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He wouldn’t, of course. Couldn’t possibility. And I wouldn’t blame him.
Yet, there was a part of me, a big part, that just wanted to voice the truth aloud in order to have this entire insane situation logically refuted in some logical way.
“It’s called electricity, and that’s a penlight. I bought it at what we call a convenience store where I come from...” I fixed a dark glare with his adding, “A hundred years from now.”
Bryant’s mouth dropped open as he fixed an unblinking stare with mine.
“What did you say?”
“I’m from the future,” I said, tears welling. “In the year nineteen-hundred and eighty-eight, to be exact. Like I said, I was exploring the cave with my friend Maggie Thunders yesterday, and I got lost and wound up exiting the blasted thing. One hundred years into the past.”
FATED MATES
CHAPTER 7
Walk Like an Egyptian
“Impossible,” he said.
“This electrical light, this photograph of Logan Thorne,” I added displaying both items. “They don’t make these things yet. But they will.”
“You’re from thefuture? No, that’s...”
“Impossible,” I added for him. “I know. But I am.”
Bryant paced the hay-strewn floor, eyeing me with doubt, suspicion. I didn’t blame his disbelief. I was still trying to wrap my own mind around the truth of my bizarre predicament.
He halted and angrily faced me. “All right, what game are you playing here, woman? Where are you really from?”
“No game,” I said. “It’s the truth.”
“You’re lying! No one can travel through time.”
“You can keep saying that a hundred times, but it doesn’t change the fact that I did. Because if you have another explanation, Mr. Bryant, I’d sure like to hear it myself.”
He started to say something, pointing a warning finger at me, then closed his mouth and dragged a rough hand down his stubbled jaw. He paced two more times, muttering something in Gaelic, then finally halted and sat on the haybale in front of me.
“Tell me everything then,” he said.
So I did.
To his credit, Bryant patiently listened to me rattle off the confusing explanation I had pieced together, getting lost in the cave, discovering the strange, glowing hieroglyphs, the earthquake after I had smudged my bleeding cut across the ancient symbols that then tossed into the past like a load of bad laundry in a gas dryer.
He didn’t interrupt me, never rolled his eyes or scoffed or questioned my outrageous theory.
“That’s about it,” I concluded, slumping defeatedly. “Now, here I am, stuck a hundred years in the past.”
Bryant rubbed his jaw, studying me, weighing my words heavily.
“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me,” I muttered.
“All right then,” he said finally.
“All right?” I frowned, gaped. “Wait, you actually believe me?”
“Up to a measure. Until I prove otherwise.”
Fair enough.
