Back to the Future

Dear Chasey,

so fucking much has happened, I have no clue anymore. This is probably gonna be a long entry. Not sure I have the time, but I’ll try anyway.

So. Last time I wrote we went to the lake. And then I remembered that they’d found us, and it was just a little bit too convenient. So we checked the car for one of them geo-recording-devices, and lo and behold, there was one. We threw it away.

Went to the lake and saw something that looked like Shaun in a swimming vest, sitting in the water, unconscious. So we got him out. He mumbled something about children or something, didn’t really listen. We got him into the car and tried to get him warm. Drove back to town, and who should be walking right along there but Eddie?

Where he was? He’d gotten a new tattoo. While we were kinda hunted. A tattoo. Without telling us.

Sure, it looked nice (for a white guys chest anyway), but chainmail? Really?

Ah well.

Whatever my powers are, they don’t work with digital stuff. So we went and bought a polaroid. The guy we bought it from was a little nervous. Okay, he was bigtime nervous. Which kinda meant we had to hightail it out of there before he called the cops.

And then it all gets a little hazy. I remember us driving around, maybe talking to people, maybe taking a couple pictures. And ending up at the bar again, talking to the guy they claim is Merlin and that state trooper person. Well, when I say “us” I mean Lianne and the guys, because those two creep me out worse than Lance. I prefer to keep a distance, went in the back way and stood at the bar.

This is when things get weird. I didn’t really hear them, just saw them. I saw Lianne take a green glass bottle – or grail, if you prefer, Chasey – out of her pocket. Put it on the table. Saw “Merlin” lean forward with eyes like my dad for his next shot, only ten times worse. Saw him get agitated.

Uh-huh. Never, never ever show an addict what he wants. Being me, I took a picture of that scene. Polaroid. Just put it down on the counter.

I got really scared a that point, chasey. Really scared. If this fucker was Merlin, he must have something like powers. And what actually stopped him from grabbing that bottle, killing us all, and disappearing? In a way that’s what he did. Kinda.

After a bit of discussion Lianne gave him the thing. And the next thing I remember is me being in 2007. First of June 2007, to be exact. Worse: I seem to have a life here. No friends (as usual), no boyfriend (at least not that I know of). But tons of work, and a computer in the office. Apparently I replaced someone. The polaroid of Merlin & the trooper hung amongst all the others on the billboard, a little dented but no worse for the wear. The others said it was important somehow. But we should hide it in plain sight, and so we left it there.

Yeah. 2 years of my life, just gone. Wonderful. And the others are like, so happy, and talk about they are where they belong finally. And I sit here and think, crap, what did I do in that time? What did that fucker do to me? Yeah. Didn’t help that the others decided to get all celebratory and drunk. Meh. And I think we passed what they said was Lances car on the way out and Shaun did…something to it. Maybe we should’ve checked why that car was at that place at the time? But I was tired, and they were drunk, and no one paid attention anymore.

We went back to the office and slept there (at least I did, didn’t fancy checking if Dad was still alive. Couldn’t stomach if he wasn’t). And checked around, and it was like a fancy magazine which we actually had launched, and I met my boss, and he gave me money. Ivy Thompson it is called, and it’s a weird person. So yeah, money. Yay.

Next morning found us (well, all of us but Shaun) in our office, googling the shit out of stuff. Apparently, googling is a word now. Gooogling. Gah. Who’d thought they’d win the War of the Search Engines? Not that I care much. I think “google” is a stupid word. So we went on the internet and looked up stuff. Apparently Pinkie Duval switched sides and is a criminal defender now. For people with money. Apparently he’s also married, to a Renee Duval.

It’s all a bit of a jumble in my head. Phone rang next, I believe. Lance calling, for Eddie. Saying nothing, as usual. Or at least nothing nice. We ran caller ID and it was at the Dog. So I called up Jim, and Jim offered up a couple excuses, and basically said something about having to go to the hospital and hiring Lance. Meh. Thought he’d not be the one to give up that easily, but I can’t help him.

We decided to check our homes. My home was as always. Shitty hood stays shitty. The boys had gotten pretty serious about their weapons, though. Like, military-grade and style weapons. I have no idea about that crap, so I went inside and talked to dad. Tried to. He told me he got the drugs from the boys these days. And when I went back outside, Shaun who’d talked to the boys told us they was getting paid by Lance. Gah. Lance, fucking Lancelot. I can’t tell you how much I hated his guts at that moment.
What I did was take a pic of the boys. Looked like normal boys with big guns.

So we took dad, snuck him into the car somehow, and went to Lianne’s.

Lianne lives in a fucking MANSION. I mean, like multiple stories, marble, carpets, everything. MANSION! And so clean! And orderly!
Anyways, we went in and took a look around. And when I looked at Lianne I saw she wasn’t feeling too well. Like she was sick. And when I asked her what was wrong, she said something like her pictures were all gone.
Apparently, there should’ve been tons of pictures on the walls. And weren’t. The others asked me to take a polaroid of the room, which I did. And of course it showed pictures. And, more interesting, we could use it like a lense. And then Eddie got into experimenting mode and I had to take another picture and it all got too much and I just ran outside for a breather.

Um. We decided to check Artie’s next. I mean, the place burned down some 2 years before, but apparently that didn’t matter. Went in, met Artie, then they tried to get rid of us. Kept calling Eddie “Percival” and asked him if he knew where “Tristan” was. Apparently Shaun is Tristan. Isn’t it nice how much my friends tell me?
Well. Artie looked like a nice guy, maybe a bit too much on the druggy side. Offered us the best trees in the whole district just to get us out of the room where some hobos were stashed around a round table. Said “First Knight Lance” had brought News (yup, capital N) on the whereabouts of the grail. And he’d tell us the news once we’d found and brought Tristan. Well, not us. Eddie, obviously, us being girls and not-knights and all.

First Knight Lance. The mansion. The future. Some part of me thinks we kind of walked into the wrong reality, but when I tell that to Eddie he, for some reason, won’t listen. Don’t know if he’s ever heard of multiverse theories. I should read back up on that. And if we’re in the wrong kind of reality, then why? How?

So for some reason we decided to go to the dog and talk to Lance. Who couldn’t recognize us. Or at least said he couldn’t recognize us. And served us beer. Or coffee. No fancy drinks, no nothing. Guy has no idea how to run a bar but wanted to run one.
Thing is, I believed him when he said he didn’t know who we were. Cuz of that look in his eyes when he saw the picture I’d taken, the state trooper/Merlin one. That’s when something like recognition seemed to dawn on him. And that’s when we knew we needed that polaroid, safe with us. So I grabbed for it, Lance hit me. Tried to, I sprung back while I think Eddie tackled him. That was a nasty, very short fight, and we won. Not that it helped. We left Lance there unconscious and fled before anyone decided to see whether the bar was open.

Well. To make this clusterfuck of an operation complete, we decided to “get Tristan” and went to Shaun’s house. We can see him sleeping through the windows, and we’re pretty sure he’s alive. The others are at the door, I decided to stay in the car with dad and this diary. Sometimes I’ve gotta write things down, after all.


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