Oct. 12, 1982, Manhattan
Jeffrey Jones awoke with a start from the dream. It had started so pleasantly, as he played the part of the brave swashbuckler. But just as in his real life, it ended up a nightmare in which he was unable to save his parents. He cried out softly as he awoke, but, unsurprisingly, the only one to notice was Ralph, his dog and his only real companion in this place.
Aunt Elizabeth and her boyfriend, Tom, continued their argument in the next room.
"I just don't want him to ruin our trip to Cancun," Jeffrey heard Tom say. Opening the door, he heard Aunt Elizabeth, as always, complaining about being "saddled with an 11-year-old kid.
"Why did Bill and Kathy have to die?" she asked.
So much for family affection, Jeff thought bitterly. But, he echoed her question. In his mind, though, the answer was obvious. Just as in the dream, he'd failed them. As a swashbuckling hero, he couldn't stop the soldiers. As a boy, he couldn't get his parents out of the burning camper, and he couldn't find help. He looked at a picture of his smiling family, and the guilt came pouring back. He shouldn't be here to ponder this. He should have died with them, leaving Aunt Elizabeth and Tom free for their trip and him free of this misery. The only one who might have cared was Ralph.
Jeffrey sat on his bed, holding his knees to his chest and put his head down. Ralph softly licked the boy's hand.
A whistling sound – unlike the wind he'd been hearing – caused him to look up, and he watched, shocked, as a glass cutter made a neat circle in the pane of glass in this high-rise window. It was carefully pushed to the floor, making not a sound as it hit the carpeting. Jeff's eyes grew large, but he couldn't make a sound, either.
Ralph growled lowly, but stayed by his boy, ready to defend him.
A man, dark-haired and with dark eyes, stepped into the room from the ledge. He wore a suit that looked to be from the 1800s, complete with cravat. He looked contemptuously at Jeffrey.
"This is why I'd never be a field worker. That could have killed me. I'm glad I was prepared," he said. "So, this is 1982, and this is Jeffrey Jones."
Jeff continued to stare, but he was too numb to move.
"Who are you? How do you know my name?" Jeff asked. He wanted to scream, but his voice came out hollow.
Ralph on the other hand had no hesitation as he snarled and jumped at the man, who used the glass cutter to slit the dog's throat.
That roused Jeff from his shock, and he ran at the man, "You hurt Ralph. You killed my dog!" He ran at the man.
Drake stepped neatly out of the way, watching as the boy hurtled through the window. He stood a moment, hearing screams from stories below, within a few moments, he heard the sound of sirens.
He smiled, patted a black leather book, and muttered to himself, "it wasn't so difficult to hold on to this, Bogg. You should have tried harder. It was only a dog and one small boy."
Suddenly, Drake heard pounding on the door in the next room and a voice shouting, "Elizabeth, your nephew, he …"
It was time to go. Drake had trial briefs to prepare. He looked with disgust realizing the filthy dog had gotten blood on his immaculate white shirt. He'd need to change. And, with that thought, he hit the button on his omni.