I put my hand on the window,
meaning to go inside, but a sound to my left stops me.
I turn and there he is, just as
wild looking.
‘How did you do this? How are
you travelling? It’s impossible.’
‘Science gets proven wrong every
day, Teague, I guess I just stepped on yours.’
He snarls at me like a wild
animal. Is that the hint of a rash beneath his collar?
I turn and run, my feet slapping
against the floor. I hear him tear after me. His feet are heavy and sound
erratic like he’s losing control.
It doesn’t take long for me to
reach the edge of the memory. The blackness engulfs me and I leap forward,
letting it embrace me. I’m falling again, but not for long. I re-enter the
world, on a grassy hill.
I stumble slightly but I carry
on running. The ground is dry and hard in the height of summer. I only have
vague recollections of this day. My mum and dad sit about a hundred metres to
my right on a picnic blanket. I sit beside them. I’m about seven or eight and I
look content playing with some dinosaurs.
I don’t really know what my plan
is. I didn’t realise he was going to follow me. I whip past trees and over beds
of flowers. I remember this place, there’s a big manor house that got converted
into a museum years ago and my parents always loved coming here with me. They
called it their ‘weekend place’.
I’m about to stop and try to
travel again when Teague appears on the hillside. He trips over and it gives me
the chance. The problem with such an open space is that I remember too much of
it. Everything we ever see is preserved in our memories. We don’t realise it
half the time. This means that the edge of this one will be far away or behind
a thick bank of foliage.
I have to escape him.
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