PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter L: Aunt Ana To The Rescue

I stayed in the Houses of Healing for two weeks. I spent the first week bedridden and hated every second of it. I liked to move around, meet new people, see different things, but being bedridden meant that I could only talk to the matrons and then men in cots nearest to me. Thankfully, my friends visited quite a bit.

Éomer and Gaenry liked to bring ale with them and then drink it in front of me (patients couldn't have any alcohol and the matrons were very watchful). They didn't talk much about the battle that had taken place on Pelennor Fields, and I was okay with that. All I needed to know was that they had won.

Faramir came to chat almost every day. At some point, he started bringing Éowyn with him. Faramir and Éowyn. I totally saw that coming, and I'm going to take all the credit for that budding relationship. Absolutely. I set them up. In my sleep.

Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn came by sometimes. I was always happy to see Aragorn and Gimli and, of course, less than thrilled to see Legolas. The feelings were mutual. Ah, well, Gimli and I still had a wedding to plan. Even at the end of the world, weddings were still important.

The end of the world… There was a perfect view of Mordor from my bed. The window looked out on a black sky. Over the last couple weeks, Gaenry told me, dark clouds had spread over the sky, billowing out over Ephel Dúath, the mountain range fencing in Mordor, and spreading westward. Fire burned in Mordor, lighting the clouds with a kind of red, brewing anger. It was a hellish scene. My friends could try to cheer me up as best they could, but all I had to do was look to the window, and I knew that doom was approaching. Their hopes rested on two little hobbits wandering through Mordor, moving ever closer to the Mountain of Fire.

I couldn't get the image out of my head, the image of Minas Tirith being pillaged by orcs. It was the image from long ago, when I was a child. It was the image of absolute despair, because it meant that Frodo and Sam had fallen and that Aragorn had not sat upon the throne of Gondor. It was the image of the future.

Was it the only future? Was Minas Tirith still going to fall? Were my friends going to die? Or was the world going to change? Had it changed already? Or could I still change it?

I didn't know. And that was the worst part.

After two weeks, I Skipped home. I was in the middle of a conversation about comparing battle scars with Éomer and Gaenry and—whoops—I was standing in the gas station store.

You want to talk about awkward? I was wearing a white nightgown, definitely not the style of Ohio. I was barefoot with bandages still wrapped around my chest. I probably looked bizarre. The shopkeeper was certainly staring at me.

"Hi," I said, waving. "I was in a rush, and I didn't have time to change out of my bedclothes. I hope that's all right with you."

"You…" The man seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I'll just, um, be going now." I glanced at my clothes. "I forgot my wallet."

"You're Ana Stonbit…"

I stopped halfway to the exit and turned to stare at the shopkeeper. His face was covered in little beads of sweat his brown eyes were wide and a little bloodshot.

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"You're the girl who was shot." The shopkeeper was gasping with excitement and fear. "You were shot, but then you disappeared and no one knew where you went. We thought you were dead."

"Me?" My voice came out little more than a squeak. "I think you have the wrong person."

"You're definitely Ana Stonbit."

"You have the wrong Ana Stonbit."

I bolted out of that gas station as fast as my short legs could carry me. The white nightgown flapped about, beating against my ankles and wrapping itself around my legs as though it was trying to trip me. I heard someone shouting my name behind me, but I didn't stop to look. I didn't want to see. It was only when I was far, far away from the gas station that I stopped running. I stood on the sidewalk—cars raced by, some of them honking their horns—and gasped for breath.

That stupid, inconsiderate robber with a gun had screwed up my life beyond just giving me another scar. Did everyone think I was dead?

I hoped not. I didn't to be the world's newest miracle.

"We all thought you were dead."

I crossed my arms and glared at Nick over the kitchen counter. "Obviously, I'm not."

"You were shot, and you disappeared. What were we supposed to think?" Nick draped an arm over the back of the sofa and stared over at me.

"That I had run away."

"Everyone saw you get shot," said Bonnie. "I could either tell them you were dead or tell them that you Skipped to a mythical place called Middle Earth. Which would you prefer?"

I sighed and poured coffee into three separate mugs. I'd Skipped back to the gas station yesterday and walked all the way home (my cellphone had died in Middle Earth). Google had revealed much—the robber had been apprehended for murder, an obituary had come out about me, and my parents had already begun planning the funeral. Great. I'd had to call them, tell them I was all right, and make up some excuse that I had slipped out the back to avoid the bullet. By some miracle, I managed to convince them that the lie was true.

Then, I called up Nick and Bonnie, informing them that I was very much alive and it was time for a group meeting. Their schedules weren't clear until the next day, so after a night of restless sleep, I'd found Nick and Bonnie outside the door of my apartment. Nick now lounged on the couch, making himself as comfortable as if it was his own apartment. Bonnie was leaning against the arm of the sofa, not fully committed to sitting but in a semi-comfortable position nonetheless. I was in the kitchen making—surprise—coffee. Once I had finished preparing the three drinks, I moved out to the living room to hand the mugs over to Nick and Bonnie. I took a seat on the armchair and sipped my coffee.

"So what am I going to do?" I asked.

"Alert the authorities," said Nick.

"Bad idea," I said.

"Why? You're alive. The whole world thinks you're dead. Don't you want to be alive again?"

"Stupid. What if news of out?" asked Bonnie. "Ana would be famous as some kind of miracle come back from the dead."

"I'm not understanding the problem," said Nick. "Doesn't everyone want to be famous?"

"That's your fantasy from when you were six," said Bonnie. "It'd be really inconvenient for some people—Ana—to be famous. She disappears all the time. Unless you want it to be a national scandal—the disappearing girl—it might be better to remain on the deceased list."

"It's my fantasy when I was nine," said Nick, taking a sip of his coffee. "I wanted to be a rock star."

I grinned. "Cause we all just wanna be big rock stars, live in hilltop houses, driving fifteen cars. The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap. We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat."

"I can pour this coffee on your nice couch," said Nick, lifting the pink coffee mug into the air. "Good-bye leather."

I gasped. "You wouldn't!"

A grin slowly worked its way across Nick's face. "Watch me."

"You son of a bitch."

"Don't you insult my mother like that!"

"Don't you threaten my leather like that!"

"Guys," said Bonnie, her patience wearing thin, "we were talking about Ana's problems."

"I don't get it," said Nick. "Why doesn't she want to be famous? Is disappearing every once in awhile such a big deal?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to respond, but she was interrupted by a three quick knocks on the apartment door. We all turned to stare at the flat piece of wood, wondering who could be on the other side. Almost every person I knew in the city was sitting in my apartment already.

"I'll get it," said Nick, cheerfully. He jumped over the arm of the sofa and bounded across the room. He practically threw the door open, but the moment he saw who was on the other side, his smile vanished.

The brown haired, hazel-eyed cutie that lived next door stood in the hallway. His hands were thrust in his jeans pockets, and he kept shifting from side to side uncomfortably. He looked up at Nick through his long, black eyelashes.

"Hi," said Jack shyly. "Sorry I didn't stop by sooner. I wasn't sure if it was the right time…" He took a deep breath. "I heard what happened to Ana—it was all over the news—I feel terrible. She was a nice girl. And I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help. Moving or a—"

Jack stopped talking. He stared past Nick's shoulder at me. I was lounging in the armchair, drinking my coffee and smiling innocently at him. I waved.

"Aren't you dead?" asked Jack.

"I went to Heaven but God said I wasn't good enough and I went to hell but the devil thought I talked too much, so I just came back." I shrugged. "How you been?"

Jack gawked at me for another second and then he turned back to Nick. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"It's a long story," said Nick. "In short, Ana isn't dead, we aren't releasing this to the press yet, thanks for the offer of help, but we're good right now. See you." Nick slammed the door in Jack's face. "Stupid asshat."

There came a muffled shout from the other side of the door. "I can still hear you."

"Go away, asshat!" shouted Nick, banging his fist on the door.

"Don't break my apartment," I said. "I'll make you pay for it!"

Nick glowered at the door for a second and then stormed back across the room.

"Well, that was rude of you," said Bonnie. "He seemed like a nice guy."

"He's the nice guy who got mad at Ana when she disappeared during their date and then wouldn't give her a chance to explain." Nick hopped back onto the sofa. "We don't like him."

"He's not all bad," I said.

Nick glared at me.

"But he's kind of a jerk," I finished. I glanced over at Bonnie and added, for her benefit, "He's my neighbor."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "This is what I get for going missing for six months. I don't understand any of these grudges. Maybe he's genuinely sorry for what he did. Death has a way of changing people. And he's cute. You lucked out in the neighbor department."

Well, I couldn't argue with her on that point.

"So wait," said Nick. "I still don't understand why we can't tell the world that Ana's still alive. Why don't you want to be famous?"

"Because when I'm famous, people will notice me," I said. "And when they notice me, they notice my Skips. Which means people will realize that I disappear at frigging random moments. And I don't think magical Skipping is something—"

Skip.

"—people are ready for. What if it leads to mass chaos? What if it leads to the apocalypse, the end of life as we know it? One world I Skip to is already ending, I don't know if I could handle it if the other world ended."

Someone screamed.

"I was joking. A little…" I stopped. I wasn't in my apartment anymore.

I was standing on a dock. The smell of river water was overwhelming; the scent of fish and mud mingled in the air, and I screwed up my face. The wood of the dock seemed to sway from side to side in rhythm with the waves of the river. A gray sky stretched overhead, up the river and spanning over a wide lake with a wooden town resting on the water's surface.

A crowd of people were standing by me on the dock. Women in long brown cotton dresses, and men in hosiery and damp wool shirts. They were screaming and shouting and waving. No one had noticed my sudden appearance as all their attention was focused somewhere beyond me.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"He has gone under!" One fat woman clutched her husband's shoulder. Her face was pale, and she looked as though she was about to faint. The layers of fat under her chin wobbled wildly.

"Who?" I asked.

"Bard! Bard!" someone shouted. "Someone grab him!"

"I cannot swim!"

It was then that I saw him, the little boy bobbing about in the rapid water. He was having trouble staying afloat as his arms waved about wildly. He kept trying to scream for help, but water filled his open mouth causing him to choke and gargle. Perhaps in normal water, he was a decent swimmer, but the flow of the river was swift and even a strong swimmer would have trouble.

The idea of watching a boy drown was horrifying. Why had I Skipped here? Was I supposed to save him? But I thought I wasn't meant to save anyone. Who died was meant to die. That's how it worked, right? But I didn't want to watch a boy drown.

"Oh my God!" I cried, jumping up and down. "Someone should save him!"

"You save him," said a gangly youth. "I am not jumping in there!"

"Who say says I can swim?" I snapped. "I might just drown alongside the boy—and then both our deaths will be on your hands. And I'll haunt you until your dying day. You'll be trying to sleep and I'll come hover over your bed and tell you scary stories so that you'll only have nightmares and on your death bed you'll tell your beloved grandchildren that you shoulder never have told that nice lady to go jump in the river."

The gangly youth stare at me blankly.

"Someone should save him though." I looked around at the group of anxious people. No one seemed willing to jump in to save the boy.

"He has disappeared! The water has swallowed him!" The fat woman waved her arms about wildly.

"Watch out!" I shrieked.

But it was too late. Her elbow whacked me in the nose, knocking me backwards. I yelped. My foot slipped on the edge of the dock and—before I even knew what was going on—I toppled backwards into the raging river.

Oh frig.

The water wrapped around me. I screamed and found my mouth flooded with river water. It tasted disgusting. I coughed and choked. My arms and legs thrashed about. I was drowning. I was dying. Oh my God, I was going to haunt that woman. What a way to die. I'd survived being shot, and now I was going to die in this river. Drowning, choking, coughing, my lungs were ready to burst, explode, they were filled to the brim with water.

And then, I remembered that I knew how to swim. I had, in fact, made it to seal level of my swimming class. Pretty impressive, right? Yeah, yeah, I know you're not impressed. You've seen me swim.

However, my swimming ability was enough to make sure I didn't drown. With a wriggle of my arms and kick of my legs, I propelled myself to the surface. Gasping for air, my head broke the water. I opened my eyes and looked around.

Water still splashed in my face, but I could make out that the people on the dock were screaming. There were now two people drowning. No one had moved to save us. One man stood hesitantly on the side of the dock, debating, but when he saw that I could swim, he didn't jump it. Still, it was kind of sad. Yes, the water was cold and fast, but you'd think someone would have the nerve to jump in and rescue a little boy and beautiful woman (that would be me).

I twisted around and searched the water's surface. For a moment, I couldn't find the boy, and I thought he'd already drowned. Then, I saw his scrawny hand waving above the water's surface on the other side of the river.

All right, I could do this. I was a seal-level swimmer at my local pool. I could save a little kid.

I dove into the water and swam across the river. The current was stronger than I expected, and I was pushed down stream. I powered through the water, each stroke propelling me forward. I had to stop frequently and check to make sure I was still headed towards the kid, readjusting myself as I went.

Finally, my hand caught hold of the kid's wrist. I lifted him to the surface and—ta-da!—he spewed up a mouthful of water in my face.

So that was my thanks for saving his life. Great.

The boy started screaming. He didn't seem to realize that I was rescuing him, and he started thrashing about wildly. He hit and kicked me, causing me to drop him at one point. He sunk back under the water like a rock until I grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him to the surface.

"Calm down," I said. "Ow! You just kicked my boob! I will let you drown."

"No!" he shrieked, splashing more water in my face. "I do not want to die! Do not take me to the other side!"

"What are you talking about?" The rushing river sprayed water in my face as I fought to stay afloat. "I'm here to frigging save you, stupid kid."

He stopped struggling. "What?"

"A woman tries to save your life and you repay her by punching her! What kind of brats do they raise here?" I started to kick, steering us in the direction of the shore. The current continued to push us downstream. "I mean, really. I heroically dive into the water. All those other people were just being drama queens—they weren't doing anything about the fact that you were drowning, but me? I said, 'Move out of my way, you overgrown chickens, I will save this little boy.' So I dove into the water and gracefully swam over to you. I was all ready to rescue you and you frigging punched me, you brat."

"Please don't!" cried the little boy. "I thought you had come to bring me to the other side! I did not know!"

I paused to consider this. "Oh, so you thought I was an angel. Well, that's very flattering. I suppose I could forgive you this one time…"

"I have not done anything particularly good in this life, and I do not wish to be punished for the rest of eternity…" The boy gulped. "I thought you came from a place of fire and brimstone."

My eyes narrowed. "You should have stuck with the angel version of events, brat." I shoved his head under the water.

When he came up against, the kid was coughing and spluttering. "I am drowning! You are killing me!" he wailed.

"Shut it, brat. The water's like a foot deep here. Now you're just faking it."

I knelt on the rocky ground underneath the flowing water and watched as the kid got to his feet. Sure enough the water only came up to his thighs. He looked from side to side. We were standing on a rocky shore to the side of the river, just around a bend and out of sight of the docks. Some drooping trees hung low over the water, forming a little cove around the rocky beach. The kid and I were standing in the foot-deep water, both soaking wet. Our clothes clung to our bodies and our hair—his dark brown and mine dull blonde—were dripping water like faucets. We looked like drowned rats. (Maybe I was related to Kíli.)

The kid pushed his soaking bangs out of his eyes and drew himself to his full height. "My name is not 'brat'."

"You'll always be a brat to me," I said, trying to squeeze the water out of my hair.

"I am called Bard."

"Bard the Brat," I said. "It works well. You have the whole alliteration thing going on."

Bard waded out of the water. "My boots are like buckets." He pulled his shoes off. First the right boot and then the left. He tipped them upside down and water came pouring out. A little fish fell out of the left boot.

"I don't want to know what's in my boots," I said.

Bard turned to look at me properly for the first time. His big brown eyes scanned over me from my soaking leather boots to my gray jeans (those might have seemed a little odd) to my black t-shirt to my drenched blonde hair. Bard frowned. "Who are you? I have not seen you around Laketown before?"

"I'm just passing through," I said, brushing his comment aside.

"Where are you from?"

"Ah. Um. Brats shouldn't ask questions."

Bard scowled. "You just do not want to answer the question. There is something you are hiding. Where are you from?"

"I am from a mythical place called Ohio. It's a land of flying vehicles and electricity. Things like dragons and balrogs don't exist there, and the only thing we have to fear are other people and guns. Guns hurt."

Bard gawked at me. The scowled had disappeared from his face and had been replaced by an open-mouthed look of bewilderment. He asked, "What is this place where dragons do not exist?"

"Not in this world," I said.

Bard gasped. "So you are from the other place!"

"Not that other place," I said. "The other other place. There's no fire and brimstone where I come from."

"Oh." Bard pursed his lips. "That does not make any sense."

"It doesn't make any sense to me either."

Bard looked up at me. "What is your name, miss?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but then stopped myself. Then, a wide grin spread across my face. "You can call me Aunty Ana."

"And you called me a brat," muttered Bard. "Aunty Ana?"

"Take it or leave it, kid." I folded my arms across my soaking wet chest. "I can always push you back into the river."

"You would not dare."

I scooped him up from the ground. He screamed and thrashed about as I carried him to the river edge. I leaned over, bringing his face closer to the water.

"No! No! No! Please do not! Do not!"

I grinned. "What do you say?"

"I do not know!"

I leaned even closer to the water, and his face was inches away from the choppy surface.

"Aunty Ana! No! Aunty Ana!"

"Good boy." I laughed and placed him back down on the dry shore.

"What are you doing to my boy?" a shrill voice cried.

Bard and I both spun around to see a thin, frail woman standing on the rocky beach. Her face was pale, and she looked ready to pass out at any moment. A rough man with a thick, curling beard appeared next to her.

"Mother!" cried Bard. He scampered across the beach and flung his arms around his mother's waist.

"What were you doing to Bard?" asked his father. He snapped a tree branch off a nearby tree directed the pointy end to me.

"Hey, hey, now," I said, lifting my hands into the air. "I just rescued your son. Did you not see the whole jumping into the river and swimming over to your son thing? I'm a frigging hero."

The father jabbed me with the stick. I yelped and ran into the water out of the stick's reach.

"This isn't funny!" I tried to shield myself with my hands. "I'm a good person! Honestly, please don't sacrifice me to any dragons!"

"Sacrifice you to a dragon?" Bard's father frowned for a second, trying to find some meaning behind my words. Then, it hit him. His grip on the stick tightened so much that his hands turned white. "You are a witch."

"What? No! Not this again."

"Aunty Ana is not witch," said Bard.

"Do not call that woman your aunt!" cried his mother.

"Get away from us!" shouted his father. "Witch, return to your dragon servant!"

I stepped deeper into the river to avoid the stick. The water lapped around my waist. "Why does this keep happening to me?"

The father started into the water, preparing to jab me with the stick again.

Skip.

For once, the Skips had good timing.