Chapter 2: Building Tension
Barry unlocked the door to his dorm room, the scent of old books and stale pizza wafting out to greet them. He flicked on the light, revealing a cluttered but cozy space, filled with the detritus of a lifetime of college living. "Home sweet home," Barry muttered, kicking off his shoes and flopping down onto the couch.
The Gang of K filed in behind him, their eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Chelsey's gaze landed on the Ouija board still sitting on the coffee table, its planchette pushed to the side as if waiting for their return. She shivered, the memory of their last séance still fresh in her mind.
"We should probably put that away," she suggested, nodding towards the board. Barry followed her gaze, then waved a dismissive hand.
"Nah, it's fine. Chauncey here is a friendly ghost and only locks out drunk college students who can't remember their own names," Barry reassured, patting the Ouija board affectionately. Kelly rolled her eyes but helped herself to a seat on the couch next to Barry.
Tyler and Chelsey took the desk chairs, while Kehlie, Kehrie, and Taylor settled on the floor, their backs against the wall. Barry grabbed his laptop from the desk and placed it on the coffee table, the screen casting a soft glow over their faces.
"Alright, let's see what we can find about this Black Angel," Barry said, typing the phrase into the search bar.
The screen filled with results, a mix of eerie images and creepypasta stories. Barry skipped past the obvious clickbait, his eyes scanning the more legitimate-looking articles.
"Here's something," he muttered, clicking on a link to a local history page. "The Black Angel of Fairmont. Legend has it that she was a woman named Angelina, accused of witchcraft and driven out of town centuries ago. She supposedly cursed the townsfolk, causing a series of misfortunes and deaths."
Kelly leaned in, her eyes wide. "That's her.
That's the Black Angel," Kelly whispered, her voice barely audible as she pointed at an old black-and-white photograph on the screen. The image showed a young woman with long, dark hair and piercing eyes, dressed in a simple, somber gown. She stood alone in the frame, her expression unreadable, her hands clasped in front of her.
Barry enlarged the image, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman's face. "She looks... familiar," he murmured, his brow furrowing in thought.
"I've seen her before." He looked up, his gaze meeting Kelly's. "In the mirror. In my basement."
The room grew quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the laptop fan. The Gang of K exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale in the glow of the screen.
"You're kidding," Tyler finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's... that's impossible, Barry. You can't have seen her before. She's been dead for centuries."
Barry shook his head, his eyes fixed on the photograph. "I don't know how to explain it, Tyler. Shit; I need to get a drink.... I need a drink," Barry muttered, pushing himself off the couch and heading towards the tiny kitchenette in the corner of the room. He rummaged through the cabinets, his fingers closing around a dusty bottle of vodka he'd stashed away for emergencies. He opened the bottle to find it was empty.
"Damn it," he muttered, tossing the bottle into the recycling bin with a clatter. Had no other alcohol and didn't know where Melvin kept his secret fifth of tequila . But he needed something to calm his nerves, to make sense of the whirlwind of thoughts and images swirling in his mind.
He turned back to the group, running a hand through his hair. "Anyone got anything to drink?" he asked, his voice laced with desperation.
Chelsey reached into her bag and pulled out a small flask, the metal gleaming in the soft light. "Here," she said, offering it to him. "It's just water, but it'll help."
Barry took the flask, his fingers brushing against hers.
He unscrewed the cap and took a long, grateful swig, the cool liquid sliding down his throat like a lifeline. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"Thanks, Chelsey," he said, handing the flask back to her. She smiled, her eyes filled with concern.
"No problem," she replied softly. "Now, let's get back to this. We need to figure out what's going on."
Barry nodded, turning his attention back to the laptop. He scrolled through the article, his eyes scanning the lines of text. The story of the Black Angel was a grim one.
Born into a wealthy family in Fairmont, Angelina was expected to marry well and bear children to carry on her family's legacy. But she was different, wild and untamed, with a fierce intelligence that frightened the superstitious townsfolk. Whispers followed her, rumors of dark rituals and pacts with the devil. When her betrothed suddenly dropped dead on their wedding day, the townsfolk saw it as proof of her witchery, and she was cast out, left to live alone in a crumbling mansion on the outskirts of town.
Barry leaned back, his eyes fixed on the photograph of Angelina.
"She didn't look like a witch," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "She looked... sad."
Kelly nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe she was just misunderstood. Maybe the townsfolk were afraid of something they didn't understand."
Chelsey leaned forward, her eyes scanning the article. "It says here that she was accused of bewitching her fiancé. That she made him love her so much that it killed him."
Barry snorted, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous.
Love doesn't kill people," Barry scoffed, but the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He thought of Monica, the way he felt when he was with her - like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind howling in his ears, the ground shifting beneath his feet. Was that love? Or something darker?
"Maybe not literally," Kelly said, her voice soft. "But maybe it can consume you, make you do things you wouldn't normally do.
"Well this is all fun and such but I'm feeling thirsty for something stronger than water. Does anyone want to come with me to the Poobah house?
Barry asked, already knowing the answer. He needed a break from the intensity of their research, a chance to clear his head.
No thanks, Tyler replied, eyes glued to the screen. We're making progress here. You should see this, Barry. It's a list of all the people who died around the time of Angelina's curse. It's... pretty long.
Barry glanced at the screen, the names blurring together. Yeah, well, I'll be back in a bit. Don't wait up.
He left the dorm, the night air cool against his skin.
The Poobah house was a short walk away, its lights already blinking like a gaudy Christmas tree. Barry could hear the thud of bass even from a block away, the music pulsing like a heartbeat. He stepped inside, the noise overwhelming him for a moment. Bodies pressed against him, sweat-slicked and laughing, as they gyrated to the music. He pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face.
And then he saw her. Hair the color of corn silk, eyes like whiskey. Jackie.
She was dancing with a group of sorority girls, her body moving with a fluid grace that seemed to defy the pounding music. Barry watched her for a moment, mesmerized by the way her hips swayed, the way her laughter sounded like little bells ringing in the air. He hadn't seen her since that time she answered his craigslist ad.... In the future.
In the past. In the present. Time is a funny thing, Barry thought as he weaved through the crowded frat house, his eyes locked on Jackie. He'd met her once before, under vastly different circumstances. She didn't know it yet, but they were connected, bound by something more than just this fleeting moment.
"Jackie!" he called out, raising his voice to be heard over the din of the party. She turned, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She didn't recognize him, not yet, but Barry could see the flicker of curiosity in her gaze. He closed the distance between them, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he'd lived this moment before, as if he'd been drawn to her for a reason that transcended time.
"Hey, I'm Barry," he said, extending a hand towards her. She took it, her fingers warm and soft against his palm. "Jackie," she replied, smiling. "I've seen you around campus. You're a first year, right?"
Barry nodded, caught off guard by her recognition. "Nope, I've made it to my second year," he replied, flashing her a grin.
"Well you don't have in frat boy clothes, so I assume you hadn't rushed yet ," Jackie said, looking him up and down. Barry was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, nothing like the polo shirts and khaki pants of the fraternity members.
"No, I haven't," Barry admitted. "Not really my scene."
Jackie smiled, leaning in closer to him. "Mine either. I just came with some friends. You?"
Barry nodded towards the door. "Same. But I think I might have crashed their party. I was supposed to be at the library researching for a project."
Jackie raised an eyebrow. "Researching, huh? Those were the days. Everyone seemed to be doing something in the library, maybe biology lessons or history papers or whatever it was that college kids did."
She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "So, what are you researching, Barry?"
Barry hesitated, the image of the Black Angel still fresh in his mind. But he didn't want to scare Jackie off with talk of curses and witchcraft. "Oh, just some local history stuff," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Boring stuff, really."
Jackie's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Local history, huh? I love that stuff. I was a History major and now am in Education.
I teach high school history and I love it. I've always been fascinated by the past, how it shapes our present and future. I guess that's why I'm drawn to you, Barry. You seem like someone who understands that too."
Barry felt a warmth spread through him at her words. He'd always been drawn to the past, to the stories that lingered in the shadows of time. And here was Jackie, a kindred spirit, someone who understood that fascination.
"Maybe we could... compare notes sometime," Barry suggested, his voice softer than he intended.
"You're so cute when you try to flirt. But Is give you an A for effort and would like to meet you at Kool Beanz Café tomorrow at 7pm. It's my favorite place to unwind after a long day of teaching. Bring your 'local history stuff' and let's see if we can't find some common ground."
Barry felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of seeing Jackie again, but he also felt a twinge of unease. He'd come to Fairmont hoping to understand why he'd been transported back in time, not to start a relationship. But the pull he felt towards Jackie was undeniable, like a force of nature.
He couldn't help but wonder if this was part of whatever strange magic had brought him back to Fairmont. Was Jackie meant to be part of his journey, a guide or a temptation?
Barry found himself whistling as he walked back to his dorm, the night air cool and crisp against his skin. The world around him seemed alive, charged with energy. He could feel the past pressing in on him, the echoes of history whispering in the wind. He quickened his pace, eager to share his discoveries with the Gang of K.
But as he approached his dorm, he noticed something strange. The door was slightly ajar, the dim light from within casting eerie shadows on the worn carpet of the hallway. Barry's heart raced as he pushed the door open, revealing a scene that made his blood run cold.
His room was in shambles. Books were strewn across the floor, furniture overturned, and the Ouija board lay shattered in the corner. But what truly chilled him was the sight of his friends, sprawled out on the floor , their eyes closed as if asleep. Barry rushed to Chelsey's side, his heart pounding in his chest. "Chelsey?" he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. She didn't stir. He checked her pulse, relief flooding through him as he felt the steady beat. She was alive, but unconscious.
He moved on to the others, finding them all in the same state. Panic surged through him as he surveyed the wreckage of his room. What had happened here? Had someone broken in and attacked them? But why leave them alive?
His gaze fell on the laptop, still open on the coffee table.
The screen saver had kicked in, a swirling pattern of colors that seemed to mock him with their insouciance. Barry reached out, his fingers brushing against the touchpad, and the screen came to life. The browser was still open, the article about the Black Angel filling the screen. But something was different. A small, blinking cursor sat at the end of the last sentence, as if waiting for someone to type.
Barry's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the cursor, mesmerized by its steady blink.
They had found some sort of flash game version of a spirit board; a simple chat interface where you could type messages and receive responses, supposedly from the other side. It was a cheap, gimmicky thing, meant for Halloween parties and teenage sleepovers. But as Barry looked at the cursor, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
He reached out, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He typed in a single word, his breath catching in his throat as he hit enter.
"Hello?"
The cursor blinked once, twice, three times. And then, slowly, letters began to appear on the screen.
"Barry."
His name, written in cold, harsh type.
Barry leaned back, his eyes scanning the room again. His friends were still unconscious, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. Whatever had happened here, it wasn't life-threatening. Yet.
He turned his attention back to the screen, his fingers moving over the keyboard with a hesitance he hadn't felt since his first typing class in third grade.
"What do you want?" he typed, his eyes fixed on the cursor as it blinked in anticipation.
The response was immediate, the letters appearing on the screen almost before he'd finished typing.
"JUSTICE ."
Barry swallowed hard, his mind racing. Justice? What did that mean? Did this... whatever it was... think he'd done something wrong? Or was it referring to something else entirely?
He decided to play along, to see where this led. "Justice for whom?" he typed, his fingers trembling slightly.
The cursor blinked, then: "FOR ANGELINA."
Barry's heart skipped a beat. Angelina. The Black Angel. The woman from the photograph, the one he'd seen in the mirror. The one who'd supposedly cursed Fairmont all those years ago.
The cursor blinked, then: "FOR CHAUNCEY" Barry's breath caught in his throat. Chauncey. His ghost. The one who'd locked him out of his own dorm room. The one who'd led him to the Black Angel in the first place.
"What do you mean, 'for Chauncey'?" Barry typed, his fingers growing cold as he waited for the response.
The cursor blinked, then: "HE'S BEEN WAITING. FOR YOU TO MAKE IT RIGHT."
Barry's mind raced. Make what right? What was Chauncey waiting for? And why did it involve him?
The cursor blinked, then: "KILL ALL ROUNDELS" Barry frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What does that mean?" he typed, his fingers hovering over the keys. The cursor blinked, then: "YOU KNOW" Barry's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the message. He did know. Roundels. The roundels. The symbols they'd found in the library, the ones that had led them to the hidden room and the photograph of the Black Angel. The ones that had started all of this.
But what did it mean, "kill all roundels"? Was it a riddle? A command? A threat?
A warning? Barry's mind struggled to make sense of the cryptic message. He felt a shiver run down his spine, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him like a physical force. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the Ouija board lying shattered in the corner. A sudden urge to destroy the laptop, to sever the connection to whatever entity was communicating with him, surged through him. But he hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
He needed more information. He needed to understand what was happening to him, to his friends, to Fairmont.
He needed to know why he was here, why he'd been given this second chance. And he needed to know if it was connected to the Black Angel, to Chauncey, to the roundels.
Barry took a deep breath, his fingers poised over the keyboard. "How do I make it right?" he typed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The cursor blinked, then: "FIND HER."
Barry's heart raced. Find her? Find who? Angelina? The Black Angel? But she was dead, had been for centuries. How could he find her? The question echoed in Barry's mind as he stared at the cursor blinking on the screen. He felt a strange mix of frustration and fear, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him like a physical force. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on his still-unconscious friends. He needed to wake them, to tell them what had happened. But first, he needed answers.
"Find her," he typed, his fingers trembling slightly. "How?"
The cursor blinked, then: "FOLLOW THE ROUNDELS."
Barry's heart pounded in his chest. Follow the roundels?
He typed, "The lowlife fratboys?" The cursor blinked, then: "YES." Kill all fratboys? Was this entity serious? Or was it just toying with him? "Why?" he typed. The cursor blinked, then: "THEY TOOK HER." Barry frowned. Took who? But she'd been dead for centuries. Who were they talking about? He typed, "Took who?" The cursor blinked, then: "YOU KNOW." Barry's heart pounded. He didn't know. He didn't understand any of this.
The cursor blinked, mocking him with its steady rhythm. He wanted to reach through the screen, grab the entity by the metaphorical throat, and demand answers. But he knew that would be futile. Instead, he decided to play along, to see where this led.
"Where are they taking her?"
The cursor blinked, then: "TO THE DARK PLACE." The dark place. He'd heard that phrase before, whispered in the shadows of Fairmont's history.
The Dark Place. A legend, a rumor, a tale told to scare the undergraduates and keep them from wandering too far off campus. But Barry knew better. He'd seen it, felt its pull, its darkness. It was where he'd first encountered Chauncey, where he'd found the hidden room and the photograph of the Black Angel.
"So, they're taking her to the Dark Place," Barry typed, his fingers growing colder. "Who is 'they'?"
The cursor blinked, then: "THEM."
Barry sighed, rubbing his temples. This entity was not making things easy.
Barry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "Them who?" he typed, enunciating each letter as if speaking to a child.
The cursor blinked, then: "Good Night Barry." Barry stared at the screen, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He'd been dismissed, abruptly and unceremoniously. He felt a surge of anger, then fear. What if this entity, whatever it was, decided to harm his friends? He couldn't let that happen. He had to protect them, had to find a way to wake them up. "Wait," he typed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me how to wake them up." The cursor blinked, then: "ONLY HE CAN." Barry's heart sank.
Only he could? He typed, "Who is 'he'?" Barry gritted his teeth, frustration boiling inside him. He typed, "I don't know. I don't understand." The cursor blinked, then: "FIND HER. FOLLOW THE ROUNDELS. THEN YOU WILL UNDERSTAND." Barry slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing through the silent room. He sat there, his heart pounding, staring at the closed laptop like it was a bomb waiting to explode. The cursor's blinking had stopped, but the words it had typed still danced in his mind, each one a puzzle piece he couldn't fit into place.
He looked at his friends, still unconscious, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. They seemed peaceful, almost serene, but Barry knew better. Something had happened here, something inexplicable and terrifying. And he was the only one awake to witness it. There was no going to the front desk security because they would assume foul play and call the cops.
Barry was exhausted, his body aching from the weight of the day's events. He needed rest, but he also needed answers. He looked at his friends, their faces peaceful in sleep, and felt a pang of guilt. He should have been there to protect them, to keep them safe. But how could he have known something like this would happen?
Barry paced the room, his mind racing. He saw bottles of allergy medicine sitting opened on his desk . The last thing he remembered was taking a Benadryl to help him sleep. He must have taken too much, and it knocked him out, along with his friends. But that didn't explain the state of the room or the eerie conversation on the laptop.
He picked up the laptop, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He typed, "Are you still there?" Nothing happened. The cursor didn't blink. He tried again, "Hello? Are you there?" Still nothing. He slammed the laptop shut, his heart pounding. He needed to wake his friends, to figure out what had happened. But how?Then the spiders and hat man appeared in the corner of his vision . He shook his head, trying to dispel the hallucination, but it only grew more vivid. The spiders were crawling up the walls, their legs clicking against the plaster, their bodies glistening in the dim light. And there, in the center of it all, stood the hat man, his fedora pulled low over his eyes, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the same man Barry had seen in the mirror, the one who'd been haunting his dreams.
"Chauncey," Barry whispered, his voice barely audible. The hat man nodded, his lips curling into a smirk.
"You're finally catching on, Barry," he said, his voice like velvet soaked in whiskey. "But you're still missing the bigger picture. You need to find her, Barry. Follow the roundels. They'll lead you to her." Barry shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. "Find who? She's been dead for centuries, Chauncey. How am I supposed to find her?" Chauncey's smirk faded, his expression growing serious. "She's not dead, Barry. Not really. She's sometimes in the dorm right under your nose. If you let go of your pride you might just let her in . She's been waiting.
Barry blinked, the words echoing in his mind like a mantra. He looked around the room, the spiders and the hat man gone as suddenly as they'd appeared. He was alone, the room silent except for the soft sound of his friends' breathing.
He sat down on the couch, his mind racing. She's been waiting. Waiting for what? For him? For someone to find her? And who was she? Or someone else entirely?
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly.
He needed to wake his friends, to tell them what had happened. But how? He remembered the entity's words on the laptop, "Only he can." Who was 'he'? And how was he supposed to find out who 'he' was? Barry didn't know but the he was Chauncey and he had released the friends
from their unconscious state. Barry was confused but he was grateful. He looked at his friends, their eyes fluttering open, groaning as they stretched and yawned. They seemed none the worse for wear, but Barry knew better. He needed to tell them what had happened, but he didn't know where to start.
"Guys, something happened while we were... asleep," Barry began, his voice hesitant. They looked at him, their expressions ranging from confusion to concern. "What do you mean, Barry?" Chelsey asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.
"We were just researching, and then... everything went black."
Barry took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "I don't know exactly what happened, but something... strange occurred. Our room was trashed, and then there was this... voice, on the laptop. It told me things, things I don't understand."
Melvin raised an eyebrow. "Voice? Like, a Skype call or something?"
"No," Barry said, shaking his head. "It was more like... a chat program. But it wasn't anyone I know.
It was... something else." Barry hesitated, the memory of the cursor blinking on the screen sending a shiver down his spine. "It said... it said it knew Chauncey. That he'd been waiting for me to make things right." He glanced at his friends, their expressions ranging from disbelief to unease. "Make what right?" Chelsey asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Barry shrugged, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know. It wouldn't tell me. It just seemed to want revenge for something . It wanted me to kill all fratboys, or roundels, or something." Barry shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, guys. It's all so confusing."
Tyler snorted. "Sounds like you were having a pretty intense dream, Barry. Maybe you should lay off the late-night research sessions."
Barry glanced at Tyler, his expression serious. "I wish it was just a dream, Tyler. But I don't think it was. Something happened here tonight, something real.
I can feel it in my bones, like a chill that won't shake off. I look at my friends, their faces still groggy from whatever happened, and I know they feel it too. We're all in this together now, whether we like it or not.
"So, what do we do now, Barry?" Chelsey asks, her voice softer than usual. She's always been the sensible one, the voice of reason among us. But even she seems shaken by what happened.
"I just want to have fun. Is that such a crime?" Barry snapped, his patience wearing thin. He'd been trying to explain, to make them understand, but they just didn't get it. They couldn't see what he saw, feel what he felt. They were still stuck in their own little worlds, oblivious to the strange forces at work around them.
Chelsey's eyes softened, and she reached out to squeeze his arm. "We believe you, Barry. We do. It's just... it's all so crazy. And we're tired. We've been through a lot today."
Barry sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Maybe we should all crash here. There are the two lofted beds, the couch, and a couple spare sleeping bags in the closet," Chelsey suggested, looking around the room. The thought of staying in the dorm, where they'd all experienced something so unsettling, made Barry's skin crawl. But he also knew they couldn't just leave, not until they'd figured out what was going on.
"I guess that's a good idea," Barry agreed reluctantly. "But I'm not sleeping in the lofts. I'll take the couch."
As they settled in for the night, Barry couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of his friends breathing.
The next morning came and everyone woke up as if they had no memory of the previous night, except for Barry.
He felt a dull ache in his temples, a lingering remnants of the strange events that had transpired. He glanced over at his friends, still asleep, and wondered if they too felt the weight of the unknown pressing down on them.
As they all gathered in the kitchen, Barry noticed the subtle tension in the air. They moved around each other like strangers, their usual banter replaced by a cautious silence. It was as if they were all tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, afraid to acknowledge the strange occurrences of the night before.
Barry decided to break the ice.
"So, anyone have any plans for today?" he asked, attempting a casual tone that belied the knot in his stomach.
Chelsey looked up from her bowl of cereal, her eyes meeting his. "I was thinking we could go to the library, try to find out more about what happened last night."
Barry nodded, grateful for her initiative. "That sounds like a good idea. Maybe we can find something about... you know, the Black Angel, or the roundels."
Tyler scoffed, but there was a hint of unease in his voice.
"You guys are really buying into this ghost stuff, aren't you? It was just a dream, Barry. A weird, messed-up dream."
Barry felt a spark of irritation. "It didn't feel like a dream, Tyler. It felt real. And I think we should at least try to find out more about what's going on."
Melvin, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up. "I agree with Barry. We should at least look into it. I mean, what's the harm in doing some research?"
Tyler rolled his eyes but didn't argue further.
Barry added, "I have a date this evening . I can't miss it."
Chelsey raised an eyebrow. "A date? With who?"
Barry hesitated, then said, "Nobody you know. We meet at the Poobah frat party while you were playing with the dead."
Chelsey blushed and said, "Hey, it was all real; we didn't mean to black out ."
He shrugged, "Well, it's a mystery, isn't it? And you know what they say about mysteries..."
She looked at me with her big hazel eyes, "What?"
Barry grinned, "They're the best kind of stories."
She laughed, and Barry felt a warmth spread through himself. There was something about Chelsey's laugh, so genuine and unguarded, that made him feel alive.
She had this way of deflecting sarcasm and making light of heavy situations; allowing Barry to not reveal he was going on a date with an older woman. Well, older than his college self but younger than he had been before this freaky time warp .
Barry found himself looking forward to the evening, a sense of anticipation stirring within him. He hadn't felt this way in years, not since he was a student himself, full of hope and possibility. It was strange, this sensation, like a forgotten muscle flexing after years of disuse.
The library was a massive brick building, its walls clean and new and it's large windows overlooked the rest of campus. It was a place of quiet contemplation, of whispered conversations and turning pages. It was also a place of mischief, vlog series, and frequent reservation of "study rooms" by coupled up students . Barry couldn't help but notice the latter as they weaved through the crowded aisles, books stacked precariously in their arms.
Chelsey led the way, her long hair cascading down her back like a muddy waterfall. She moved with a grace that belied her serious demeanor, her hips swaying gently from side to side. Barry followed, his eyes drawn to the curve of her neck, the way her skin seemed to glow in the soft library light. She always had this undercurrent of flirtiness that explained why she had ultimately settled for a country boy from the country bar and they had a growing family. This younger rendition of herself had the memories but not the body of the older version, which made her feel a strange sense of detachment from her own skin. She was not yet jaded by life, not yet hardened by the years of struggle and disappointment that lay ahead.
Barry, on the other hand, felt like a man out of time. He was a middle-aged man in a college student's body, a fact that became increasingly apparent as he interacted with his peers. He was wiser, more guarded, and less inclined to engage in the reckless behavior that seemed to come so naturally to the others. The rest of the gang had mostly succumbed to their youth; as if their future was still unwritten , a blank page waiting to be filled. He'd seen the future, or at least part of it, and it was a harsh, unforgiving place.
They settled into a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by towering shelves of books that seemed to stretch up into infinity. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and dust, the hum of quiet conversation punctuated by the occasional cough or sneeze. Barry felt a sense of calm wash over him, the familiar surroundings grounding him in a way that nothing else had since he'd arrived at Fairmont.
He didn't frequent the library the first go around except when desperately in need of peace and quiet to finish something, in a state of active research, or when his printer ran out of ink and he had no other option but to pay to use the library printers.
He was not a bookworm, but he appreciated the quiet and the smell of old books. It was a smell that made him feel at home, even though he had never owned a house with a library. He was drawn to the scent, the feel of the bindings, the texture of the pages. It was a tangible connection to the past, to the countless hands that had turned those pages before him.
Chelsey, was also not a bookworm typically enjoying socializing at mudding gatherings, country bars, county fairs, and abandoned quarries.
Half of the gang lived locally but didn't go to school at the University and instead were part time students at the junior college.
They'd met Barry and his friends at the local bar, a dive called "The Hole in the Wall", where they'd become fast friends over cheap beer and even cheaper shots. It was a preferable to the drunk fest perpetually being crashed by cops the frat parties tended to be. The bar had a dance floor and welcomed newer music than the oldies rock and country the frat parties were stuck on. It was a place where you could lose yourself in the music, in the crowd, where you could be anyone you wanted to be. It was a place where Barry had once felt alive, where he had been young and carefree and full of possibilities.
But that was a long time ago, and now he couldn't help but feel like an imposter, a middle-aged man playing dress-up in a college student's body. He definitely didn't want to go to a bar while still underage and risk messing up his life.
So, to the library he had joined the gang
. They started to search through dusty tomes and yellowed newspapers, their fingers tracing the faded print with a reverence that seemed almost absurd given the nature of their quest. They were looking for something, anything, that might shed some light on the strange happenings of the past few days. But so far, they'd found nothing but dead ends and frustratingly vague references to local legends and folklore.
Barry, meanwhile, was lost in thought, his mind a whirlwind of questions and half-remembered snippets of conversation. He kept coming back to the same question: Why him? Why now?
Why had he been chosen to be thrown back into this time, this place? He'd been a student here once, yes, but that was a lifetime ago. He was a different person now, shaped by the years and the experiences that had come since. He didn't belong here, not really. And yet, here he was, stuck in the past, trying to make sense of it all.
He looked at his friends, their heads bent over dusty books, their brows furrowed in concentration. They were so young, so full of life and potential. It was both inspiring and heartbreaking, like watching a beautiful sunrise knowing that it would inevitably give way to another day of endless toil.
Barry needed a distraction and remembered he had a date to go to at 7 pm.
"Hey guys, I'm going to go back to the dorm and find something a little less street clothes looking to wear for tonight
," Barry said, standing up and stretching.
Chelsey looked up from her book, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You didn't tell us you had plans tonight."
Barry shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's just a thing, nothing big. I'll catch up with you guys later, okay?"
He didn't wait for a response, instead making his way out of the library and into the crisp autumn air. He walked quickly, his mind racing. He wasn't ready to share about his date with Jackie, not yet. This was just a chance to enjoy some one in one time with someone more mature than his friends.
He could relax, let go of the burden of being the responsible one, the one who had to keep everything together. He could just be Barry, the college student, the one who had a secret rendezvous with a beautiful woman. He could forget about the strange happenings, the time warp, the Black Angel, and just be in the moment.
He arrived at Kool Beanz Koffee and Drinkz at 7 PM sharp . The place was buzzing with the energy of the evening rush, the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filling the air. He spotted Jackie at a corner table, her hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders, a cup of steaming coffee in front of her. She looked up as he approached, her eyes meeting his, and smiled. It was a smile that lit up the room, that made the world seem a little brighter, a little warmer.
"Barry," she said, her voice soft and melodic, like a song he'd heard long ago and hadn't realized he'd missed until now. "That's your name, right? I'm glad you could make it.
I wasn't sure if you'd show," she added, her gaze flicking to the door, as if expecting someone else to walk through it at any moment. Barry slid into the seat across from her, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but feel like he was playing with fire, that this woman, this situation, was too good to be true. But he pushed the thought aside, determined to enjoy the moment while it lasted.
"I almost didn't," he admitted, picking up the menu and scanning the offerings. "Well that's because I was confused and thought this place moved downtown to the district.
I've never been here before," Barry said, his eyes flicking back to Jackie's. She laughed, a sound like music, and Barry felt a warmth spread through him.
"Oh, no, we've been here forever. It's just... hidden. Like us," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Barry raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly.
"Hidden? Like a secret society or something?" he joked, but Jackie's expression remained serious.
"Something like that," she said, her eyes never leaving his.
"You're not from around here, are you, Barry? I can tell. You're different." Barry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of her gaze making him feel exposed. He didn't know how to respond, so he settled for a noncommittal shrug. "I'm just a student, like everyone else," he said, his voice neutral. Jackie laughed again, that same musical sound that seemed to fill the room. "Oh, Barry," she said, her voice softening. "You're so much more than that. I can see it in your eyes. I was going to ask your major but you are oozing History and Education . What's your story, Barry? Why are you here?"
Barry hesitated, his mind racing. He couldn't tell her the truth, not yet. Not until he understood it himself. So, he settled for a half-truth, a version of the story that didn't involve time travel or mysterious entities.
"I'm a history major," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I've always been fascinated by the past, by the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of the world. By the primary source that has the facts and opinions of it's context and how we must go back to truly get a feel for the time period." Barry said, his gaze drifting to the window, where the last light of day was fading, casting long shadows across the street.
Jackie watched him, her eyes thoughtful. "And what about the present, Barry? Don't you think it's important to live in the here and now?"
Barry turned back to her, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, it is. But for me, the past is... more tangible. It's like a puzzle, a mystery begging to be solved. The puzzle for the present is impossible to torture out the relevant essence while discarding the chaff from the wheat . The past, however, is laid bare, its secrets waiting to be uncovered, to be held in one's hands, examined from every angle. It's a tangible thing, the past, something you can touch, taste, smell. It's a story waiting to be told, and I've always been the one to tell it.
Jackie nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "I can understand that. But the present has its own stories, its own secrets. Sometimes, they're harder to see, harder to understand. If you look from the right perspective and can follow the patterns like in the past you made start to decide the present and even the future . I've always been drawn to the stories of the past, but I've come to realize that the present, with all its chaos and confusion, can be just as compelling. It's just a matter of knowing where to look."
Jackie leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Barry's. "You're a deep one, aren't you, Barry? Most people our age, they're too busy chasing the next thrill, the next high, to think about the bigger picture. But you, you're different. You see things, don't you? That's why we met at the party neither of us really wanted to be at . You saw me, standing against the wall, watching the room, and you came over. You said, "You don't belong here." And I said, "Neither do you." And we both laughed, because it was true.
I've always been aware of things, things that other people don't see. Patterns, connections, secrets hidden just beneath the surface. It's like I have a sixth sense, a radar for the unseen. And you, Barry, you're like a beacon, shining bright and clear against the clutter of the everyday. I saw you across the room, your eyes scanning the crowd, taking it all in. You were out of place, just like me. And I knew, in that moment, that we were meant to talk, to connect. That's why I invited you here tonight, to this little corner of the world where we can be ourselves, without the noise and the distractions of the outside world."
Barry felt a shiver run down his spine, a mix of excitement and unease. He wasn't used to being seen like this, to being understood on such a deep level. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was not like the superficial meeting he had with Jackie in another life.
This was different. This was raw, real, and full of promise. Barry felt a connection to Jackie that transcended the physical, a bond that was forged in the fires of shared understanding and mutual respect. He knew she was not just another pretty face, another conquest to be added to his list. She was something more, something special. And he was determined to find out what that something was.
As they talked, the hours slipped away, the bustling coffee shop fading into the background as they became lost in their own little world. Time flew and the owner came by to kindly let them know the shop was about to close . Reluctantly, they gathered their things and stepped out into the cool night air.
"Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?" Jackie asked, her voice soft and inviting. Barry hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the invitation. But he found himself nodding, his curiosity piqued. He wanted to see where this night would take them, to explore the connection that had sparked between them.