Nanowrimo 2015-11-12

Connor sneered at me.  "You're acting crazy, you want me to trust you, and now you're telling me Jenna isn't even your real name?"

I sighed and closed my eyes.  "Yes," I said.

When I opened my eyes again, he was just frowning and shaking his head.  "I don't know what I was thinking," he said.

He started to stand up, but I reached out my hand and touched his wrist.  "Please," I said.  And then I took a deep breath and blurted out in a hushed tone, "I was sent here to kill you by the woman you used to date and I'm afraid you're in grave danger even if I don't carry through on my mission."

He shook his head.  "Unbelievable," he said.  "You're really going to sit here and tell me you're some sort of trained assassin?  I was in a teacher class with you for goodness sake.  I don't what you're real story is, but I'm leaving."  He pulled his hand away.  I let him.  And he left the coffee shop.  What could I do?  I had to let him go.  This was by far the worst mission I had ever gone on.


That evening, I stopped by that grocery store where I had seen Connor and used my limited cash reserves to buy myself a cheap bottle of wine.  I drank about a third of it that night and then fell into a fitful sleep.  That night, I dreamed about Connor and Maria, together, laughing, holding hands, and then Maria turned and glared at me, fire in her eyes, and grunted, "Kill him.  It's the only way."

Obviously, though, I couldn't kill him.  I was never going to kill Connor and I never could.  But now I didn't know how to protect him either, should someone else come for him.  I couldn't go home.  I couldn't stay here.  I couldn't contact Connor again, not yet anyway.  I realized, rather depressingly, that my best option was to get a real job somewhere where I wouldn't be asked a lot of questions about who I really was, somewhere where I could make a fake identity work and people wouldn't really care about getting to know me, and somewhere where I wouldn't have to be worried about all the exact technology and current events of the time, since all of that stuff really just becomes a blur when you're a traveler.

In retrospect, I don't know why I hadn't planned all of this out better before they sent me back.  Somehow, in my limited mind, I had this idea that I would end up getting Connor to trust me and we would go on the run, stealing and lying our way across the world or something.  I did briefly consider just becoming some sort of bandit, but in the end, I found myself working at an art supply store.  Strangely, it felt a little bit like home.

As the weeks passed, I was always looking over my shoulder, keeping my eye out for someone from the agency, but no one every came.  Every few days, I would check on Connor from a distance, just to make sure he hadn't been murdered or something.  He was always fine.  Soon the fall season came and he was back to teaching science classes for middle schoolers.  I had been told where he taught as part of my prep work for this mission, so I'd stop by there every so often.  Everything continued to seem fine.

I continued to also be as fine as could be expected.  I lived in my little hovel at first and then I eventually earned enough money to start being able to afford a real apartment.  I also thought it might be wise to invest some of my money.  I really wished I had paid more attention in any sort of history class or books or anything about this time I was in so that I could know what companies to invest in or who was going to win some big sporting event or something.  Fortunately, there was one big market collapse I remembered hearing about that happened in late 2016, so I knew I would be able to short some stock and make a pretty penny from that.  I was half afraid this act would be the thing that gave me away, that somehow alerted the historians that something had gone wrong, but everything seemed to be fine.

I made a few thousand dollars from that investment, or anti-investment, rather, and decided I deserved a little bit of a break from the constant paranoia I had been experiencing, so on New Year's Eve, I went out to a bar just wanting to have a good time.

Midnight was approaching and I was several drinks in when I heard slurred speech behind me saying, "Well, well, well, if it isn't little miss assassin.  Murder anyone lately?"

I turned and looked at a rather drunk Connor stumbling over to my table.  He plopped himself down across from me and I tried to contain my relief and seeing him, once again, alive and well.

"I'm not actually an assassin," I told him.  "I work in an art supply store."

"Well that was quite a tale you told the last time we met," he said.

I wasn't quite sure what to say.  I hadn't expected to be talking to the guy again.  So I just didn't say anything at all.

"You know, you really messed stuff up for me," he went on, seeming to gain a little bit more control over his words.

I felt confused, which surely reflected on my face.  "How so?" I asked.

"This might seem forward and like I'm hitting on you again," he said, "but I've been dreaming about you."

This certainly made my pulse quicken.  "Like, in what way?" I asked.

He shrugged.  "Like in all sorts of weird ways," he said.  Then he quickly added, "Nothing sexual, mind you.  You're just, like in lots of different places."  He paused and then he added, "And sometimes there's an elephant."

I felt my eyes grow wide.  "An elephant?" I asked.

He half grunted, half laughed as he leaned back in his chair.  "Yeah," he said.  "Some stupid elephant in Africa or something.  And then you shoot it just like you were gonna shoot me."

"I never said I was going to shoot you," I reply.

He shrugged.  "How else would you kill me."

There was silence again.  I didn't know how to respond.  Should I tell him the truth?  He had reacted badly to the semi-realistic version of the truth.  There was no way he would believe me.  And then he did something that really surprised me.  He leaned in close, hands folded on top of the table, and he whispered to me, "You want to know what's really messed up?"

"Yes, I do, actually," I replied, truthfully.

"These weird dreams... they've actually made me want to trust you."  He chuckled again, took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his hair.  "Listen," he said, straight faced and sounding much more sober than he had just a couple minutes prior, "there's just something I have to ask you.  I just have to know.  What's your real name?"

I sighed and looked directly in his eyes, hoping that by some miracle, this would gain his trust.  "My name is Anna," I said.  "Anna Larue."

He seemed very serious now and he took a deep breath and then said, "Anna, the crazy part of me was really hoping that was what you would say.  Because Anna is your name in my dreams as well."


The bar was really quite noisy, but in that moment, I could have heard a pin drop had it dropped on the table between us.  "This sounds so surreal and crazy," he went on, "but you've haunted my dreams in a way that I can't ignore.  I'm a rational man, but I can't explain this.  It's just... well, it's beyond bizarre the way these dreams make me feel.  It's almost like..."

"Like you're remembering something," I felt bold enough to interrupt.

He looked at me quizzically.  "Yes," he said.  "It really is.  And there's this one in particular with the two of us and two other people I can only assume are your parents."

"Around a kitchen table?" I asked, my heart about ready to burst out of my chest.

He nodded.  "Yes," he said, "and in it I say..."

"I love you," I interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

I blushed, but then I continued, "In the dream, you say that you love me."

"Yes," he replied cautiously.

I nodded.  "I've had it, too," I told him.  "More than once."  For I had been dreaming that dream in particular frequently over the past few months.  "And other dreams, too, about us together."

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.  "My first thought was that you weren't lying about being an assassin and you drugged me or something, but this..."

"I don't fully know what's going on," I said, "but I know a part of it, and it's so crazy I'm afraid you'll never believe me."

He scoffed.  "Even after your first story about being an assassin sent by my ex-girlfriend?"

I shook my head, just still not sure at that point what exactly to say.  "Well," I began, "that wasn't a lie, for one thing.  But it was only part of the truth.  I'm afraid to tell you more."

"I think this dream magic should put us past the point of fear," he countered.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.  It felt like the coffee shop all over again, but I hoped it would end up differently.  Then I opened my eyes and said, as calmly as I could, "I'm a time traveler."

Much to my surprise, he didn't laugh in my face.  He didn't get belligerent or stand up and run out the door.  Those dreams just have really done a number on him, because he looked me straight in the eyes and replied rather calmly, "Well that explains a lot."

"Come again?"

"Well," he began.  "It explains why you seemed to disappear off the face of the earth after that class we took together, and it explains why when I saw you again, you looked basically the same age even though we should have grown five years older.  I assumed that, well, five years, sometimes you can't tell, but I remember feeling like I had caught up to you or something.  It also explains why there's no record of you actually teaching at any school anywhere ever.  And, in a strange way, I feel like it explains all those dreams about you were set in either the past or what appears to be the future, with the exception of the elephant.  That one was hard to tell."

"It was the past," I said, feeling like I owe him at least whatever explanation I can manage to give, "That was my first really weird mission."

"Mission?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, and then I became aware again that we were in a bar filled with people.  They were shouting and cheering.  "What's going on?" I asked.

He glanced down at his watch.  "It's almost midnight," he said.  "I think they're getting ready for the ball to drop."

I felt genuine confusion and looked at him inquisitively.

"Wow, you really aren't from this time, are you?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not actually from this country either," I told him.  There was silence for a moment, and then I said, "Listen, I know this is all really weird and frankly, I'm amazed we're even talking about it, but would you like to get out of here and go somewhere quieter to talk or something?"

He smiled.  "Yes," he said, "surprisingly, I would like to do just that."

As we left the bar and called a cab just a minute before midnight, it dawned on me that everything was so weird now that I could actually be the one who was in danger from Connor.  Stranger things had certainly happened, like my traveling through time for example.  But just as he now trusted me for some bizarre reason that neither of us could explain, I felt like I could trust him.  So I directed the cab driver back to my place and we rode in silence as I tried to figure out what on earth I should say and do next.