Chapter 9
Lily
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythmic sound penetrated my consciousness first, followed by a dull ache that seemed to radiate from everywhere at once. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
When I finally managed to lift them, the harsh fluorescent light from the ceiling made me wince. Around me were white walls, the smell of disinfectant, and rough sheets. It seemed I was in a hospital room.
What happened? The last thing I remembered was the electrical room, the flash of light, Kyle pulling me against him as the explosion...
"Lily? You're awake!"
I turned my head slowly toward the voice. My father was rising from a small sofa in the corner of the room, his face etched with concern and relief.
But something was wrong. Very wrong. I could feel it, although I still didn't know exactly what it was.
"How do you feel?" he asked, moving to stand beside my bed.
I stared at him, confusion clouding my thoughts. He looked... different. His salt-and-pepper hair had more pepper than salt. The deep lines around his eyes were softer, less pronounced. He looked younger. Much younger than he had just days ago.
"What happened?" I managed to croak, my throat dry and scratchy.
"You had an accident at the hospital where you were working. Luckily, a nurse noticed right away and was able to help you and Kyle. The explosion wasn’t too serious, but you still ended up unconscious for a few days."
I frowned, trying to make sense of his words. Nothing he'd said made any sense. I worked as an accountant at a technology company, not a hospital. "Dad, what are you talking about? Waldo is a tech company." A sharp pain shot through my head, and I pressed my hand to my forehead.
"What is Waldo, honey?" he asked, confused. "I'll talk to the nurse in charge. It seems you haven't recovered all your consciousness yet."
I tried to sit up in bed to get a better look at him. He definitely looked different. "Dad? What did you do to yourself?"
He looked at me, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"You look younger."
A small smile crossed his face. "Well, thanks. Give me a minute. Let me call someone to check on you."
But that wasn't a compliment. He really looked younger. And not in a "you look good way." It was as if everything that made him mature had been reversed. Maybe the explosion had affected my vision or my way of processing people.
Before I could analyze him better, my dad moved to the door and opened it. And that’s when everything stopped making sense.
My mother entered the room.
My mother, who had died five years ago. My mother, whose grave I had visited just days ago, placing white lilies beside her headstone. My mother, walking and breathing and looking at me with concern and exasperation.
"Sweetheart, you woke up. Thank God," she said, moving toward me.
I didn't answer right away. I just looked at her in shock. I must be hallucinating, unless...
The accident in Waldos' basement, an explosion that knocked Kyle and me to the floor, and then nothing.
"Did I die in the explosion?" I said out loud. That's why I saw my father differently, and that's why I was seeing my mother right in front of me at this moment. There was no other explanation. Either that, or I was losing my mind.
My mom looked at me, offended. "How could you have died if you're talking with me right now? How many times have I told you to stop being so dramatic?"
A lot of times. When I fell off my bike for the first time, I thought I was going to lose my leg because of a simple scraped knee.
Or when no one asked me to the dance in the spring at school at thirteen, and I said my social life was over.
Or when she was dying and I told her I wouldn't be able to keep living without her.
Memories of my mother calling me dramatic over the years flashed through my mind, making my skin crawl.
My dad responded for me, "She's not all right yet. Let me call a nurse to check on her. She's been talking nonsense since she woke up."
My mom got closer to get a good look at me, but I got defensive and yelled at her, "Don't take another step."
She looked at me, confused, making me feel a little guilty for being too harsh. But I was scared. None of this made sense. My dad looked younger. My mom, who passed away 5 years ago, was there in front of me. And I was... where was I?
I pushed myself up from the bed, my legs shaky and unsteady, and made my way to the small mirror hanging on the wall beside the bathroom.
What I saw there made my heart stop.
No, no, no. This can't be possible.
The girl staring back at me had blonde hair that barely reached past her ears. Her face was rounder, softer, with a few unpicked pimples on her chin. Her ears weren't even pierced, but I'd gotten them done in college.
She looked exactly like I had at eighteen years old.
Because she WAS eighteen years old.
Which meant I was eighteen years old.
No. Not "looked like." I WAS an eighteen-year-old girl. But that was impossible, because that meant that I somehow traveled back in time.
The impossibility of it crashed over me so hard that I started screaming.
I was back in bed, this time looking with horror at the doctor and nurse in front of me.
Both of them had a clipboard and a pen in their hands, as if they were going to compare what they found.
My parents had been asked to wait outside while they examined me, but that didn't make the situation any less terrifying.
I didn't understand what was happening to me, but for some reason, I was younger. It was like I'd gone back in time, but that didn't make sense. I didn't want to believe that was what had happened.
Because time travel wasn’t possible. Right?
But how was my mother here again? How did my father look so full of life? How did I look so small?
The problem was that if time travel was impossible, then what other explanation was there?
Perhaps I had imagined my entire adult life, and nothing that happened actually existed; maybe it was simply a bad dream.
This part sounded more logical than the other version, but why did I remember everything so vividly?
I no longer knew what was real.
"Let's do this again," the doctor said gently, clipboard in hand. He was middle-aged with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. "What's your name?"
"Lily Danault," I answered cautiously.
"How old are you?"
I hesitated. The rational part of my brain knew that saying "28" would only complicate things. But the truth was, I genuinely felt disoriented. My body felt wrong, too small, too awkward. My memories were a jumbled mess of adult experiences and teenage emotions. "I don't know."
The doctor and nurse exchanged a meaningful glance. The nurse started writing something on her clipboard, her pen making it so loud that it made my anxiety increase.
"What day is it?"
"April 2, 2025..." I caught myself too late, seeing the doctor's eyebrows rise. "I mean, 2012? 2017? 2018? I don't know..."
My heart hammered against my ribs. What was happening to me? Was I losing my mind? Or had I really somehow slipped backward through time?
The doctor set his own clipboard down, his expression grave as he studied me over the top of his glasses.
"We examined you from head to toe. All the tests showed you were perfectly fine.
Either you're trying to avoid certain questions because you don't want to go to school or something similar, or you have temporary amnesia caused by the injury, which is weird, taking into account that your friend also has the same symptoms."
My pulse quickened. "Kyle?"
The doctor thought about it for a minute, like he had to remember the name correctly, and then nodded. "The other young man who is also volunteering with you here at the hospital, yes."
I felt relief and anxiety at the same time.
Kyle was okay. He had taken the brunt of the explosion more directly, but apparently, he was fine, too.
Although what the doctor had just said caught my attention.
If Kyle was experiencing the same psychological symptoms as me, then maybe I wasn't losing my mind. But that would mean…
"How is he? Is he awake?" My voice sounded higher, younger, unfamiliar to my own ears. I still wasn't used to hearing it.
"Yes, he is in the room next to you, but I can't let you go out of this room without knowing for certain that you are fine."
I needed to see him. I needed to know if he remembered what I remembered. The office, the kiss, the explosion. If he did, then maybe we could figure this out together.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm completely fine," I said, standing up from the bed too quickly. Blood rushed from my head, making me dizzy, but I steadied myself against the wall. When I walked, my limbs felt strange, like they weren't quite mine, but I tried to act normally, like I was perfectly fine. "Thanks."
Before the doctor could protest, I was out the door, ignoring the slight wobble in my knees. I moved as quickly as I could to the next door, expecting to see him there.
Thankfully, my parents weren't in the waiting room. I could only imagine the questions they'd have, questions I wasn't prepared to answer. I slipped into the next room without being seen, only to find it empty. The bed was neatly made, no sign that anyone had been there.
"Kyle?" I called softly, stupidly, as if he might be hiding somewhere in the small room. But he wasn’t here.
I started to panic. What if I was wrong? What if I really was losing my mind, and Kyle was still in 2025, perhaps injured or worse from the explosion? What if I were stuck here alone, in this younger body, in this past life I'd worked so hard to escape?
Please, Kyle, I really hope you remember everything. I knew it was a selfish wish, but I didn't want to be alone at the most traumatic point in my life.
I forced myself to breathe deeply, to think logically. The doctor had said Kyle was awake. He had to be somewhere in the hospital.