Perfectly Timed Page 3

  It’s kind of funny, you spend your entire childhood trying to be independent and then when it happens you want your childhood back again. I wonder if I would have felt the same if I didn’t end up bouncing around through time? Who knows.

  At least I’m dressed for the weather when I step outside again. The chilly wind can’t get through my thicker clothes. It helps my knee a bit too, keeping it warm and tight. My comfort levels have increased, if nothing else.

  I don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do so I just wander the streets. I’m too uptight to sleep so all I can do is wait around until I’m either hungry or get pulled away again. I can’t help but wonder about Noah. I wonder if he’s still in France or whether he was pulled away somewhere too. I doubt we’ll ever cross paths again, I’m going to have to find a way to forget about him. He gave me hope and that’s not what I need. If you have hope, you have a future and I seriously doubt I have a future.

  There’s a crackling noise of someone using a megaphone, their voice drifting through the streets like snowflakes. Curious and with nothing better to do, I decide to follow it. This was supposed to be the decades of change, right? Maybe I’m going to see history happen right in front of my eyes.

  It takes me two blocks before I reach the source of the noise. A crowd has assembled right outside of a large building. Judging by the flags hanging outside the doors, I would guess it was a political building – perhaps a parliament or council or something. It looks important, I’m sure it’s not the kind of place they want people protesting outside of. Yet that’s what they’re doing, a couple of hundred people anyway.

  The crowd is a mixture of men and women, all young, probably in their teens or twenties. They are riled up about something. I strain to hear what they are chanting. It’s something about a war, I think they oppose it. Policemen stand around keeping an eye on them. There are more protestors than police, it wouldn’t be pretty if they started arresting people. More damage would be done to the officers than the others.

  It seems pretty peaceful so far though, they’re just venting their frustration with their words and cheers of agreement when the guy with the megaphone says something.

  What I notice about everyone is how passionate they are about their cause. They really care about being there and making a difference, or at least having their voices heard. I can’t imagine being that passionate about anything. Even when I was a kid I was more concerned with my homework than supporting a cause or a lifelong ambition. I just needed to do whatever I had to do to stay out of trouble. Simple. Easy. Or so I thought.

  When it’s dark and I’m cold and have no idea where I am, I sometimes wonder if that was why I ended up being pulled away the first time. I didn’t care about staying, perhaps the universe knew that and took me away to teach me a lesson. It sounds stupid, but I know I had to have done something to end up like this. It couldn’t have just happened, surely.

  I scan the crowd, wondering how all these people could feel so strongly about something that probably wasn’t even any of their business. I admire their dedication, but a part of me still wonders why they bother. I can’t remember a time when protesting actually got anywhere. And I’d seen a few of them in my travels.

  A figure across the street catches my eye. I only see him for a brief moment but I’m sure it’s Noah. I would recognize that raven hair anywhere.

  I have to get to him.

  Chapter 3

  I hurry through the crowd, pushing anyone out of my way. I know they’re now wondering what moved them, but I don’t care. They can blame it on a ghost, I have bigger issues to contend with.

  I have to jump to look over the heads still in my way. I can’t see Noah anymore but he wouldn’t have shown himself to me if I wasn’t meant to catch up with him. I continue to snake my way through, cursing my invisibility. Perhaps if people could see me, they’d actually get out of my way. Or I could just be kidding myself.

  Finally, I see daylight again as I emerge from the crowd. I look around, from left to right and back again. Where the hell did Noah go? I race to look around the sides of the building, wondering if he just slipped away down a side street.

  Nothing. Noah is absolutely nowhere in sight. I know he couldn’t have gotten too far, I was quick to get through the crowd even if it didn’t feel like it at the time. Perhaps I was imaging it? Was my mind now so mixed up that it was playing tricks on me? I wouldn’t doubt it.

  I stand in the middle of the people, the guy with the megaphone still trying to rally support. The emotions are so highly charged in the plaza that it’s difficult not to get sucked in. Even bystanders who aren’t here protesting have stopped to watch. Yet none of them know of my anguish.

  Still searching for Noah, I spot a small boy standing amongst the crowd. He is probably only about three or four, young enough to not be let out of his mother’s sight. But there doesn’t appear to be anyone with him. Nobody is holding his hand or keeping a protective eye on him.

  Except a man a few feet from him, he appears to be taking great interest in the child. Perhaps it’s the modern day skeptic in me, but I highly doubt the man is known to the young boy.

  I keep my eye on the pair, trying to work out if the kid is with any of the people around him. There are a few women, but they are chanting with the others, demanding answers to their questions that will never come.

  The boy starts to cry and I’m relieved, perhaps now his mother or father will claim him to offer him comfort. But they don’t. Nobody moves except the man watching him. He doesn’t do anything but shuffle closer. I can’t watch anymore, I have to do something. I can’t let that poor child be alone. Who knows what could happen to him.

  I step through the crowd, careful not to bump into anyone. I know it will probably freak out the kid, but I take his hand in mine. The warmth from the touch is surprising, it’s been so long since I’ve touched another human being like this. It feels familiar and comforting the way he grips me so tightly.

  I lead him away, knowing it must seem strange that he’s holding his hand in the air to anyone watching. Good, perhaps his parents will notice and stop him. Then I could be done here and move on already.

  But nobody stops us. I guide the child to the sidewalk and look around for some help. Now that I’ve taken charge, I need to do something with him. He won’t trust the invisible hand in his for very long. I spot a policeman at the end of the crowd, that will do. I can leave the kid with the officer and handover responsibility to him. He can find the parents and keep the boy safe from predators.

  I lead the kid to the policeman and tug at his shirt. He immediately looks down and sees the little boy standing forlornly at his feet.

  “Hey, buddy, where’s your parents?”

  That is exactly the question I want answered too. I let go of his hand, trying to get the kid to grip the officer’s pants instead. It works, he latches on to him and not me. I know the policeman will look after him, he’s in safe hands again.

  The officer picks him up and cradles him at his side. He seems good with kids, he’s probably a father himself. Or just a good guy, I don’t really know. I guess I’ll never know.

  I can feel the pulling at my chest again and groan. I don’t want to go anywhere else for a while, I want to stay in one place so I can orientate myself—perhaps even feel normal for a period of time. But it’s not going to happen. All the air is sucked out of my lungs as I leave, pulled into the light once again.

  When I finally open my eyes, I couldn’t be further from the American city if I tried. There is nothing around me but hills and grass. Trees line the mountains, dark green and thick. They offer no clue about where or when I am.

  I start walking, knowing it’s my only option. Once, I refused to do anything. I just sat down and waited to be pulled again. After three days, I eventually had to move because I was starving hungry. The moment I got food, I was pulled away again. It was how I first knew that whoever was pulling my strings had a sense of humor. And they love
d torturing me.

  As I walk, I can start to see that there are things dotted around the rolling hills. What appear to be little huts are scattered about the place. They are too tiny for houses, they surely couldn’t be more than one small room.

  They must have a fireplace though, smoke billows from their chimneys. Every one of the huts is pretty much the same, a small rectangle with a chimney stack at one end. They wouldn’t exactly win any architectural prizes but they seem sturdy enough.

  I guess I’ve gone back in time—a fair way by the looks of it. I can’t remember anyone in the modern world living in such a simple home. It’s all about the size now, the bigger the better. If a family had to live this closely, they would kill each other before nightfall. I know my family would have. Stuck in one room with two brothers? You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I take my time walking to the nearest hut. I can’t call it a house, it just seems too inadequate. Suddenly, I stop. I hear something, it’s a growl or a moan or something equally as chilling. I turn around slowly, trying to remember that I am invisible and nothing can hurt me. But then I remember, animals can see me and they can certainly hurt me.

  Hidden on the edge of the forest is a wolf. At least I think that’s what it is, he’s got big beady eyes and is crouching in a position that will allow him to run at me at the drop of a hat. I slowly try to back away, making sure not to make any sudden movements. I don’t want to die in some ancient time by a wolf tearing my throat out. That was never on my to-do list.

  “Good boy, good boy,” I whisper, hoping it sounds soothing. He continues to growl, bearing his teeth at me. As if I wasn’t already afraid enough. I think I read somewhere that wolves can smell fear and it attracts them, but how am I meant to turn it off? I can’t stop the terror that grips me.

  My best bet is getting inside one of those huts. I continue to back away, never taking my eyes off the beast. He hasn’t moved any, which could be just his way of lulling me into a false sense of security. I don’t want to stick around to find out.

  Suddenly, he starts coming at me. I turn around and run as fast as my feet will take me. The hut seems impossibly far away but I don’t care, I have to get there before I’m the wolf’s dinner.

  My feet pound on the ground as I run. I can’t remember the last time I ran this fast before, perhaps when I was at school on the track team? Probably, but even that was a long time ago.

  I finally reach the hut and open the door. I close it just as quickly behind me. I face a man, woman, and a young child. They all stare at the door like it’s a mutant monster. I guess their door doesn’t normally open and slam closed by itself very often. The horrified look on their faces makes me want to laugh, but I know I shouldn’t. It would seem scary.

  The man gets up from the floor and inspects the door. I have to shuffle sideward to get out of his way. He’s big, his head almost reaches the roof and his beard is thick with brown hair. The woman stands, holding the child in her arms protectively.

  “What is it, Hamish?” she asks, her voice shaky. Now I’m starting to feel bad for scaring them so much. But it wasn’t my fault, the wolf didn’t have to chase me like that. If it didn’t then I could have snuck in peacefully and they never would have known. It’s not like I make it my life’s mission to terrorize people of the past.

  The man, I assume Hamish, shrugs. “It was probably the wind. Rest easy.”

  She listens to him and resumes her seat on the floor. She’s pretty, her dark hair is held back from her face in a bun but I’d say it is really long when let out. The child, I think it’s a girl judging by her shoulder-length hair, sits on her mother’s lap again. Hamish joins them. They make a cute little family.

  “Do you think it could have been the spirits?” the woman asks, her eyes wide with panic. “Could they be mad at us?”

  Hamish shakes his head. “Tabitha, don’t speak of such things. The spirits cannot enter our house without our permission. If we talk about them so, then they will feel welcome. We must put them out of our head and pay them no attention.”

  “But, Hamish, they—”

  He puts a finger to her lips, silencing her. She relaxes a little, leaning back against the wall. She obviously trusts him a lot, or perhaps in this time she knows to obey him. I can’t tell the difference between love and obedience these days, the lines get blurry the further back I go.

  “We should get some sleep, the sun will be completely gone soon,” Hamish says. Tabitha nods and tries to get the kid to lie down with her head on her lap. They don’t seem to have beds in the hut. They don’t have anything much really, now that I look around.

  The fire is smoldering at one end. There are a few brick shelves built around it and some utensils and bowls lay on top. I guess they use the fire to cook as well as for heat. The floor is covered in straw at the other end of the hut. It lays bare over the mud ground, it’s not exactly the Ritz Carlton.

  I sit on the floor near the fire, away from the family. Well, as far away from them as I can get in the tiny hut anyway. There are no windows to see out of so I can’t tell whether the wolf has given up on me or if he’s just waiting for me to re-emerge. It’s probably wiser if I stay for the night anyway, something tells me if I open the door again, they will shriek in horror.

  The spirits the woman spoke about, I wonder what she meant? Were there actual ghosts here they feared? Or just time travelers that couldn’t be seen? I know people used to be very superstitious, but to actually fear spirits would come into your house? I wonder what they do when they get inside?

  The thought makes me look around, the woman has me paranoid now too. Which is stupid, I know, but still the thought worries me. Who’s to say the spirits aren’t real and, just like animals, can see me too? It only makes me feel even lonelier.

  I wonder if Noah ever feels this way? Like he’s the only one on the planet and can rely on absolutely no-one for anything? Not for comfort, not for fun, not for love, and not for safety. A sole person with nobody to care about them.

  I curl up on the hard floor, grateful that I managed to get some warm clothes from my last place. My purple dress wouldn’t have cut it here, I would be frozen before daylight came. I rest my head on my arm and close my eyes. The small fire at my back is nice, homely. I try and get some sleep, trying not to think every noise is a spirit.

  I awaken in the morning with a start, someone kicked me. I quickly open my eyes and jump up. Tabitha stands mere inches from me. I jump out of her way, trying to remember where I am.

  “Who’s there?” she demands, kicking the space where I lay only seconds ago. Her leg goes right through to the wall, proving there is nothing there any longer.

  She looks around, as do I. Hamish is gone and the child is still asleep. The door is open now, letting light filter through. I must have slept all night, something I haven’t done so soundly in a long time. And I got kicked in the stomach for it.

  “Are you a spirit?” Tabitha looks ahead, speaking into nothingness. “I can feel your presence, please do not hurt my family.”

  Is she talking to me? Or is there really a spirit here with us? I can’t see anything, there is no spooky mist or anything moving by itself. It’s just the three of us and I’m standing like a statue.

  “Please leave us in peace.”

  I don’t want to stick around to find out who she is talking to. I leave her alone, hoping that if I am the source of her concern, then I am leaving her in peace. Nobody deserves to be fearful in their own home. Especially when they have nothing but their home.

  Outside, the sun is shining but there is still a chill in the air. I am no closer to finding out where I am, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. The people speak English so that’s good enough for now. I hate it when I can’t eavesdrop, it makes it harder to find what I need—like food.

  Which reminds me I’m hungry. I don’t want to go back inside so I start walking. I head into the forest, praying my wolf friend doesn’t return. I don’t think I can run
, I’m still stiff from sleeping on the floor last night and my knee still hasn’t completely healed. The floor wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place on earth to sleep.

  The lush trees are beautiful in the woods, even I have to admit that. They are large and thick, some are covered with bright green moss. It reminds me of an enchanted forest that I read about in fairy tales when I was little. Except I doubt I would get to live happily ever after if I spent too long here. One look at the wolf and he would eat me alive. And there would be no huntsman to cut me out of his stomach.

  There are some red berries on one of the bushes. I pick one and mush it between my fingers. It has some seeds inside but I have no idea what it is. I remember some berries are poisonous, but I can’t recall any further details. This little red thing could kill me, or it could quell my hunger. Or, I guess it could do both. I’m desperate enough to try it.

  I pop the berry into my mouth, restricting myself to just one for now. I pick a handful more and put them in my pocket. If I’m still alive in an hour, then I’ll eat them. One hour should be enough for the poison to set in, right? Sounds reasonable to me.

  I keep walking, I need water. The moss tells me there has to be some kind of moisture around, otherwise it wouldn’t be able to grow. I look for the mossiest of trees and follow them, hoping to stumble across a stream or river.

  My watch tells me that it takes me over an hour of wandering before I find something. By then, the berries are all gone so I’m more than ready for some water. A small babbling brook runs through the trees. It’s barely more than a rock bed with a layer of water, but at least it’s moving. Stagnant water wouldn’t taste good, it might kill me faster than the berries.

  I crouch down and use my hands as a bowl to drink from. The water is cold and it tastes good, taking away the sweetness of the berries still in my mouth. I wish I had a water bottle or something to keep the water with me. I don’t like my chances of finding my way back here again.