[Happy International Irish Awareness Day, everyone! I hope you all got a little bit Irish tonight in whatever way you deem appropriate. Me? Corned beef, cabbage, carrots, taters, and Irish soda bread with the mum! Not to shabby. ;)
Here's the second half of the chapter I promised from last week. Which rounds us out and brings us up to speed to where we began at Chapter 5! Now, if only I can figure out what I want to say in Chapter 1...]
Things were not turning out according to plan.
No Merle to be seen or sensed. No windows to crawl out of, and the one door out was locked from the opposite side. I find myself pondering the age old question, "What Would Houdini Do?" when I hear a polite cough and shuffle from behind. A 180 spin on the heel and I am standing across from a gentleman propping up the corner wall.
He's tall, incredibly lanky, slight dark circles cradling wicked green eyes with a tossle of brown-black hair. He's devilishly good looking if I do say so myself. Which I am, because, well, he's me.
The thing you have to know about time traveling is that you aren't allowed to go back into time. I tend to forget this rule, especially if I find myself in a bind.
"Alrighty. How far back did I have to travel to safe my arse this time?" I have never talked to myself quite so literally before. Or for that matter, heard myself answer my own question.
"About fifteen minutes. I came back to make sure I didn't fudge up. I barely made it out last time." I, well the me standing in the corner, ruffled my (his) hair and scuffed the floor with his (my) shoe. Noticing your own quirks gets a bit trippy after a while.
"Fine, fine. Merle's going to hate me for this."
"Ne'er mind the old man, we got to get me out of this mess."
"I'm not disagreeing. How did I get out of here fifteen minutes ago?"
"The same way I got in. Use the damned watch."
"Ugh. You know that always makes me sick."
"Obviously. Now hurry it up a bit there, Houdini."
"Got it, got it."
Yes, time travelers keep watches. How do you think we kept ourselves sane? Our watches are only set to one time, however. And aren't to be used unless we find ourselves in the moment of life and death. I'm pretty sure if I broke the rule, came back to have a conversation with myself, and then used the watch it's safe to say things are somewhat serious.
Flicking the minute hand forward exactly fifteen minutes I hold my breath and count backwards from ten. This isn't where the magic happens, it just keeps me from tossing my cookies. Going forward through time is different for everyone. For me it's like being laced in a spider web then tossed on a roller coaster, rocketing through the night sky and landing face down. Why always face down? Not a clue. Then there's the smell of citrus everywhere and I'm fancy-pants dandy again.
This is exactly what happens. Only this time I have to jump up straight away and haul arse. On this occasion it's because I'm being chased by dogs. Fantastic.
I make for the woods, knowing all the paths from having played there as a child. Or at least, I thought I still knew them.