Familiar faces.

You spent the rest of the day recovering in your motel room and catching your mental strength. It was weird watching tv from over thirty years ago, but fascinating too in a way that helped take off some of the sting of being lost in time. By the time night fell, you slept like a log and didn’t dream.

The next morning you awoke, a little sore from DeeDee’s ministrations, but energised. You showered, dressed, and then went out to face the day with a spring in your step. The library was the first port of call, checking through town records using a microfiche and searching for any kind of hint at the supernatural in the recent past. Your ring and the locket were both still lifeless, but you wondered if a little excess magic would juice them up. You just had to find the appropriate magic, wherever that might be.

A headline flicked by and caught your interest. “Unearthed Meteorite chunk to be donated to local observatory.”

You rubbed the ring thoughtfully. It had reacted last time you went near a piece of that meteorite, you supposed it would be worth a shot to go and see if it could get a charge this time, from a much bigger chunk.

It occurred to you once again, as you walked down the road towards the observatory with a growling stomach, that you didn’t have any money. Perhaps you might be able secure lodgings by throwing a fuck towards DeeDee every now and then, but you were hungry and would need to buy at some point.

To get money you would need a job, to get a job you would need an ID, but since all the contents of your wallet were from almost forty years in the future, that would be an issue. You paused on the side of the road, frowned up at what lay ahead, and in a moment of indecision looked back at the town. After a few minutes you decided to take a roll of the dice. If the meteorite could power up your ring, you could work things out from there.

You walked for another five minutes when the squawk of a police siren made you jump. A patrol car pulled up beside you, and a figure popped out of the window. He was an older man, with grey hair and hard lines about his eyes. “Where are you headed, young man?”

“The observatory,” you answered, trying to keep your voice even.

The cop stared at you. “Long way to be walking,” he peered at you sceptically, “especially to see some constellations and such.”

“You could always give me a lift,” but you realised at once from the cop’s scowl that the joke wasn’t received right.

“I could give you a lift to jail,” the old man snapped. “You know, we have vagrancy laws here in Silent Oaks.”

A sigh of frustration escaped your mouth before you could stop it. “We’re not gonna do this Rambo stuff, are we?”

“That a threat?”

“What?” You asked, startled and bemused. “It was a reference to an old-” you had to think, yeah, you were pretty sure the Rambo movies were out by 1989, “it’s a movie joke, is all.”

The cop didn’t seem amused. “You got any ID, son?”

“No.” You shifted from one foot to the other. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m just going to the observatory. I don’t want any trouble.”

“When I strange person hanging around town, no ID, making his way to where all the town kooks go to get high and look at stars, I think that person is suspicious.”

“Oh come on!”

The cop got out of his cruiser, one hand on his holstered gun. “Why don’t we have a long talk.”

—

It was later that day that you found yourself in a holding cell at the town jail, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. How the fuck could something like this happen? That prick of a cop was looking to start trouble and you were just on the receiving end. You had to get out of there, before the old bastard decided to use you for target practice. But the ring was useless, it was stone cold and without a hint of life to it.

Footsteps warned of a newcomer, and you immediately went on guard. The cop came strolling alone, his eyes obscured by sunglasses and his hand casually resting on his sidearm. You made a fist, glared at the guy, but it faded a moment later when you saw the tall auburn haired woman walking alongside him.

“Here he is ma’am,” the cop said, scowling at you, “this is the one I found with the forged ID. Damned if it wasn’t the most half-assed thing I’ve ever seen, with the dates all wrong and a buncha details outta wack, but I figured since it was the Maywood name I might alert y’all. ”

You could only stare in disbelief as the woman came to stand before the cell, recognition from hundreds of childhood memories rushing back to you all at once. She was younger than you remember, her hair a few shades darker and healthier, but there was no mistaking her.

You felt the word slip from your mouth.

“Grandma…”