She woke several hours later to the gentle tapping of fingers upon wood. Furrowing her brow, she pushed away soft, cottony covers sleepily. She noticed she was wearing silk pajamas, and her hair was loose but cleanly washed, falling down her shoulders as she rubbed her eyes.
She surveyed her surroundings, analytical mind processing everything. She was in a hotel room, and a fairly nice one; two abstract paintings hung in gold frames on either side of a television, which was on a news channel, but muted. Vertical blinds were open just enough for a blinding stream of light to flood in.
She turned slowly; on the other bed, rapping two fingers on the small table between them, was that man. His eyes were watching intently her every move.
"Hello?" she asked curiously. He stopped tapping and leaned forward to her. He wore a gray 'AERO' tee and faded, torn jeans; his hair was blond and uncombed, falling casually into his eyes. Though he appeared so…different, he was still obviously Harold Saxon, the former prime minister.
"You seem comfortable," he said slowly. Sarah narrowed her eyes, swinging her legs off the bed.
"Should I be uncomfortable?"
"I just told you that you died."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Of course I died. I remember. My legs were torn to ribbons and my spine was snapped by a future predator. You don't forget something like that."
The man, Saxon, raised his eyebrows, seeming impressed. "You remember?" he murmured. "Most people don't remember dying in an alternate universe."
"Sorry to disappoint." Sarah stretched her arms over her head, yawning. "I'm starving. Could we head out for burgers?"
As they left the hotel, Sarah noticed something odd; every man Saxon passed did a double-take, seeming to recognize him and then not…it was something darker, though. They didn't just recognize the former prime minister, they recognized something wrong.
"Why do they stare at you?" she whispered into his ear.
"They can almost remember," he replied simply.
As she grew more and more awake, her mind became clouded and confused with a thousand and one conflicting thoughts and ideas…anomalies—no, there was no such thing—Harry Saxon, where did he come from? She never knew that name before—no, she did know him, she voted for him…no she didn't. She suddenly stopped, furrowing her brow in frustration.
She barely heard the approaching car.
Her senses were awoken as the man barreled into her and they heard the screeching of tires swerving to miss them.
"What the hell are you thinking?" the man exclaimed in horror.
"Who are you?" Sarah cried. That put a little smile on his lips.
"There's the fear," he said approvingly as he got to his feet. Extending a hand to her, he answered. "I'm the Master, and I'm the man who just saved your life."
