For those who have read of Chloe's adventures the first time around, I want to really thank you for all of your lovely reviews and support and I hope you will continue doing so as I go along and revise and rewrite the story I haven't touched in ages.

To those who are new to this story, I hope you enjoy yourselves and also give your input! Help is always welcome and I would appreciate on any character development- I don't want Chloe to be a Mary Sue, now do I? So comment's on her character are greatly appreciated too.

Also, for those who care, Chloe's face claim of sorts is Sarah Hyland. But you can imagine her anyway you like.

[Rewritten Monday, February 24, 2014]

Soundtrack for this chapter:

Lost & Far from Home by Katie Costello

I want to begin this by asking a simple question: What does adventure mean to you?

Really, personally, what does it mean to you? For most, it means going out to eat at a new restaurant, or- the ever risqué- skipping school. Or even perhaps, if you were my grandmother, it means what you did that morning.

We rarely think of swinging on vines through a dense jungle, or fighting off great evils, battling for true love or riding off into the sunset atop a mighty steed. No, those things are left to the dreamers, writers, and movie makers. Those who are planted firmly in reality don't think of things like this. By this point in our lives we most have all accepted the rather dull, yet safe lives we would all lead. Working 9 to 5 jobs and spending all day in a cubical, paying our taxes on time and trying oh so hard to ignore that lacking sense of spiritual fulfillment.

It's quite the life to look forward to, is it not?

But then, it's funny sometimes, what fate has in store for us. For I, Chloe Evelyn Spencer, time traveling extraordinaire, did none of the previously stated.

But- I shouldn't be getting ahead of myself, now should I? Now, let us begin where no good story should ever begin: at the end.

It was an excruciatingly hot August night in the small town of Niceville, Florida. The streets outside the sprawling four story beach side home were barren; no soul willing to brave the mosquito swarms or the heavy humid air. Most of the homes surrounding the sprawling, white beach house were dark, except for the beach house itself. In the lowest window there was a faint, flicking light.

The room was dark, the only source of light coming off the bright television screen that sat, leaning against the farthest wall. And on the screen were the faces of James Roday and Dule Hills.

"My name is Shawn Spencer, psychic for the SBPD. This is my associate, Jazz Hands."

I giggled stupidly to myself as Gus shook his hands in emphasis.

I was currently sprawled on the floor in front of the television, DVD boxes strewn around my person as I had been switching ever so often back and forth between Psych and Doctor Who. Clutching a pack of frozen peas to my head, I fought the urge to close my eyes. I had been marathoning the two shows since about six in the evening, and last I had glanced at the clock it had been nearing 3 a.m.- and I was a bit scared to check what time it was now, knowing I was going to be kicking myself in the morning- err, well, later that morning.

It was Sunday- er, early Monday morning, now, I guess. I had physical therapy at 10 o'clock which I really, wasn't looking forward to followed by an appointment with my Neurologist right after which I really wasn't looking forward too because it usually also meant a lot of blood tests and injections and needles poking me.

A sharp pang pulsated through my head and I had to close my eyes, pressing my frozen peas into my face. I could feel tears well up under my closed lids, leaking out the corners of my eyes before slowly sliding down the sides of my face and soaking into my tangled mess of sandy brown locks. Not after the close call this morning…

I shot up into a sitting position as I felt bile rise, burning the back of my throat.

"Oh no…" I muttered, but my voice came up choked and croaky. I tried to stand, the bag of frozen peas slipping from my fingers as I became too focused on getting to the nearest toilet basin in time. Everything was spinning and I stumbled into the couch next to me, toppling over.

My whole body was shaking with spasms and I knew exactly what this meant.

And then, in a very cliché way, there was nothing.

Oh God, how nothing is very scary.