Page 144 of Fated

The chill sinks into my bones as I sprint through the cellar. Dust kicks up after me.

Until I’m there.

I tug the old chain and the blue-white light buzzes. It washes the storage room in harsh light. I set the gold pocket watch on top of the upright wine barrel.

And then I drop to my knees. I hit the stone with a hard crack and thrust aside the dusty wine bottle. The cobwebs stick to my hand as I reach into the crate. I hit the wooden sides, brush aside sticky webs and dust, and then my hand hits a damp, cold, folded piece of paper. The cold metal of a gun.

My heart leaps, clattering into my throat.

I tug them out.

The cold of the hard stone digs into my knees, and I shiver at the chill abrading my skin.

My hand shakes as I wipe the cobwebs from the black handgun. I set it aside, dropping it to the stone floor.

The buzzing of the overhead light is loud, and the musty, vinegary scent of the cellar chokes and taunts.

The paper is wet from the damp air. I unfold the note, careful not to tear the paper.

My stomach clenches. My breath catches in my throat.

The words on the paper are stark. Real. Written one year ago.

By me.

It’s real. What I dream isreal. I can change what happens.

I focus on the last words I wrote.

I grip the note in my hand.

Save them.

Save them.

I jump up, grab the pocket watch, and sprint back to my room.

To dream.

One more time.

53

I clutch the wrinkled,damp note in one hand. My words are scrawled in faded pencil and the sheet of paper scratches the palm of my hand. I clasp the gold pocket watch in my other hand. Its rounded edges press into my cool skin and the ticking of the watch reverberates through me.

It’s 12:30 a.m. Christmas Eve.

The day is just beginning.

Two years ago Aaron died, and everyone he loved died with him.

Except Becca. Except me.

I don’t know why I dreamed the current year or why I was sent to last year. I only pray that this time I’m sent back two years. To the Christmas Eve when everyone was lost.

I’ve studied the photographs, the maps, and the news reports. I know exactly where the island fell into the sea. I know which beaches were gobbled, which forests were consumed, which buildings were spared. I know the exact jigsaw of where the island fell apart and dropped into the sea. And I know the exact time it happened.

11:48 a.m.

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