Tim suddenly found himself in an alley somewhere in Maryland in the year 1952. It was always such a strange feeling when he travelled; it felt disorientating, as if he was tipsy on alcohol, but worse. He took a few minutes to get his bearings in the alleyway, though he had absolutely no idea where to go or who to see.

Going somewhere new in time was almost like visiting a completely different planet for him. He thought that because 1952 wasn't so much of a leap for him – only 66 years in the past – it wouldn't be quite so bad. He took a few deep breaths to alleviate the sickness he always felt; it was a bit like car sickness but much worse and he eventually felt right enough to start his journey.

Taking a step out on the street, it was much more clearer to him that his knowledge of where he was going, or who he needed to see, was pretty limited. Looking down at his watch, the time stated it was 12:10pm, but even he wasn't sure if it changed with the time travelled.

Across the road from the alleyway, Tim spots a diner with it's neon open sign flickering and after checking both ways, he made his way over to it and walked in. He never thought that 50s inspired diners that he saw would be quite as close as what he was now standing it. Looking around aimlessly, he wondered if he was looking as stupid as he currently felt as he stood in the middle of the tiled floor.

A jukebox sits in the corner playing some music. He can't say he was familiar with the song, but it added to the atmosphere that he expected in the diner. It was rather quiet, and only a few mutterings from some tables and the music from the jukebox filled the room. Tim knew that if he was going to survive here, he had to know how to blend in. A usual time travel trip was somehow a lot easier than this; he just went for fun, walking around without getting too involved with the things around him, but now, he had to actually talk to people and find the answers he wanted to so desperately receive.

He made his way across to the counter and sat up on one of the stools. "Just a coffee, please." he requested when the lady on the other side of the counter approached him. The lady nodded and it wasn't long before she returned with his coffee. He exchanged a friendly smile with the woman and she left him alone.

He watched her for a moment as she poured the coffee from the pot and into a mug. Her bright blonde hair sits almost perfectly upright in a beehive hairstyle, with curly strands draped down the side of her head and her fringe neatly parted at the side and it still connects beautifully with her hair. Her light aqua blue dress – and her name, Peggy, embroidered on the front in red - with a white apron around her waist matches the colour of the interior of the diner, and she even had a light blue piece of cloth that she uses as a headband that ties around the back of her head. Tim was briefly mesmerised by her, despite being at least half his age; he saw pictures of waitresses from the era in pictures and depicted in movies or on televsion, but it was just captivating seeing one for in the actual flesh, in the 1950s.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out some coins that Florence handed to him just before he disappeared from the room. He didn't know how much was there and he just hoped it was enough to pay for the coffee.

Back home, Tim was a policeman; so being here, he thought that he should know how to get information out of people, but it wasn't easy when he still felt like he was in a completely different universe. But he told himself that the next person that sat next to him, he was going to try and talk to.

It wasn't long before he had to make good on the promise he just made to himself. A man in his late 40s wearing a light grey suit, complete with a waistcoat of the same colour, a brown and white striped tie and a black fedora hat. His hand sits in his trouser pocket and a long coat is folded roughly as it drapes over his arm. He sits on the stool next to Tim and places his hat down on the counter; it surprised Tim that the man's dark brown hair was still gelled immaculately in place much like Cary Grant's.

"Usual please, Pegs." he smiled at the waitress who nodded and left the area behind the counter as another waitress took her spot. The man turned his head to Tim and gave him a friendly smile, and Tim returned the gesture. Tim still couldn't muster up the courage to find the words he needed to start.

He kept looking around the diner, thinking of anything to distract him from what he knew he needed to do. The first thing that kept catching his attention was how everything was in pure, high definition colour; when he thinks of the 1950s, it's mainly in a sea of black and white photos and movies, but seeing it right in front of him for real was something that equally amazed and terrified him.

The man leaned towards him as Tim looked aimlessly towards the jukebox that was having the song changed by one of the customers in the bar, "I hope you don't mind me saying, son, but you look a little lost."

Tim chuckled nervously and lowered his head as he twisted his lower body in the stool towards the older man, "You could say that." he replied.

Peggy, the waitress from before returned with a plate that had a sausage, two fried eggs and a slice of toast cut into two triangles and a mug of coffee was placed down straight after. "Thanks, Peggy."

"You're welcome, doll." she smiled before walking away.

The man started to eat his breakfast, and with a mouthful of egg, he swallowed it down before turning back to Tim, "I'm Robert, by the way. Robert Irvin." he introduced, holding out his hand for Tim to shake.

"Tim Williamson." he responded, meeting Robert's hand with his and exchanging a firm handshake.

"So, what brings you to this part of the world?" he questions, taking note of Tim's English accent during the introduction.

Taking a sip of his coffee with a light slurp, Tim knew that telling the truth would make him sound a little crazy, so he had to think of a little lie to gain Robert's trust for now. "Holiday."

"Of all the places in the world to choose from to vacation in, you choose Maryland?"

"I have some friends over here. I promised I'd visit when I could." Robert wasn't quite so convinced by Tim's answer but he decided not to question any longer.

Robert lowered his head back towards his plate but as it made it's way down, a glimpse of Tim's watch caught his eye. "Your watch. Not seen one like that before. Where d'you get it?"

"Family heirloom. It was given to me by my dad." he answered, pulling down his sleeve in an attempt to hide it, "Past down through the generations."

Robert shuffled rather nervously in his seat and cleared his throat. His whole demeanour changed when he saw the watch, but Tim didn't seem to pick up on that. "So, um, what are you really doing here?" he asks, with his mouth full of more of his breakfast. Tim looks at him blankly, before he pulls out a folded up piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Sliding it over to him, Tim takes it and unfolds it, revealing a newspaper article showing the words 'Time Travel Watch Surfaces'. Exactly the same article as one of the ones at the antique shop. The article contained a perfect description of the watch around Tim's wrist.

Tim looked through the article again, wondering if the Ellis' may have removed anything from it, he leaned closer to Robert. "Okay, look, I need you to help me." Tim confessed. "William Frazier. "

"Look, son, I can't help you." Robert got up to leave and after placing a few dollar bills on to the counter and alerting Peggy to their existence, he grabbed his coat from the stool next to him, and his hat from the counter. Folding his coat back up, he placed his hand back into his trouser pocket and draped the coat over his arm.

As Robert made his way out of the diner, Tim grabbed his lower arm forcing it out of his pocket, "Please, Robert. You clearly know something about this watch, so you must know somewhere I can go."

Tim's blue eyes pleaded with him like a little child who was just about to burst into tears, so Robert took a deep breath as he looked at him. "Esme Booth. She's a psychic. I have no idea where she is, she lives somewhere in this state, but she keeps a very low profile. You'll have to dig deep to find her. That's all I can do for you. But I suggest you keep that out of sight." he urged – referring to the watch – before patting Tim on the shoulder and leaving the diner.

Giving his old job back home, it seemed simple enough to him to track down one person who appeared hard to find. He had done it many times before in his fifteen plus year as a police officer. But back there he had a police database and some familiarity to work with, and here, he had almost nothing.

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Once Tim had finished the last of his coffee, he left the diner. He stepped outside and took a few minutes taking in the Maryland air. When he first got there, he felt okay, but since meeting Robert, he felt out of place and exposed, like everything was dream. There was a sudden shortness in his breath and his heart began to race before the palms of his hand started to feel clammy and his forehead started to feel damp from the sweat. He rushed over to the alley he arrived in, trying to catch his breath, gasping forcefully as he tried to fight the thick feeling of the air as he took it in.

Tim had no idea why this was happening, he was a police officer, tracking people down was something he was good at; so he couldn't understand why he was having a panic attack. He took a few more moments to calm down, and his heart was no longer beating fast enough to feel it was going to burst out of his chest.

He had no idea where to find the psychic, even Robert said she was hard to find as she keeps a low profile. Nearby was a local library and he thought that something in there could be useful and at this point, anything was worth a try and the library seemed a good place to start.

Making his way over there, he was still a little disorientated and bumped into a young woman who was walking in the opposite direction, "Sorry." Tim apologised.

"It's fine." the young lady replied before letting out a small giggle and brushing a part of her hair behind her ears.

There was a slight awkward silence before Tim spoke again, "Look, erm, I don't know if you can help me but I'm looking for a woman by the name of Esme Booth. She's apparently a psychic."

The young lady's face and behaviour completely changed in exactly the same way as Robert's did earlier. It made him wonder what was it about Esme that made everyone's behaviour change at the mention of her name. "No, I'm sorry. I have no idea where she is, sorry." she informed him, rushing away as fast as she could. He would've followed after her, but this time, he didn't have it in him and he just let her walk off.

Making his way over to the library, he hoped that there would be some kind of documents or phone book that he could look through for her name. Maybe something to suggest why her name seems to spark terror when it's mentioned. As he entered, he quickly found a phone book for the Maryland area. Finding the letter B in the residents section he hoped a Booth with the initial E would be there, but seeing as he remembered that she supposedly kept a low profile, he wasn't as hopeful as he was a few minutes ago.

His finger ran down all the Booth's in the phone book and there were only two shared the same initial as Esme. Taking out a scrap piece of paper and a pen he found in his jacket, he wrote down the two numbers before making his way to the nearest phone and phoning them with the last few coins that he had. The first number he called had nothing to offer, except a rude hang up of the phone when he mentioned her name; a reaction that seems to be normal around here. He phoned the other number and it rung twice before a little girl answered, "Hey, I'm looking for someone who goes by the name of Esme Booth." he said and all he heard was a little deep breathing over the other end of the handset.

"I'm sorry, I can't –" she replied, her voice sounded worried and a little scared.

Tim could sense her concern about Esme but he had to find her, "No, wait, please don't hang up." he pleaded. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Deborah."

Tim started to feel like he was fighting a losing battle very quickly and he rubbed his face in frustration, "Okay, Deborah, I'm Tim. I just need you to tell me about Esme and then I'll leave you alone and you can hang up." Tim did his best to speak in the calm tone that the years as a police officer had taught him, especially when dealing with children.

"She –" she began, the quivering in her voice evident to Tim.

"Deborah, hang up the phone. Now!" the little girls mother shouted over the phone and the line immediately went dead. Tim slammed the handset down and licked his lips before placing his head in his hands, blocking out the sunlight from his vision. When he felt someone brush up against him he lifted his head and looked to his left where the sensation came from and saw someone quickly walk away.

He looked down and noticed a small folded up piece of paper placed in front of the phone. Tim picked it up and unfolded it and on it a beautifully written name and address for Esme Booth. Smiling to himself, he wished he could chase after whoever left it but when he went to the end of the road, they had disappeared. Far too many people were dodging anything about Esme, and at least now he could find out why.

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Tim had managed to rent himself a car and promised to pay the money later, and he will when all of his questions were answered. A thirty minute drive to a place called Towson and after spending a few, what felt like, pointless minutes driving around looking for the address, he had to pull over and ask for help. But seeing as everyone else clams up whenever she is mentioned, he wasn't holding out much hope.

He took another drive around, and noticed a little alley that was big enough to drive though and he parked up the car and took a walk down the road, making sure it wasn't a dead end. As he got closer, a house is situated at the end of the long road that takes him into a large piece of land. He rushed back, getting the car and driving up the load road. Driving closer to the house, the outside made the house looked abandoned, old and run down but this was the address on the paper so she must live here, but looking at it, Tim wouldn't even house a dog in this building.

Gingerly, Tim got out of the car and walked towards the house, going up the couple of steps up to the front door. His balled up fist hovered in front of the door and after another deep breath, he bashed his knuckles on the wearing out wood. When the door opened, an old lady, hair almost as white as snow that took the attention away from her wrinkly dark skin. "Esme Booth?"

"What do you want?!" she snapped and her walking stick moving in all directions as she spoke.

Taking the watch of his wrist, he held it out to her, "I have a watch – a very specific watch – and I need to know more about it."

Esme took the watch and it wasn't long before her face fell and she shoved the watch back towards his forcefully into his stomach. "This watch is trouble. Goodbye."

She began to close the door but Tim held it open with his hand, and his foot stopping it from closing further. "No! Hold on. You must know about this watch. You won't be the first here to have done. So you know that I have come here in a specific way. I'm Tim Williamson, and I time travelled here from London, 2018. 66 years in your future. I was told to come here, and I was sent to you. So please, I am begging you that you tell me something, anything I don't already know about this watch. Please, Mrs Booth."

Tim's eyes pleaded again, and Esme looked at him. She saw the desperation in his eyes, and she was conflicted about what to do. "I can give to 10 minutes and then, I never want to see you or that watch again."

Her words worried Tim, nobody wanted him to know about this watch, and people seemed to hate the fact he had it, and that led them to not wanting to tell him anything. Maybe Esme will give him some kind of information that he didn't already know.