March 1st, 2001, Chicago, IL, USA 2:12pm
He doesn't notice the cold anymore. It spreads out around him like the map he's pushing out over the table. He throws the napkin holder on one corner and the salt and pepper shakers over two others to keep it from closing. He pauses, looking around, ignoring the looks from people in the streets. A puff of breath from his lips and he grabs another pepper shaker from an adjacent table and throws it on the last corner.
It's been a long time since he's felt this buzz. Since his heart has beat so hard and his mind has actually had something to focus on. Decades, this time. Why are the stretches getting longer? If he fails again… His brown eyes fly around, as if his surroundings could give him anything. People are staring. He shakes off his old, fur-lined leather jacket and lets it hit the ground with a solid noise and pushes his cold fingers into the collar of his shirt.
He draws out the silver chain and holds the medallion on it up to the light. Inside an intricate twist of silver is a single, colorless, perfectly round stone. He frowns at it and waits. When nothing happens, he sighs and pulls the whole chain over his head, holding the stone in one hand and the chain in the other. He looks down at the map and closes his eyes.
Find it. He wishes desperately, then holds his hand out, It's been enough. Haven't I done enough? Given enough? What more can I do? Please. Let this time be the last time. Help me. His hand grows warm, then hot, and he has to drop the stone. He feels the chain swing wildly.
And then not so wildly. It spirals, circles, then begins to drag in a specific direction. He finally opens his eyes and watches it. The stone itself is glowing, a pale pulse of blue-green, just barely. It's never done such a muddled shade before, he ponders, only briefly. He licks his lips and moves his hand, following the direction of the swing. The pulse grows ever so slightly. He'd hoped it would keep him in North America, but it swings wide, heading East. He moves, over Europe, but it keeps going, the glow only slightly improving. A false hope makes him move over what is now Kazakhstan. What had once been home, lifetimes upon lifetimes ago. But the pendant doesn't hesitate, doesn't react like it should. It swings northwest, instead.
Russia.
It glows brighter, a brilliant ocean-tone, and slows, draws lazy circles between Moscow and St. Petersburg. Well, he supposes, he hasn't been to Russia in a few decades. It's an awful large amount of space to cover, and he has a lot to do.
His Nokia 3390 goes off in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts, and brings the sounds of the day sharply back into focus. The front door to the restaurant opens and a waiter frowns at him, so he tucks the necklace away in his pocket and nods at the man, before he pulls the phone out and wearily hits the answer button on it, tucking it between his ear and shoulder.
"You've found it?"
"Book me a flight. St. Petersburg." He gathers up the map, folding it carefully, avoiding looking at the waiter who has crossed his arms and taps his foot. He picks up his jacket and pulls it on then tucks the map away.
"Please Leo. Thank you, Leo. You're so awesome, Leo."
He hangs up the phone without a response and shoves it back his pocket. There is no time. There is too much time. At most, he has 21 years. And if he has learned anything in the last 121 years, that has never been certain.
