A Perfect Time

His name was Sam. Adrienne met him a week ago on a dating app, when he unexpectedly messaged her. While she’d been on the app for months, few guys had texted her. A blow to her self-confidence, but not surprising as she wasn’t great at advertising herself. She was an introvert and felt awkward showing off for potential suitors. It was low self-esteem. An incorrect view she had stemming from being bullied in school that slowly became a fatal flaw. Which is why she instantly accepted a date with Sam.

Adrienne was a 25-year-old historian for the famed Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC and was not used to dating, having spent much of her youth buried in a book, then later in research for the museum. However, Sam immediately piqued her interest. She could tell he was very learned in all fields and had a romantic soul, qualities more often found in the Renaissance as opposed to modern day. And though the pictures of himself had a generic quality to them, she found them attractive. So, when he asked her to dinner, she excitedly said yes.

After a few days of anxious waiting and an afternoon of primping, her stomach was in a knot of nerves. She put on an antique gold emerald ring, her lucky charm, a heirloom gifted to her by her parents before they died unexpectedly and left to meet him at Old Ebbitt Grill, Washington’s oldest saloon. She’d never been there before, but heard raves about it. And while it would’ve been safer to go somewhere she’d been before, she was ok with this place since, being next to the White House, there were many cops and secret service agents nearby in case this date took a dark turn.

Adrienne arrived at 7pm. She expected to be seated in the main dining room, but instead was led downstairs to a secluded room called The Cabinet Room. It looked like a place where private functions were held. However, now, it was filled with a handful of tables seating 30, mostly tables of men, but there were a few couples. So, she assumed it was open to the public today. As soon as she sat down, she was taken aback by the rich Victorian interior that reminded her of Washington saloons in the early 1900’s. Mahogany panels. A beamed ceiling. Brass fixtures. And a private bar. Suddenly, a striking young gentleman appeared in the entranceway.

He stood over 6 ft tall with pale skin, shoulder-length raven hair, and eyes as darkly mysterious as the depths of space. He looked fit and strong, his muscles evident through his crisp, midnight blue collared shirt and black trousers. As soon as she saw him, her mouth fell open and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Butterflies danced in her stomach as she pondered with desire, could that be him? Just then, his eyes locked on hers, and he began a deliberate swagger towards her, commanding the room with each step. Immediately, her palms began to sweat as her heart raced to a feverish beat, and she thought about running out of there, too self-conscious to talk to such an Adonis.

Before she could, he said, “You must be Adrienne,” as he lifted her hand and gently kissed the top of it.

Her cheeks burned red. Unable to speak properly, her heart lodged in her throat, she stuttered out some garbled version of, “You must be Sam.”

He smiled a warm, though devilish smile, and effortlessly slid into the chair across from her.

Trying hard to not let the butterflies rise up her throat, she wondered why this man was on a date with her. He appeared to be far out of the league of a shy book-worm.

He said, a glimmer in his eyes, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Why?” she responded before she could stop herself.

“You intrigue me.”

She had no idea why. Her dating profile was boring, along with her texts. She was about to follow up when a waiter spoke up.

“Good evening,” the overly tall and fit man said, “May I start you with something to drink?”

Adrienne wasn’t a big alcohol drinker, but she needed something to calm her nerves. So, she ordered a wine she discovered after taking the wine quiz on the Bright Cellars website. “A glass of Mojave Rain Merlot, please.”

“A Classic Manhattan. No cherry.”

As the waiter rushed off, there was an awkward silence as Sam gazed intently in her viridescent eyes as if trying to read her mind. Uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare, she fumbled to break the ice. “So . . . is Sam short for something?”

Again, he smiled rather roguishly as if amused by her nervousness. “My given name is Samael.”

“That’s an unusual name.” And strange the way he said given. Her eyes met his, and her mind went blank. She was about to panic when the waiter came back with their drinks. She quickly grabbed the glass of Merlot and chugged it down, while Sam casually sipped his. Usually she likes to savor her drinks, especially this Merlot, even breathe in the dark fruity aroma. But she drank it so fast she was barely able to taste the notes of plum, black cherry, and her favorite, raspberry. Even the dark chocolate in the finish didn’t linger long on her tongue. Despite that, she did notice an unusual bitter taste to it. A dark thought occurred that perhaps Sam had slipped her something. But she had kept an eye on her drink the entire time. She just assumed that different bottles of Merlot have subtle variations in taste. However, she noticed that Sam was watching her with a straight face, as if waiting for something.

After a few moments, he leaned forward, crossed his hands on the table, and began questioning her. The questions were benign . . . at first. Where did she grow up? How long had she worked at the Smithsonian? What did she do there? Did she have any family? Who were her friends? And unlike the first moment Sam sat down where she could barely speak, strangely she found herself suddenly very willing, almost impelled to talk. After awhile, she realized he was learning a lot about her, while she was learning little about him. An uneasy feeling crawled up from the pit of her stomach as her foot began shaking nervously. A voice in her head told her something was off, but she didn’t trust her instincts, a result of her low self-confidence. Even so, she decided to ask him some questions. Before she could, he began asking more serious questions.

“How did you meet Chris Thomas?”

“Who?” she asked, genuinely baffled. She didn’t know anyone by that name.

“When were you last in England?”

“What? I’ve never been to England,” she said, her foot shaking wildly as the darkened feeling in her stomach spread to her heart making her feel sure now that something wasn’t right. His questions were accusatory and his words carried with them an unspoken threat. Sensing a hidden danger around her, she said as calmly as she could, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

But as soon as she stood up, Sam said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She looked down to see a gun boldly pointed at her from across the table. Knowing nothing good could come from her sitting back down, she bolted for the exit. However, the click of dozens of guns stopped her. She froze. She looked around. Every person in the room had a gun pointed at her, including the waiters, who were blocking the only exits. Her heart raced as adrenaline shot into her bloodstream making her whole body shake uncontrollably in terror.

“I’d advise you to sit back down,” Sam ordered.

Keenly aware of the fact that over 30 guns were pointed at her and unsure how to escape, she shakily sat back down.

“I’ve grown to respect you as a worthy enemy, but it appears tales of your escapades have been greatly exaggerated,” he said, with smug smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“No, it doesn’t appear you do,” he said, frowning. “That serum compels you to tell the truth. It seems we’ve gotten to you first. The question is, what shall we do with you?” he said, a sinister look in his eyes.

A sound so loud it reverberated inside her body echoed through the room as an explosion blew through half of it. Everyone not caught in the blast was knocked half unconscious to the floor, including Adrienne. Disoriented and wounded, a loud ringing in her ears, she flailed around helplessly, tears uncontrollably streaming from shock.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me if you want to live,” a man’s voice said. Confused, she blindly obeyed, as he hurriedly helped her through the blast opening as guns discharged behind her.

The next thing she knew, she was outside, the sun beating down on her. Strange since it was nighttime. As she struggled to see, slowly the buildings came into focus, only they weren’t the same buildings she saw when she entered. They didn’t even look modern, a fact that was verified when a horse and wagon strolled by.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, unable to believe her eyes, looking at her rescuer, who she now realized had the appearance of a dashing Medieval Knight.

“They found you. I don’t know how. You’ve been compromised. And they interfered in your timeline to get you. Thank God I located you in time,” the man said, worried yet relieved.

“What? Who are you?”

“Chris Thomas.”

The name registered to her. “Sam asked me about you.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, very troubled. “That means I’ve been compromised too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Adrienne, there’s a war going on . . . a Time War . . . and you’re one of the pivotal players.”

“I don’t believe you.” Even as she spoke, she found herself disproved as more horse and wagons drove by and people dressed in Medieval clothing walked around. Then added, very distressed, “I’m having a mental break.”

Chris frowned and pulled something out of his pocket, placing it in her hand. “You lost this last time we were together.”

She gasped. It was her ring, down to the smallest detail. There were two of them. That can’t be, she thought. Dozens of scenarios ran through her mind, as she wondered is this possible.

“They know who you are now. You can’t go back to your apartment or your job. Neither can I. We’re going to have to fight differently now.”

His words were heavy. She could feel them shattering her world. Her mind spun into a million pieces, detaching her from her body. She gripped the side of the building trying to ground herself. Grasping on to what she could, she asked, “What are you? And what was Sam a part of?”

“I’m one of the people trying to save time itself, and Sam was a part of a trio of government forces led by the US that are trying to destroy it.”

“I won’t go against my own government,” she stated, appalled, a proud patriot.

“You’re already on their 10 Most Wanted Time Fugitives list.”

“What?!” she panicked, suddenly feeling like a hunted animal.

“They tried to kill you once. They’ll try again. You must come with me.”

“Why me? I’m no one.”

“You’ve said that before.” He climbed on a nearby horse, extending his hand to pull her up, purpose and adventure burning in his eyes, and said, “Are you ready to lead the rebellion . . . again?”

Hesitantly she grabbed his hand, and he helped her up. “Where are we going? Wait, what?!”

He smiled knowingly, gave the horse a swift kick, and then they were off.