Why did his smile have to be nice? Rose looked at him without a flicker in her confused expression, her gaze moving from his face to the rectangular object in his hand. She felt a prickle of fear and took a cautious step back, asking slowly, "What is that?" she pointed a cautious finger at the phone before pulling her hand back and holding her tennis racket tightly.

His smile froze, and wilted a little. Why was she still in character? Weird. "It's, uh, my phone." Maybe she meant the model? "A Galaxy A10E. And it's--" he glanced at the screen, and was surprised to see he had no service. Also weird. "Um. Sorry. It's four forty-eight."

"A phone? You mean telephone?" Rose shook her head, "You must be losing your mind." she turned and started walking briskly down the path, saying over her shoulder, "Thank you, for the time Mr. Killian, but I really must be going." she still had enough time to get home and change for dinner. Thankfully, there were no guests this evening, so if she ate quickly, she could be excused from her father's presence. There was no way she was telling him about this boy in the park.

He watched her go in silence. Losing his mind? More like the other way around. He stood for a moment in indecision; stay in the park to do his homework, or head back to his apartment? Well, he was still dripping wet and chilled. He ached all over. Turning to look down the path, he expected to see the stump he liked to sit at, the one cut at the perfect angle. Instead, there was a young sapling there. Maybe... he had taken the wrong path. Confused, he gathered up his fallen pencils.

He would go home. His brain was addled. He could finish his homework tomorrow. He started following the girl to the street. He would take a hot shower and go to bed early. Watch Netflix with his headphones on. Order Postmates. Fast food? Pasta? Mm.

He thought these cozy thoughts until he stepped out of the wooded area and within sight of the street. Then he froze, and the only sound in his mind was a high-pitched whine of disbelieving panic.

Model T Fords were parked along the road ahead, a few being driven by people who weaved in and out with no regards to right sides or right of ways. The sound of an electric trolley rolling by a few streets over clanged over some of the other noises around the park. Horses hooves ringing against the pavement. Children calling out to each other in their games.

Tall, close and differently colored apartments lined State street. Manicured lawns and stately trees gave charm and accent to the neighborhood. Clean laundry flapped in the late afternoon breeze.

The sky was blue, scattered with white clouds and singing birds.

Rose was puzzling over the strange encounter as she cut across an expanse of grass. Her eyebrows and lips puckered together in thought. Who was that man? Intriguing. Something tugged at her gut and she stopped, not sure why. Hesitating a moment, she looked back over her shoulder and saw Noah. He was standing as still as stone with the most extraordinary expression on his face. Turning slightly, she craned her head at him her eyebrows raising in question.

She looked... right out... of the 20s... because she was... he was...

No. Impossible. Noah's body began trembling as his sketchbook and pencils fell from nerveless fingers. His mind and body clashed as he tried to absorb what he was seeing. What his mind simply could not accept. He turned desperately away and stared at the bushes, breathing hard. Then screwed up his courage and looked back. The scene had not changed.

Noah felt something inside him straining under enormous pressure, like it was about to break. His mind? His soul? Whatever it was was making black spots dance before his eyes. He leaned over and heaved his lunch out all over the beautiful green grass. He sank to his knees and heaved again, gasping and shaking.

He wasn't in his Albany. That cold flash; something had happened to him. But denial was comforting; his brain babbled that he was dreaming. He was dreaming, somehow. But he had never, ever had a dream like this.

Almost retching herself at the sight of him losing his lunch, Rose took a fortifying breath before hurrying back across the grass and stooping to place a hand on his shaking shoulder, "Mr Killian? Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked, patting him gently, "If you can walk to my home, we could call a doctor." she offered, willing to brave her father's displeasure in order to get Noah help.

Noah wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, tears from throwing up leaking from his eyes. He looked up at her, his face frightened and imploring. He opened his mouth to speak, but then lost his nerve. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then tried again. Asking this question was very, very hard.

"Wh-what... year... is it?" he finally whispered.

Rose didn't answer for a few moments. Was he trying to trick her? Was this some sort of joke? She glanced around, as if she would see pranking college boys snickering in the bushes. Nope. No one. He sounded sincere. Half of what he had said earlier during their conversation she hadn't understood, but she felt like she could trust him. As strange as it seemed, she did trust him. He wasn't trying to play her for a fool. Tucking her skirt under her knees as she crouched down beside Noah, she watched him carefully as she said, "1920."

He flinched. "Really..? Are you sure?" He dug in his pocket for his phone, unlocking it with facial recognition. He opened his calendar app. Across the top of the bright screen in black letters it read, 'April 2020'. He looked up at her again, swallowing hard against his nausea, his cheeks pale. "You're absolutely sure?"

Rose snatched her hands away from him the moment the screen lit up, stifling a squeak. When he looked at her again, his face drawn, her own eyes were wide and fearful, "Yes. I'm sure." her own mind was reeling at the possibility that this man was from... she couldn't finish that thought. She was going to be late to dinner now for sure.

He blinked slowly at her. "Oh." He sat back on his heels as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. And then, Noah seemed to go away. He sat silently, eyes vacantly staring straight ahead. A tear fell now and then, but otherwise he seemed frozen.

Kneeling next to him, Rose reached out to pat his hand. It was like ice, and clammy. Whatever was happening, it was not good. Keeping her hand on his, Rose made a series of decisions. For one thing, she was going to help him. It would mean trouble, a lot of it. She could feel it in her bones. Her mind was racing and it put the question of where he was from in the back, she would have to work it out later. Right now, he was in obvious distress.

An idea hit her. It was a Thursday evening, and her father almost always stepped out to go 'visit' his friends. She knew that was when he would go to a quiet speakeasy and have a few drinks. He would be gone for a few hours or so after dinner. Until then, she could sneak Noah into the basement through the root cellar door at the back of the house. Once her father was gone, she could attend to Mr. Killian in a more controlled environment. They could figure things out then.

Rubbing his hand, she turned her attention back to him and asked, "Mr. Killian, would you be comfortable coming with me? I feel that I should keep an eye on you until we can get you back home." she paused and grimaced slightly, "Of course, due to your current appearance, it would be better in the long run if we kept you out of sight. My house has a basement, and I'll bring you something to eat after.. putting you down there. Once my father goes out for the evening, we can, figure this all out."

Noah said nothing, did nothing. It was all he could do to breathe. In. Out. In. Out... 1920... 1920... In. Out.

His brain would not wrap around what his eyes were telling him. Heat was starting to crawl up the back of his neck, his ears. Everywhere else was as cold as ice. Breathe. In. Out. In...

A few of Rose's words stuck with him. "..get you back home." Home? He wanted to call his mom. She was in Florida with dad. But he had no service. He couldn't marshal the will to dig his phone back out anyway. More black spots started swirling... oh, he had stopped. Out. In. Out. In.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:31, Fri 24 Apr 2020.

Anxiety levels rising, Rose sidled next to Noah. She took his left arm up and around her shoulders, and wrapped her right arm around his back. With a minute or so of fumbling, she managed to tuck his sketchbook under her arm before she started to haul him to his feet. Teeth clenched, she strained. He was heavy.

"On your feet." she said finally, once they were both standing, "Now, just help me as much as you can." she said starting forward down the path. Ahead of them, trees scattered the park, and the road was beyond that. It being so close to dinner time, the road was fairly quiet. Rose was grateful for that, she didn't know how she was going to explain this. The less eyes the better. Someone might think she was helping an escaped criminal. ..Was she?

Rose kept them close to the trees until they reached the road. One last model-T rumbled by before she hurried them both across the street. Number 27, her house, thankfully wasn't more than a few houses down. She was panting now, and his arm on the back of her neck was still cold, "Just around the back now." she said softly, pausing at the corner of the lot to check the windows. No sign of lookers yet, she might be able to talk her way out of being tardy. She urged him down the side of the house, ducking to avoid more windows.

Noah followed where she led, his sharpied Converse slapping the pavement when he stumbled. He couldn't have resisted her if he'd tried. As it was, he was glad to surrender control. The heat clamped about the back of his head was throbbing now, and the cold everywhere else did nothing to dull the aches he still felt. He was breathing hard, and moving was making it easier to remember to breathe.

His brain still skirted around what he was seeing; how every trace of the world he knew was vanished. All he could think of was that he had no service. No service, so he couldn't call home.

She led him around to the back of the house and stopped when she saw the trap door down to the basement. She faltered, not knowing how she could open and close it without making too much noise. Perhaps he could stay out here? But he was so cold and unresponsive, she didn't want to leave him out in the open. She might have to. She shifted from foot to foot nervously, scrambling for an idea. It didn't help that her brain wanted to flood her with thoughts like; what are you doing? Did you see him? Who is he? He could be crazy! He could be a criminal! With hair like that, he can't be stable! What are you doing?!

"My room is upstairs." she heard herself saying, her heart trusting him before her head, "Can you follow me up there? Quietly?" she asked, another plan forming. If they could get up the stairs, she could put him in her room comfortably and pretend that she lost track of time reading.

"O..Okay," Noah croaked. He didn't wonder why she was helping him. She had said something about getting him home. He would go with her until his brain started working again.

Rose nodded to him and said a silent prayer that cook was in the kitchen and wouldn't come out into the hallway. The backstairs were narrow, not like the large staircase at the front of the house, and weren't meant for company. Slowly, Rose turned the knob and peeked into the hallway. The coast was clear. Tucking the sketchbook under her arm, she grabbed Noah's hand to lead him along. They slipped in and she closed the door, pausing to listen. From here, she could almost see to the front of the house. The kitchen, pantry and washroom were back here. The receiving front hall was around the bend and the back of the large stair case. She could hear cook in the kitchen, the radio was on. Good.

On her toes, she kept a firm grip on Noah's hand and started ascending the stairs.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could close his ears. He didn't want to see this place. It was so... wrong. He climbed behind Rose, tripping a little on the narrow stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Rose peered around the corner. The hallway was empty, the doors to the water closet and the guest rooms were closed. Her bedroom was around the corner to her right, opposite her father's room to the left. Pretty house ferns sat on side tables under large mirrors and art work on the walls. Dark wood floors were accented with designed carpets, and dainty light fixtures hung from the ceiling.

Gently shushing, Rose lead Noah down the hall and quickly tugged him to the right and into her bedroom. It was cozy and simple. Lamp lit vanity, wardrobe, chair, bookcase and poster bed. A few books were scattered around, and to her embarrassment, her hose and robe. Closing the door softly, she finally released him and hurried to scoop up her discarded clothes, "Take a seat Mr Killian, I'll get you a blanket." opening her wardrobe, she threw in her stockings and pulled out a plain evening dress.

Noah just stood and trembled, gazing at all the old fashioned furniture. Was this real? He tentatively reached out and touched one of the posts on the bed. The carved wood was cool and smooth to the touch. He jerked his hand back. It was real, but... he groaned, raising his hands to hold his head. This place even smelled wrong.

"Not... this is not..." his voice hitched as his breathing quickened again. "Not..." he crouched and curled in on himself, covering his face with his arms.

Setting his sketchbook on her dresser, she threw her dress onto the bed. Pausing, Rose looked down at the boy in her room. In her room! Moved to comfort him, she stepped around and crouched down next to him, putting one hand on his arm, and the other on his shoulder, "Mr Killian, I'm so sorry. If there had been someone else that could have helped you, I'm sure you would be in a better situation. My father being who he is, I really couldn't have helped you any other way. As soon as I can, I'll excuse myself from the table and with my father being none the wiser, I'll be able to help you get home." she tried to lift the pitch of her voice to make that last part sound easy and no trouble at all.

At that moment, Rose heard footsteps in the hallway. Her heart jumped up into her throat and she squeaked. The footsteps stopped at her door and there was a knock, "Ms Walsh?" It was cook, Mrs Martin.

"Coming." Rose called nervously. She looked down at Noah before moving to the door, she felt sick. Perking up slightly, she got an idea. Tossing off her hat, she slumped and opened the door a few inches, not enough for the wiry woman to see into her bedroom. Mrs Martin was in her late forties, and had been cooking for the Walsh family since the war. They hadn't needed a cook, but Rose's mother wanted to employ whoever she could, and Mrs Martin had stayed after Mr. Walsh had returned home. Her blonde hair was turning white, and was always pulled into a loose gibson girl hairdo that was out of style, "My apologies, Mrs Martin, I'm not feeling well." she said, putting a slightly pained note to her voice in an attempt to sound ill, "I'd prefer to stay in bed this evening, if you could tell my father for me."

Mrs Martin huffed and shook her head, "Dear girl, your place is set and your father is waiting. You're not even dressed!"

"Mrs Martin, I'm not feeling well." Rose said again, trying to hide her irritation at the dismissal of her false explanation, "I can't come down. I came home from the park early and fell asleep. I hoped the rest would help me recover, but I still don't think I can come down to dinner. Please let me sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow." she said gently, moving to close the door.

"Well, Ms Walsh, I'll leave a plate in the kitchen for you. Have a good night, dear." Mrs Martin patted her arm before turning and going back down the hall.

Rose closed the door with an explosive exhale and leaned back against it, a nervous giggle escaping her at her good luck. From her place at the door, she looked back to Noah and frowned in worry, what to do now?

Noah was watching her from where he crouched, frowning, tears leaking slowly down his face. He looked miserable. Shaking, pale, and wide-eyed.
"H-how.. could you get m-me home?" he asked quietly, understanding that she was hiding him. "If I'm in... oh, god... 1920..." he moaned.

Rose pushed herself from the door and crossed to her bed. She grabbed the quilted blanket folded at its base and turned to Noah, "Here." she shook the blanket out and wrapped it around him, "Sit down." she tried to lift and guide him to the rocking chair in the corner of her room, "Tell me where you live. My father has a model-T that I can drive, we could even get you home tonight if it's not far." she felt like she was rambling, but her mind was still rebelling against the idea that he wasn't from her Albany. Her Albany? His circumstances were incredible, as was his appearance and speech, "We could call first..." she trailed off, suddenly feeling cold. Letting him go to sit if he desired, she sat down at her vanity. Her hands in her lap, she shivered and slumped forward to pinch the bridge of her nose, "I think.. I don't know..." she mumbled, closing her eyes tightly while her thoughts whirled around the conclusion she didn't dare vocalize.