Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“Dylan, you’re scaring me,” I tell him as I back away from him and go over to the couch to grab my cardigan, a sudden chill in the air causing my skin to prickle.
He looks at me, face filled with immediate concern at what I just said. “I don’t want to scare you. Can I sit?” He motions toward the free spot beside me, and I nod. I curl my legs up underneath me and wrap the cardigan around my chest, trying to warm up.
“I think you’re playing a joke on me,” he says, even though my facial expression doesn’t make it look like I’m joking, my lips pressed together in a tight line.
“Did you hit your head today?” I finally ask, worry setting in. “Did you fall or something? I think we need to go to the hospital.”
“What are you talking about? Lucy, it’s 1993.”
“I wasn’t even alive back then, so clearly, it’s not.”
We both say nothing for a moment as we stare at each other on the couch. As if we’re waiting for the other to yell “psych!” or finally admit to the joke.
But neither of us does.
“Here, let me pull out my phone and show you the date,” I say.
I reach over and grab my purse off the floor, pulling out my iPhone.
Tapping the button on the side, I try to unlock it, but the screen stays black.
“Why is this not working? I charged it last night!” I cry out, getting more and more frustrated by the second.
“What is that?” Dylan leans over to examine the phone in my hands, eyebrows raised slightly.
“What do you mean? It’s my phone.”
“I’ve never seen a phone like that before.” He motions for me to pass it over to him. “And so light, wow.” He looks at me as he turns it over in his hands. “Where did you get this?”
“At the Apple Store,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Apple Store?”
“Ugh, never mind.” I take my phone back and put it away in my purse. “I need something with a date on it.”
“Oh, I have a heating bill. Hold on.” He gets up from the couch and walks over to his desk, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a piece of crinkled paper. He walks over to me and hands it over, pointing out the date in the top right corner.
August 2, 1993.
What the fuck.
I stand up, now in a full-blown panic. “This isn’t funny, Dylan. End the joke now, please.”
“Lucy.” He stands beside me and places his hands on my shoulders, the pressure calming me down a bit. “I’m not joking. I swear to you, it’s 1993.”
“This makes no sense,” is all I can say back, still racking my brain, trying to understand what is happening right now.
“Here, come outside with me. We’ll walk over to Killick Bay, and I’ll find you a newspaper.”
“We can drive. My car is parked out front where the path starts.”
“Okay, fine.”
I grab my purse, and we walk down the stairs to the main level.
When I start to head toward the entry room, he walks over to the cream-coloured door behind the stairs.
I follow him as he opens it up, sunlight pouring over us, blinding me temporarily.
Once the door is shut and we’re outside, I look around, noticing something feels off.
“My car should be right around here.” I walk around to the front of the lighthouse, finding the gravel path and looking ahead to where my car should be.
It’s not there.
“What the fuck? Where’s my car?” I shout. “Someone stole my car!”
“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe it was towed? I don’t know if you’re supposed to park there.”
“It’s never been towed before. Not even a ticket. I don’t remember seeing a sign. Fuck, why is this happening now, of all times?” He grabs my hand as I begin to spiral and turns me to face him. Taking my first deep breath, I look into his emerald eyes, lost in them momentarily.
“Let’s walk into town. It’s only ten minutes, and then we’ll figure out what happened.”
“This would be a hell of a lot easier if my phone just held a charge,” I grumble as I follow him down a different path through the rocks. To my left, the ocean waves crash against the cliffs below us. Ahead, the path cuts through rocks and plants as it weaves into the approaching small town.
We walk into Killick Bay, and while it’s a cute town, something is different about it. Almost as if it’s stuck in the past. The clothes the people are wearing, the cars that are parked on the street, even the stores feel… old.
“This place is odd,” I mutter, while Dylan walks into a general store on the main street.
After a few minutes, he comes outside, holding a newspaper. Funny, I haven’t actually seen a newspaper in who knows how long.
“Here,” he says, handing me the paper. “This is today’s paper. Look at the date. At the top.”
August 23, 1993.
I drop the paper on the ground in disbelief. “What the…”
“Are you okay?” he asks as he picks it up, rolls it, and tucks it under his arm.
“No, I’m not.” I look at him, eyes pleading. “Dylan, it’s August 23, 2025.”
Around us, people are walking through the street, carrying plastic bags filled with groceries, sipping coffees, trying not to stare at me as I flip out.
The smell of fish and salt lingers in the air from the water close by.
I spot a young woman who looks to be in her forties, with skin so pale it’s almost translucent and long, wild dark hair.
She stands and stares at me with a slight gleam in her steel-blue eyes that pop behind her glasses. She must find this amusing.
“Luce—”
“Okay, is this one of those reenactment towns? You know, like an Upper Canada Village or something. Where they act like it’s a different time? Is everyone around here just an actor playing a part?” I’m grasping at straws here, but this feels like the only logical answer.
“I don’t even know what Upper Canada Village is.” He scratches his head and tilts it to the side.
“It’s like a living history museum, where everyone pretends it’s the 1800s.”
“Oh, like Sherbrooke Village. Well, this is not that. It’s 1993.”
“Dammit, Dylan.” I want to stomp my feet and rip my hair out. This is getting so frustrating. Then a thought dawns on me. 1993. If it’s August 1993— “Dylan, what’s your last name?” I ask, trying to hide the quiver in my voice.
“Hart, why?”
I step back, away from him, body going into full-blown panic right now.
Suddenly, everything around me goes black as I fall to the ground with a thud.