamilton bites his cheek, wanting to say something more, but finds himself turning around and exiting the General's tent as if he were a puppet suspended on strings. 'Don't call me son.'

Outside of the tent, there is a horrid hurricane ripping away at houses and palm trees. The house across the street is set ablaze and he sees a woman screaming with her hair burning. Hamilton gasps, turning around to re-enter the tent. It is no longer a tent as he enters — it is the room he and John Laurens shared at Valley Forge. He sees Laurens sitting at the desk, scribbling something furiously with the quill, ignoring the storm outside.

"Are you finished?" Hamilton inquires, desperately wanting to embrace his long-lost friend and ask him about the storm. Why can't he move or speak as he wishes?

"Almost—" Laurens dips the quill into the ink before continuing without looking up. "Tis usually I who attempts to drag you away from writing, Hamilton."

Hamilton feels himself smiling, but he wishes to scream. "Aye. So you must listen to me if I am requesting you to put it down and join me to bed, my dear Laurens." Hamilton feels himself walking over to Laurens, his heart pounding as rapidly as the rain smacking violently against the window. 'Look out for the storm, John!' He wishes to scream.

Laurens stops and turns his head slowly. As he stands up, he pulls a sword out of its sheath, blood dripping out of a bullet wound in his chest. The parchment, ink, and quill are nowhere to be seen on the desk behind him any longer.

"Put it down, John!" Hamilton chokes out, his voice sounding hoarse as he is finally able to speak what he wishes to say. "Come with me. We can fight in congress together for our new country."

John opens his mouth to speak but blood oozes from his parted lips. The ruby shade of the blood is a potent contrast to the desaturated environment around them. The storm rages on outside, stronger than ever. "I cannot," John whispers, the blood dripping to the floor now. Hamilton reaches out to him but the window crashes, blowing away the remaining candles to submerge them into the cold and wet darkness.

Hamilton gasps awake, sitting up in the unfamiliar bed as he pants desperately for air. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and focuses on breathing for a moment. After he gathers his bearings and is able to focus on his surroundings, he remembers slipping and falling into the future. A man named Lin has taken him in.

Hamilton steps out of the bed and searches the man's apartment on a mission, not allowing himself to dwell on his nightmare. 'I have so much work to do...' repeats like a mantra in his head as he manages to find a large pile of parchment paper and a pen to write within what he assumes is Lin's office. He sits at the table, barely registering where he is anymore as he begins writing furiously.