Beginning of Something

A thump woke Blythe to a start. She bolted right up, glancing left and right around her bedroom. It was lit by a night light in the far corner. The room looked exactly as she had left it that previous night—the day’s outfit lay in a heap in front of the grand oak wardrobe, her lip gloss ducking out of a pocket of her jeans—and she heaved a sigh of relief. She must be imagining things. Reaching for the digital clock on the bedside table, she saw that it was currently 4:08 in the morning. She groaned and flopped back down under the covers.

A deafening crash jolted her upright again. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. She had not imagined that. Putting her robe over her night gown, she reached for her tennis racket from behind the door and wielded it with both hands before her. She cracked the door open slightly and peered out into the darkness. The vase on a table against the wall beside the doorway of her room was shattered into several pieces on the marble floor, gleaming sharp at their edges.

She plucked up her courage and raised the tennis racket higher. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice shaking. Her body trembled with fear and anxiety, “I’m calling the police!”

A shadow passed before her eyes, accompanied by a cracking sound and a yelp from the stranger. The voice sounded young and it seemed to belong to a boy who was only slightly older than her. Guessing he had stepped on the broken vase, she pulled the door open fully—

The boy crashed against her, knocking her breath out of her as they stumbled backward. Her back hit the floor—a painful sting shot up her spine—and she winced. She was acutely aware that something warm slid past her arm. Cold lips found her forehead, planting a peck on it; she felt the mouth curling into a smile. Drumming his back with her fists, she ordered him to get off. He cursed and pushed himself up.

The handsome stranger before Blythe was about a head and a half taller than her. He was clad in a blue shirt that clung to his lean and muscled body, and denim jeans. His feet, she noticed with a bit of hysteria, were bare and bloodied—a pool of dark crimson beneath them. His tousled dark hair hung below his eyes.

She was taken aback for only a second. Regaining her composure, she had meant to bend down for the tennis racket when she saw a glimmer of something beside it. He seemed to notice it a moment after she did, and they both ducked down for it. He was too late though. She grabbed it, wanting an evidence of his intrusion, and saw that it was a gold pocket watch, its second hand ticking like a heartbeat.

“Give it back, Blythe.” He spoke for the first time since his abrupt arrival. His eyes were a visible grey now. You know how the watch is important to me.”

She blinked at him. Blythe. He had just said her name aloud, as if he knew who she was. But that was impossible; this was the first time she had ever laid eyes on this boy. She took a wary step backward, clutching the pocket watch tightly in her hand.

He rolled his eyes and held a hand out. “I know you’re mad, sweetheart. But you need to give it back. You, of all people, should know it is not a mere toy.”

“S—Sweetheart?” she blurted incredulously, half dumbfounded by the intimacy of his voice and the other half in awe at his disregard for his still bleeding injury. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “Fine. Is this before or after the fight? I bet it is after. You don’t have to behave so coldly toward me, Blythe. We both know I only wanted what is best for us. I cannot be with you and—” he paused, as if only beginning to realize she was completely lost. “You—you do not recognize me? It’s Alec.”

She shook her head, frightened by his words. “I don’t know you at all. How am I to even recognize you?”

“It worked!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with genuine surprise. “I have gone back to the time before you met me. This is amazing! I haven’t been able to transport back to a specific time I wanted before.”

“Get out,” she muttered, and then raised her voice to a shout. “Get out before I call the police! I don’t know what new burglar trick you’re pulling, but you are not going to fool me. Now leave!”

“Hold up, hold up!” He leveled both hands to his shoulders, as if indicating he was harmless. “I just need to tell you something. Give me one—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the gold pocket watch shone with a blinding white light. It was growing hot. Blythe tossed it from hand to hand, juggling it to avoid from scalding herself. It was vibrating as if it had a life on its own. She panicked, looking up at the boy—Alec—with pleading eyes.

Alec raised his voice when she let out a scream, dropping the watch on the floor. “Listen, Blythe. When you meet me, do not even attempt to talk to me. I am…”He considered his words. She knew immediately the sentence that came next would be a lie. “I am dangerous. A criminal—a burglar, okay? Do not ever go near me or—Heck. You’re going to confront me all the more, aren’t you? You’re always this stubborn. This is too sudden. I didn’t expect it to work, much less plan what I was going to say to you if it did. I shouldn’t have—”

He stomped his leg like he was trying to get a better foothold. Yelling in pain, he looked down at his bloodied feet as if only just noticing he was injured by the broken vase. Blythe’s mind whirled. She was nauseated.

The next thing happened in a blur: she witnessed in sheer terror as his legs vanished from beneath him. She had expected him to topple over, but he did not, only regarded the disappearance with an infuriated hiss. She retreated from the horror unfolding before her eyes as his lower torso faded away until she fell back on her bed.

He swore, flailing his arms about in an exaggerated manner. “The Transporter! I need it back before I go. The pocket watch, Blythe, now!”

When she did not respond, or so much as move an inch, he was gone completely in a dramatic puff of smoke. She watched with her jaw hanging slack, still unable to comprehend all that had happened, until even her own vision seemed to go up in a puff of black smoke.