Chapter Seven

A Not-So Normal Morning

Sunlight filtered into my room as I stared up at my ceiling, which looked like whoever painted the walls and ceiling had flung white paint at the walls and ceiling. All the walls and ceiling in my apartment looked like that, making me remember the house I had grown up in before it had been taken away from my dad and I by my egg cell donor by way of a divorce that could've been messier if I had been younger. I had seen how it had been done...how the painters had flung the white paint at the walls and ceiling to cause the random splatters. They had used a machine, as I recalled watching the remodel of the house being done. Well, before I was pushed into the backyard where the children of the other volunteers played.

I sighed, unable to push back the memory. It was almost as if I was living that moment in my life again, only experiencing life as I knew it when I was three years old. The first time I had ever been excluded. The first time I had been attacked by other children just because I didn't fit their mold. A cold chill ran down my spine as my perception seemed split- half of me was remembering the event while half of me was actually living it. Just what was going on?

I walked over to the small playhouse that was attached to the shed in the backyard. It was the one thing I was most excited about. The door was closed and I could hear the sounds of girls telling jokes and playing games. Oh, how I wanted to join them. I wanted to play with them and have fun. I never got to hang out with other girls around my age before. This was a new experience and I was excited. I pondered what kind of games they played. Did they even play any games I knew? I knew that I was happy to be able to play with others my age, grinning widely.

And so I knocked.

The door opened suddenly and I saw the group of four girls stare at me from the playhouse. They looked at me as if I had failed them before they suddenly closed the door. I knocked again.

"Go away!" they shouted.

"This is mine," I stated, not angry, but sad.

"Not care," the response came, "go away."

"This is mine," I insisted, now getting annoyed.

"You're not pretty enough. Go away."

"This is mine!" I shouted, now hurt and angry.

"You're fat! Go away before I tell!" the leader exclaimed before they started chanting.

"Fatty, go away! Fatty, you're ugly! Fatty, go away and take your ugly face with you!" they chanted.

Tears welled in my face. They kicked me out of my own playhouse and took over it. They weren't sharing. They hated me and...for what reason? Because of my outward appearance. The world felt colder. This wasn't what Sesame Street or Barney showed people being. People were supposed to be nice and share! I just wanted to play with them. As they continued repeating their chant and laughing at me, I got fed up and cried as I ran toward the house, looking for the closest adult.

I ran into a pair of legs and held onto them, the legs seeming almost like trees. Almost like a giant's legs. Those, I knew, were the legs of an adult. And I sobbed into them, tightening my little arms around them. A hand gently stroked my hair, trying to calm me down before the mysterious adult talked to me.

"It's going to be okay, Lisa," he said in an accent I couldn't place at the time, using the shortened version of my name that I called myself, but how did he know? He continued in his calm and gentle voice, saying, "tell me what happened."

"Girls...at my playhouse...not letting me play with them...they called me fat and...and...ugly," I had sobbed.

"Well, that's not nice," he stated gently, "forget them. Let the meanies have their own fun."

It was then that he got me disentangled from his legs and bent down so he could look at me in the eye and I saw that he had green eyes. I'd never seen green eyes before or since at that point. His eyes held kindness as he looked almost sternly at me, like he had an important message for me as he smiled at me, his hands holding my shoulders gently. I remember seeing his blue tie before I looked back at his face.

"I want you to listen to me because this is a very important thing I wanted to tell you," he stated quietly before continuing, "don't you ever, ever let what other people say ever change how you see yourself."

It was then that he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the backyard, within sight of the playhouse's one window. We started playing games together. We played tag. We played hide-and-seek. And I started to laugh. And I saw that the girls were jealous that I was having more fun than they were.

The girls emerged from the playhouse, looking at the scene. Some were still in the playhouse, watching what was going to go down. They didn't look shy, but acted like they owned everything. They almost glared at me, as if having more fun than they did was illegal or something. The leader approached me, glaring at me almost in anger. I didn't care. If she was going to start something, she was going to get in trouble.

"We will play with you," she said, as if she had just made it so.

"Nope. You were meanies to me and I don't play with meanies," I stated calmly.

"We will play with you," she repeated, her voice more forceful.

"I will not play with you," I replied calmly.

It was then that she walked up to me, obviously a few years older. She glared down at me.

"We will play with you," she repeated a third time.

"You're a meanie," I stated.

And then it happened. It was so fast. One moment, I had been standing. Next moment, I was on the ground on my rump. Pain blossomed right where my right eye was. My hand went up to my right eye. I didn't know what happened. And then the tsunami of pain hit me and I screamed in agony. My eye hurt a lot.

I was barely aware of being picked up and carried away from the girls. I was too focused on the pain and screaming to pay attention to what was going on now.

"What happened?" I heard my father command from the one who carried me.

"One of the girls hit her when she told them that she didn't want to play with them," the one who had played with me said, "the one with the blonde pigtails."

I was barely aware of being passed to my dad as he hugged me and rubbed my back.

"Thank you, Mister-" my dad trailed off.

"Smith. John Smith," the man replied.

I found myself back in my bed, twenty-one years later. The guy called himself John Smith and hadn't been in my memories earlier. Which meant, he wasn't originally there. I knew only one time traveler who used that name as a cover. I sighed, partially amused, partially annoyed, and partially...feeling warm fuzzies. He had gone into my personal past and tried to change it into something better. Why? All I knew was that the next time I see him, which I knew was going to happen sooner or later, I was going to ask him that exact question.

And I stopped. He was probably the only one with the power and ability to change time. He could erase whole civilizations from time. Or people. He could do some horrendous things with that power and no one could stop him. I was lucky. Somehow, he had no ill will against me and obviously wanted to help me. I saw how kind he truly was and knew that it was a good thing that the one who had such great power over things had a kind heart. But I also knew that there was always a limit to both kindness and patience. I didn't want to imagine what kind of person he'd be if both his kindness and patience ran out. That was the most terrifying thought I ever had about the one who called himself the Doctor.

It was that point in time that my alarm clock went off. Apparently, it decided that it was time for me to get ready for another day of classes. Groaning, I got up out of my bed, noticing just how unusual my day had become ad I'd only been awake for maybe a half an hour at most. Already, two abnormally strange things had happened. The first was that my personal past had been altered by an alien time traveler who was crazy old and had the ability to change his appearance drastically. The second was that I woke up on my own without the assistance of caffeine or the sudden urge to commit murder or a panic attack. The second was a good thing and was the more abnormal of the two, garnering more of my attention than the fact that the Doctor was tinkering with my personal past.

I quickly decided that I was definitely going to class after having second thoughts. Around that time, I decided on the outfit I was going to wear. Luckily, it was mostly suited to the cooling fall weather.

I walked over to my dresser and opened the bottom-most drawer, finding pairs of cargo pants that I had been fortunate to find in my size. Some were a light shade of tan, some were a dark brown, and others were a deep forest green. Grabbing the deep forest green cargo pants, I slid them on. Closing the drawer with a foot, I slid out of the worn t-shirt I had worn to bed and opened the top most drawer, pulling out a bra. I put it on without issue, clasping it behind my back which was a skill I had ensured I had only because I didn't want to develop rashes by way of fabric burns.

Quickly closing the top most drawer, I opened the middle drawer, grabbing a silk button-up blouse. It was a deep orange and was my favorite. It fit me well, which was interesting since it was in the pile of clothes I'd inherited from my paternal grandmother. Apparently, we were around the same size. Once buttoned, I smiled at the pile of things on top of the wooden dresser.

On top of the pile was a leather belt that had a pouch and I snapped the leather belt around my waist, keeping the loose cargo pants in place. Then came the vest that I always wore with this outfit, a pale blue to accentuate the orange and green of my outfit. I smiled at the jewelry that formed the rest of the pile. There was a pendant and matching earrings that were fleurs de lis, almost made out of purple rhinestones or something jewel-like. Then there was the dogtag I always liked to wear that had an image familiar to me etched into it: a skull wearing a pair of goggles with a cutlass crossing a propeller. Then was the last necklace- a pendant in the shape of a large Victorian key with a pair of bird-like wings coming from it. I smirked to myself as I entered the bathroom.

I saw myself in the mirror and smirked at my reflection. Round-ish face, widows peak, hair that would never behave even if I subjected to mousse and gel that looked a shade away from hot chocolate, matching eyes, a broad nose that I felt took far too much of my face than necessary, the small chin, a just big enough mouth. Pretty average, actually, even with my annoying nose taking too much room. I pulled my hair into a tight bun, as tight as I could, trying to turn the bun into just a ball of hair. I then grabbed my favorite thing I loved putting in my hair, if only because I had worked on it off and on for six whole months.

It was once just piles of raw, colored yarn that I separated into strands of varying lengths and widths, twisted to look almost like dyed and dreaded hair. It was all kept together by a hair tie, something that was almost a rubber band in appearance, but matched my hair color. The dreaded yarn were in four colors- a light auburn, forest green, light brown, and chocolate brown. The band held the yarn in place and just to make it look more like a ponytail, I wrapped the area with a length of fabric which I tied into a nice bow. I smirked again, assessing the look. It wasn't every day I had the urge to dress up in my most flattering and impressive outfit. I didn't care what most people thought. Even if I did care, they mostly told me that I looked awesome anyways.

I slid on a cap that was a deep green and looked like it was made by patching together green denim. I liked the hat. On the brim, I rested my pair of goggles which had dark lenses so I could use them as epic sunglasses. Then came the brown leather boots. They were thick enough both on the calf and on the top of the boot itself to allow me to actually fit into them. Curse my thick feet. It makes finding a good pair of boots into a literal Easter Egg Hunt. Except that they were boots and the hunt wasn't localized to a park or yard. Okay, that metaphor sucks.

Anyhow, I glanced at the clock. I needed to bolt soon. I slid into a brown longcoat that I had a friend sew together for me. Deep brown on the outside, emerald green silk on the inside. Kept me warm just fine in the winter, and just cool enough to wear on summer mornings. I grabbed my messenger bag and ran to the fridge to grab my bag lunch.

The college cafeteria had a habit of overcharging everything. That which wasn't overcharged was deep fried and shouldn't find its way into my stomach. Not if I don't want an attack. I frowned at the recent memory of the pain. I thought I was going to die and if I wasn't going to die in that moment, then I wanted to die. I sighed and left the apartment behind, locking the door behind myself.

"Good morning!" I heard a voice exclaim behind me, making me jump.

My heart raced. All I could think of was that I was minutes away from another type of attack. I started to unlock the door, ready to hide in my apartment when I stopped. The voice was different. It still belonged to the opposite gender, yes, but it wasn't the voice I had learned to fear. The accent was all wrong. Wait. Accent. Important clue. Accent as in not from the same continent. Good. That was good. Maybe. How many British people did I know anyways? I paused. Did I want to stop unlocking my door now that I had a good inkling of who it was?

"Come along, Olmstead or we'll miss the bus and we don't want that, do we?" he asked, sounding amused and maybe a little condescending.

I turned around. I didn't need to. I already knew who it was. The recent happenings to my own memories had been enough of a clue that he was going to be around. I went back to locking my door with a sigh. I was going to have to have a bit of a chat with him. Especially concerning tinkering with my own past and sneaking up on me. And he just looked at me with a wide grin that was part amusement, part almost childlike excitement, and part humor. All it did was make him look almost like he was both incredibly ancient and somehow not. It was weird.

"Right," I said in a non-committal way, walking the path I had walked down several times to the city bus, except that this time, I wasn't alone.

"What's got you all...emotional this morning?" he asked, pausing to find 'emotional', obviously deciding that it was the least offensive word he could use.

"I know you messed with my past," I muttered sourly.

"Don't tell me anything more," he snapped, "I haven't done it yet."

"Right. Don't need to know more than the vague stuff," I added sourly.

"And what's wrong?" he asked, "was it a good or bad alteration?"

"Considering that the original way it went down involved me just walking away, playing with a stuffed toy and your alteration ended with my getting a black eye..."

He frowned, almost flinching, "sorry."

"Why would you even need to change such a small part of my history anyways?"

"Now? Because you told me I would."

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, so happy with the prospect that I forgot to smile and decided to frown instead.

"That's the rules."

"Whose rules?"

"Mine."

"Then change them."

"It's now a fixed point. It has to happen or either time collapses completely or creatures from beyond time and space will appear and try to clean the wound in time itself, which will kill everyone on the face of the planet."

"You're kidding me."

"Time travel is no joking matter," he stated calmly, "it's all full of bunches and bunches of rules to make sure that the universe keeps chugging along."

"So I see that you weren't kidding about the whole looking different thing," I stated lightly after a long pause.

"It happens," he stated, "typically when I die, but yeah."

"So is it just a new coat of paint or everything's new even the personality?"

"Closer to the coat of paint analogy. Mostly. Actually, forget it. It's nothing like that."

"So why exactly are you here, pestering me?" I asked.

"I'm pestering you?" he asked, sounding almost pathetic.

"I meant it in the whole you're here and visiting with me thing. I mean, I doubt I'm all that important for you, Mr. Alien-Time-Traveler-Guy to be troubling you-"

"Excuse me!" he exclaimed, turning furious as he interrupted me, rounding on me with a glare that made me almost back off, "why said that you aren't important?!"

"I refuse to have an overly large ego to think that I'm important to anything or anyone!" I exclaimed, glaring back at him, "call it modesty, humility, or what. But I refuse to acknowledge that I'm so uber-important that it causes you to drop by to just say hi for the first time in almost five years!"

"I did drop by to say hi!" he exclaimed, "and to investigate the college that you just happen to attend."

"Ha! Told ya!" I exclaimed.

"And what happened to your hair?" he asked, probably talking about the dreaded yarn.

"It's called 'dreadfalls'. Mine are just made by dreading yarn," I stated.

"Looks really..." he said, trailing off to find the perfect word as we continued walking.

"Cool?"

"No."

"Awesome?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Looking for the word. Shut up," he stated before I hit the back of his head, not going for painful, just to startle him, getting him to react. "Ow! What's that for?"

"You were being rude to me," I stated indignantly, "sides, shouldn't have hurt you that bad."

"Sorry," he stated quietly, carrying on like a kid who'd just been given the riot act.

"It's all cool," I replied with a smile.

"So what did you find out? With the college?" he asked.

"A lot of weird things. I keep walking into dead ends without answers," I replied as we stopped at the bus stop sign.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that...there are a lot of mysterious deaths. Highest suicide rate in the state. That alone...yeah...creeps me out," I stated.

"I know that much," he stated.

"I knew one of the...victims," I stated quietly.

"Friend of yours?"

"He wished," I responded quietly, "two days before he died, he stopped trying to make passes at me. His suicide note blamed me for his death."

"Whoa-ho-ho! You caused a guy to kill themselves because you rejected him! That's a new low!" he exclaimed, causing me to glower at him.

"Do you think I enjoyed knowing that it is always my fault when someone around me dies!" I snapped at him, glaring at him, almost screaming.

"I didn't know it bothered you like that," he said quietly, obviously sobering up.

"Right now, it's like I'm the center of some storm. Anywhere near me is-"

"Don't you dare say it because that's my whole entire life!" he exclaimed.

"Oh like I have no control over the fact that within five years, I've lost everything I ever cared about or held dear and it's all entirely. My. Fault?!"

"If I wasn't there-"

"I'd still blame myself!" I exclaimed, "he wasn't strong enough to last until the reversal...thing...happened! Because I didn't do a good enough job at keeping him as healthy as possible!"

"Like you can control when or how people die?!" he exclaimed before catching what he said and looked away.

"Listen," I said as I saw the bus approach, "if you want to get to the bottom of it, don't expect me to help ya. I don't want my bad luck rub off on you."

"If anything, it's been my bad luck rubbing off on you."

"Sides, I can't keep up the investigation. Not for a week at least," I stated quietly.

"Why's that?" he asked as I got on the bus and ran my bus pass through the card reader, getting a beep.

"Last thing I need is someone like you worrying about me," I stated with a frown.

"You think I'll be worried for you?"

"I don't want to imagine the kind of mother hen you could be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just a girl thing," I stated, trying to get out of explaining things to him.

He didn't seem like the kind who would take it lightly that I was going to be on the mend for a little while. And I was in no way, going to be running into a dangerous situation when I should be focused on healing. Sides, I knew how protective he could be. Any protective instincts he'd have would kick into overdrive, especially if he knew. Which was why I was in no way, shape, or form, going to let him in on my secret. That could be something utterly terrifying. Especially if he had altered my past and tried to make it better. Least, that was what I'd thought.

Now, I wasn't all that sure about the Doctor. It was clear that he wasn't the same, but neither was I. I had changed too, maybe not in the obvious way he had.

I looked out of the window on the bus as I was peripherally aware that he was sitting behind me. He thought I enjoyed death. A shiver ran down my body as I closed my eyes. In the end, I'd paid for it. For everything horrible I've done, I finally faced the one thing that was more than seven times worse than everything I've ever done, including the deaths on my hands. And still, it seemed that karma wasn't yet happy with the arrangement. Even after losing every friend I held dear, my innocence, my family, and what dignity I had left.

I was only peripherally aware of him moving to sit next to me and giving me a hug. Why?

"Is everything okay?" he asked quietly.

"Depends," I replied quietly as he let me go.

"Depends on what?"

"Your definition of 'okay'."