13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
E mily and Sarah sat on the bed in Emily’s room, the watch lying between them.
“I’m not being your test subject,” Sarah said determinedly.
“It’s not that bad. The headache—if you get one at all—only lasts a few seconds. See, it happened to me twice, and I’m perfectly fine.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“Come on.” Emily heightened her tone into a pleading one. “Next time, the movies are on me.”
“Ugh, fine.” Sarah snatched the watch. “This better be worth it. Now, what do I do?”
Emily led her through the procedure. Sarah shut her eyes, her face contorting as she concentrated. After a few seconds, she opened one eye. “Was it supposed to happen by now?”
“It didn’t? You felt nothing?”
She shook her head.
“What the hell.” Emily took the watch from her and examined it.
“I’m glad you’re disappointed I didn’t get a nasty headache,” Sarah remarked dryly.
“Sorry.” She shook the watch like a rattle. “Oh, screw it. I’ll do it again. I haven’t had a headache since, so I shouldn’t get one now. Then I can put it all behind me.”
“Okay, b—”
No headache this time—only a dull pain, and a compressing feeling on her body, like the pressure had changed. Emily gasped for air, her vision blurring—and then it cleared, and she was back in her room.
Only she was sitting behind the desk, and Sarah wasn’t there.
“Sarah?” Did she pass out? She called again. Nothing.
Her hand accidentally wrinkled a stack of papers on the desk. A pencil lay near, as if she were in the middle of writing. Emily frowned at the top paper. Geometry homework? She’d passed that last year.
The light was different, too, heavy clouds visible out the window. It was sunny a minute ago. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? She reached for the phone. A message from Mama? And the date was—
The compression returned, hitting her as if she were a punching bag. One more hit on her head— not that again —and the room faded to black. Emily gasped for air and opened her eyes. Back on the bed. Sarah still—again—across from her.
“What happened?” Sarah asked.
“What—did—did I do something? Did I go somewhere?”
“No.” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “You just kinda… passed out. Went unconscious for a few seconds.” She reenacted the scene, rolling her eyes back and sagging backward. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
“No! I’m fine.” Emily looked at her hands, touched her face, wiggled her fingers. “I’m good.”
“You didn’t look good. Was it the headache again?”
“Ah… uh…”
“You didn’t have a stroke, did you? Quick, raise both arms. And say, ‘I hate Mrs. Spencer’.”
“I hate Mrs. Spencer,” Emily ground out. “I didn’t have a stroke. I had… I had… a vision.”
Sarah frowned. “A vision. As in, you’ve seen the future, or, you’ve had a great idea about how to save the world and get rich in the process?”
“Neither.” At least so she thought. Was it a dream? But it was so vivid, and Sarah said she was only unconscious for a few seconds. And the scene she found herself in—it was familiar. As if she’d been there before.
“Then what was it? Emily, talk to me!”
“I… I… nothing. It was nothing. A weird dream.”
“That’s not nothing! Either we’re having a weird set of coincidences, or that watch did something to you.”
Oh no. She got Sarah in the conspiracy theory mood.
“What if it’s alien.” Sarah eyed the watch warily. “What if activating it allows them to kidnap you? Instead of that beam of light appearing, they just kinda poof you away.”
“But you said I was here all the time.”
“Well, how do I know how alien technology works! It’s right there in the name, it’s alien! The vision you remember—was it them?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Did they probe you?”
“What—no! Ew!”
“It’s okay, Emily. There are plenty of other victims. They’ll understand. Even if they did something to your butt.”
Emily hid her face in her hands. “Please, stop talking now.”
Sarah shut up, but spoke again after a while—this time, gentler. “Where did you find this watch, anyway?”
“It was in Mama’s things. From the accident. I don’t think it’s hers. We put out an ad about a lost item but nobody ever contacted us, so I ignored it.”
“Until now?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been in there for a year. What made you dig it up now?”
Emily hesitated. She didn’t want to mention the diary yet. The coincidence of the diary and the watch both finding their way to her was… well, not alien-creepy, but definitely creepy. She wanted to assure herself she was sane before Sarah’s mind would run away with one of her extraterrestrial explanations.
“I was putting some things away.” She kept her eyes down, uncomfortable lying to Sarah. “I came across it and checked it again.”
“Huh.” Sarah rubbed her chin. Did she see through her? “You know what, I could do with a snack. And we need to check if your digestion still works. God knows what the aliens did to you.”
Emily let out a relieved laugh and followed Sarah out of the room. As she turned to shut the door, the corner of the diary, hidden under a book, caught her gaze.
She’d only translated a small part of it.
What if the rest had the answer?
“Beautiful, Miss Willburne. A bird caught in flight. Forever frozen in its mortal form, while its soul flies free.” Mr. Montgomery nodded approvingly at Emily’s clay statue and moved on to the next student.
She was making a hat, but fine. Emily took pottery because she needed an art class, and this one was supposed to be easy-breezy. If she’d learned anything, it was that she truly didn’t have an artistic streak in her. Luckily, Mr. Montgomery was both absent-minded and philosophical, and regarded anything as a masterpiece with its own story. Pottery was also scheduled at the end of the school day, resulting in a more relaxed atmosphere.
Though Emily was not, at the moment, relaxed at all.
She was ready to bolt at the final bell of the day. Her hands washed of clay, her bag packed, she ran to the school bus. She threw herself on the window seat and leaned on the glass as she caught her breath. Come on, people, let’s get moving. The other students congregated at the school’s entrance. She scanned the crowd, not looking for anything in particular, when she saw him .
Goosebumps spread along her arm. There, far back, almost merging with the wall, was that man again. The one in old-fashioned dark clothes.
She yelped and dipped down. A schoolmate gave her a curious look, and she smiled awkwardly, pretending she’d dropped something.
You’re being silly again. It’s not even the same guy. Plenty of people wear dark clothes.
Satisfied with that reasoning, she straightened, peering out the window. She’d take a good look at him and see he was no creepy—
He was gone. He’d disappeared again… like a ghost.
“Hey, Emily. Taking the bus, huh?”
She turned to look at the girl sitting down next to her. Lilianne shared a few classes with her, including that cursed history one. She was nice enough, but also one of Mrs. Spencer’s pets. Even now, she clutched a history book.
“Didn’t feel like walking.”
“Yeah, you can’t read while walking. Well, you can, but it’s not recommendable, is it!” Lilianne giggled. “And I can use every spare minute, what with the competition coming up. Mrs. Spencer is doing her best to prepare us, but there is so much to study…”
Emily let Lilianne ramble on, scowling on the inside. History competition. She shuddered. Wouldn’t do that even for extra credit.
But the talk provided a distraction and allowed her to shift her thoughts away from the strange man.
Emily locked herself into her room this time. She may be only gone for a spell, but she didn’t want anyone seeing her like that. She’d been working hard the previous day, translating more of the diary in search of an explanation.
And she’d found one. But she wasn’t sure she believed it.
She settled on her bed again, watch in hand, and started a timer on her phone. She cleared her throat.
“Emily Willburne, test number one,” she joked out loud, trying to boost her bravado. “The day is Tuesday, December 9… oh, who am I kidding. Just get this going.”
She checked the notes she’d made based on the instructions. She shook her arms and set the watch with slow, deliberate movements, ensuring she did everything correctly. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the pain.
It was milder than before. Was she getting used to it? She was standing in the hallway in front of her room. She walked toward the staircase, in perfect control of her body and no dream-like resistance. It was as if she was truly here.
Whistling and rustling came from the archway to the kitchen. Emily proceeded down the stairs; the fourth one creaked, like it always did. She peeked into the kitchen and nearly whimpered out loud.
Mama set out groceries on the counter, whistling as she worked. She turned at the disturbance, her lightly curled hair swaying like a supermodel’s. Her skin had the glow of someone coming inside from the cold, and her brown eyes glistened with holiday joy. Her peach-colored blouse was pristine and unstained.
Emily tried hard not to imagine it soaked through with blood.
“Sweet pea, can you take this to the pantry?” Mama passed her the jelly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take another shot at these groceries. The turkey doesn’t look right to me.”
Emily gaped, stunned.
“Emily, honey, you all right?”
“I—” That punching feeling came again. “No!”
On the bed again, she clutched her stomach, trying to steady her breathing. “Mama,” she whispered. She was there. In the vision, or, if it was true…
She glanced at the timer. She’d only been gone for a few seconds. Gone was the correct word—but gone to where? She’d moved, but she also hadn’t.
She had to do it again.
Back at the doorway. Mama still handing out the jelly.
“Don’t go,” Emily choked out.
“I’ll be right back. With Miss Celeste coming over, you know we can’t serve anything fishy. Even if it’s not fish!” Mama laughed. “I’ll pick up some other things while I’m at it. How about that chili chocolate that’s to die for?”
To die for. Emily had never seen the crash, but she could imagine the crunching of metal, the shattering of glass, the trickle of blood down Mama’s cheek—
She shook her head. Mama couldn’t leave. Not today. “We can have something other than turkey.”
But Mama had already squeezed past her, looking for her purse in the hallway. She’d find it in her room. A dark red tote bag; Mama liked to be practical.
Emily moved backward to the counter, flinching at the touch of the polished wood. It felt so real. The counter, the house, Mama—all of it. As if she was truly here, a year in the past.
“Got it!” Mama shouted.
Emily startled, and her hand swept the counter, taking a bowl with it. It crashed to the floor before Emily could intercept it, but luckily, it didn’t break—only chipped.
Chipped.
Emily stared at the bowl. Debbie’s favorite cereal bowl—the one that mysteriously got chipped one day, with neither of them remembering how or when it had happened.
The tiny triangle piece that had broken off lay on the floor. Emily was so focused on it she didn’t acknowledge as Mama left. Left the house for the last time.
And then the punch came, and Emily was back in her room. She leaped off the bed, ran to the kitchen, and flung open the cupboard. Debbie’s cereal bowl. Emily brushed her fingers along the chipped edge. She had done it. Not in a dream, not in a vision.
She’d done it in the past.