April 3, 1914
Theodore wasn't quite sure long he had been walking through the Dallas streets, his stomach begging for food and his body aching for rest, when he climbed the back fence and into someone's yard. Although, much like the day he had arrived in this place, it was also raining. Not as badly, mind you, but enough for the road to be slippery underfoot and the canopy overhead to be swaying to & fro.
Rain poured down and beat against the grass, turning the ground into a slurry that splashed up against his bare ankles and pierced the brave garden gnomes that lined the path to the house, with sheets of icy needles; they beat against the twisting stone steps leading to the old well like liquid bullets. Out in the street—the same one that he had just come from—there was the occasional street lamp that would pierce the dark of night, but there was one in particular that was of the highest concerned. That one, there, in the corner of the garden flickered dangerously just like the one that bordered the alleyway of Commerce & Knox.
Out of habit more than anything, Theodore's gaze became illuminated in lumen that allowed him to retain his sight even as the streetlamps expired and he ventured further into the yard, closer to the house. Now cast in a blue glow, the garden and the adjoining porch seemed to take on an eerier tone as he drunkenly stumbled through the garden, exhaustion and pain making him unsteady. Once again, Theodore inwardly cursed at the sickness which had enveloped him and his inability to find food. Aside from when he had sunk to dumpster diving in that alley behind the supermarket, all of his attempts at fishing or just plain stealing had been thwarted. Apparently, he looked rather shifty like this.
Creeping closer, Theodore was soon confronted by the visage of the house that belonged to this yard. From where he stood, he could only see a vague silhouette of the house. The building before him bore pointed rooves at a multitude of levels; some were pointed and others were curved, all pointed towards the heavens. Arched cutouts peppered the shape and a wraparound porch made the house seem all the more girthy than it already was. It was slow-going but eventually he was able to clamber up the steps and stumbled over to the nearby porch only to find himself bewilderedly staring down at the scene before him. It was cluttered—filled with organised chaos—as most backyards were, save for the occasional wayward lawn chair and loose leaflets.
"What—? Where the hell am I?" Theodore murmured to himself as his gaze darted across the open pages of an old magazine (in pretty good condition, despite the coffee stains on the pages) that displayed everything from detailed diagrams of vintage weaponry and declared the latest fashion crazes of the day. There were pages and pages absolutely filled with muskets and dresses, drawn in incredible detail like the informational plaques at a museum and over there lay a small ornamental ashtray, stinking of tobacco. "Better question, when am I?"
Blinking back the black dots, he bent to retrieve one of the drier flyers from the table between the lawn chairs, but what he saw made him stop. Dread pooled in his veins and his empty stomach threatened to upheave itself upon the patio as his gaze drifted over the emboldened print staring unabashedly back at him. His gaze skimmed across the bright-eyed children who appeared to be acting out each of the dos and don'ts listed there; all of them garbed in a vintage wear and all of them looking far too out of date to be fake.
SAVE YOURSELF FROM THE INFLUENZA AND:
PNEUMONIA, BAD COLDS, MEASLES, TUBERCULOSIS, DIPHTHERIA, SCARLET FEVER, WHOOPING COUGH, MENINGITIS AND MUMPS
FOLLOW THESE FOUR SIMPLE RULES:
RULE 1: Use a handkerchief when you cough or sneeze, or bend your head towards the ground
RULE 2: Don't put pencils or fingers, or anything else that does not belong there, up your nose or in your mouth
RULE 3: Don't use common drinking cups
RULE 4: Don't cough or sneeze into the air, towards others
The germs of these diseases are spread throughout the secretions of the mouth and nose of sick people and its carriers.
RECOMMENDED BY THE DALLAS STATE BOARD OF HEALTH, 1914
Theodore furiously scrubbed at his eyes in an effort to see better, but all he could do was blink dumbly as hesitant fingers caressed the edge of the damp paper, as if he were unsure that it was even real. Again, his gaze darted back to the emboldened headline which glared back at him from the ivory paper, but it was the date hidden in the footnote of the page that really got to him.
Hesitant fingers caressed the edge of the paper as his heart thudded painfully in his chest. "No way…! 1914? That can't be right!" He gasped, brows furrowed in confusion as he read and reread the date with a sort of fervency, like he hoped doing so would reveal some sort of secret or explanation that would tell him exactly what was going on. "But it is—! But it can't be—! How the hell can I be in 1914?!"
Blue-webbed and water-wrinkled fingers gripped tight to his wet curls in panic, heart stuttering in his chest at the severity of the new situation. No way back, no way out, no way home; stuck all alone in the Lore-forsaken past with absolutely no clue of where anyone was or what to do. He only knew that Don Fën had intended to take them back; back far enough that they wouldn't succumb to the end of the world (an event that had come about thanks to his grief over his vera's untimely death), but even he didn't think that the seasoned time traveller had meant to do this.
"Speaking of which, where are the others? I mean, not here, obviously. And I know Fën said he would take us back, but surely he didn't mean to do this?" Theodore rambled to himself, his voice crackling like thunder in the quiet of the backyard as he shuffled over to one of the lawn chairs and dropped himself down into the unforgiving plastic chair before his feet gave out beneath him. His head had started to swim again and nausea bit at the back of his tongue. Stubbing his heel on the edge of the patio, the brunette slumped down in his seat and silently cursed the rain trickling down the back of his shirt.
Despite his sarcastic remarks and endless questions, there was no one to answer his questions as the occupants of the house slept on, completely unawares. His thoughts spiralled as he came up with several different reasons as to what had happened to them and where the remnants of his family had gone. Just like when he'd landed in that alleyway, Theodore's thoughts drifted towards the dire. How his family could be all together, someplace else wondering where the hell he was, he could be the only one who had just made it, they could all be dead, just like Vera. The thought alone made his legs shake like jelly and he was glad he had flopped down into the lawn chair before they could buckle beneath him. "And now, I'm arguing with myself! Great…"
Staring out across the dark expanse of the backyard, Theodore found himself lost in his thoughts. They were dire things, depressing things, ones that were really best suited for crying out over a pint of ice cream and curled up in his vera's arms. Everything seemed hopeless—it was hopeless—what could he possibly do, stuck in the past? It…it made him feel sick…or was that just the hunger gnawing at his stomach? Or the Lien du Lorne rearing its ugly head again? He couldn't tell anymore. What he did know was that he was about to lose what little food he had managed to scrounge up in the couple of days passed.
Quickly jerking to the side, Theodore promptly expelled his meagre stomach contents on to the patio beside him. Contorted at such an angle, he felt a bit like a pretzel stick as his eyes screwed shut, nose scrunching up against the stink and he tried to think of anything other than the acidic burn in his mouth as the remnants of his last meal—that only slightly moldy selection of egg sandwiches—deposited itself onto the patio and stained the adjoining grass like splattered bird shit. He definitely wasn't thinking about how the backsplash had jumped up to stain his bowling shoes or soak his socks.
Soon enough however, the stream came to an end and Theodore was able to flop back in the chair. Bile dribbled down from the corners of his mouth as he rolled away from the puddle of sick on the ground, that tangy taste hanging out in the back on his throat as his exhaustion grew. But it was, once again, a slow arduous process made all the more harder by the Lien du Lorn wracking his system and he found that it shouldn't have taken so much energy to shuffle out of the way. All he had done was twist, puke and sit upright and he felt like he had run a fucking marathon.
The rain pitter-pattered against the awning overhead, making a pleasing soundtrack as he lounged there on the porch. It was almost peaceful, in a way, save for the fact that he was practically camped out on some stranger's porch looking like a drowned rat and wearing naught but the rags he'd arrived in. Rags, mind you, that were so far out of date that he may as well have been wondering around in his underwear. Those odd looks he'd gotten over the last couple of days could attest to that.
Question was, what was he going to do now? Without Don Fën's ability to travel through time & space, Theodore was well and truly fucked. Time travelling machines weren't a thing and Theodore had absolutely no idea as to how to build one. What thirteen year old knew how to build a time machine, anyways? This was reality, not some fantastical science-fiction where the genius kid can build a time machine in his basement. He wasn't some prophesied chosen one or thereafter, he wasn't a hero like his family, he was just a kid. A kid with superpowers, but a kid nonetheless.
The rain continued to beat against the awning, playing that soothing song and pulling Theodore down towards sleep despite his chagrin. Exhaustion was heavy on his limbs and sleep pulled determinedly on his lids and even if he could manage to move right now, he wasn't so sure he wanted to. Where else would he find such a place to sleep for the night? The last place had been this sketchy-as-hell manufacturer's warehouse in South Dallas. It had been abandoned long ago, but it was still freaky when you were all alone and the building reminded him of those haunted ones he used to watch on the 'Spooky Boys' Youtube channel. No, this covered porch was a much better option.
Besides, a few minutes of sleep couldn't hurt…right? Settling back against the lawn chair, Theodore resituated himself a little before he closed his eyes and released a long sigh that slowly morphed into a tired groan. It took few minutes, but eventually Theodore felt himself slip down into the comforting arms of sleep. He went gladly, fluttering away from reality as he surrendered to the dots dancing across his vision. Out on the road, the street lamps fizzled like dying fireworks and the stench of the sick next to him wafted unto the air. With that, one last thought crossed Theodore's mind:
You were right, Vera. We should have of NEVER gone to that fucking funeral, in the first place.