6.
I see him sprinting towards me with a pissed look on his face. Without stopping, he grabs the sleeve of my shirt, effectively pulling me across the busy road to the other side of the walkway. I don’t protest as he guides me through the crowd, that’s mainly walking in the other direction. He chooses an alley between two stores and finally stands still, taking a deep breath and scanning the area cautiously. Once he’s satisfied enough with the quiet, he looks me in the eyes.
“What did you do to me?” he barks, not even trying to be polite. When I don’t answer immediately, he grabs my upper-arms and shakes me, “Who the hell are you and what did you do?”
I watch his tense face that seems on the verge of panic and decide that now is not the best time to tell him the truth. Not yet.
“It doesn’t really matter who I am, does it?” I state cryptically, fairly satisfied with my answer for the time being.
“Is this all real? Am I hallucinating?” the blond man rushes.
“This is all very real,” I assure him, smiling at his question. He doesn’t have the slightest clue on the reason why he was brought here, and it’s probably for the best if he knows as little as possible about the assignment.
Nick scoffs, incredulous, “I can’t believe it worked.”
“Of course it didn’t work,” I comment quietly, but he hears it nonetheless.
“What, but you said…”
“You really think someone thinking about a particular moment in their past is going to bring them back? That’s called nostalgia, Nick, not time-travel. I also assume this was not the particular time you were thinking about in the first place, was it?”
“Then how…” he stammers, his voice rising in pitch.
Watching him intently, I adjust my cap and take a deep breath, “You’re here because I need your help, Nick,” I admit.
The seemingly teenager blinks owlishly, dumbfounded by my sudden declaration.
“Dude,” he yells after a few moments of silence, “who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Roland, nice to meet ya!” I comment with a grin, extending my hand. He doesn’t accept it immediately, instead watches me with an uncomfortable look in his eyes.
“I don’t know you,” he informs me, “so how do you know my name?”
“You’re Nick Carter, singer in the boyband The Backstreet Boys,” I reply with a straight face, like it’s totally normal for a dude my age to know or care about the kind of pop-music.
“We’re not a boyband,” he grumbles, spitting the last word out as if it’s something really distasteful to say.
“Oh right… I forgot… you were a vocal harmony group, right,” I state, nodding, trying to leave the ridicule out of my wavering voice. He narrows his eyes dangerously, his young face scrutinizing every inch of mine.
“There’s no such thing as time travel,” he declares stubbornly, though he looks around a bit unsure.
“And yet here you are,” I counter, getting a bit impatient with the young man, “As far as you and most everybody else is concerned, no, there’s no such thing as time travel. But for a few among us, it is the only way to get certain things done.”
“The fuck man? Are you from the government or something?” he questions.
I sigh, “Or something,” and leaving it at that.
Nick steps back, seemingly trying to figure out what is going on, it takes a whole minute before he looks at me again, “Just… just tell me what you want from me and then let me go back,” he offers quietly, watching with hopeful eyes.
I nod slowly, overthinking his comment, “Sounds reasonable,” I conclude. He nods eagerly.
“So?”
“So, I need you to stay with the group for, say, a week, while I try to reach something that belongs to one of your friends’’ I state solemnly, following the instructions word for word.
“What? No man, I ain’t gonna let you steal from my friends!” He shouts, backing off, “I don’t care, okay? I’ll find my own way back, you just, stay out of my way, alright?”
“Listen to me,” I hiss angrily, deciding it’s my turn to grab his sleeve, “I can assure you that he won’t be missing it, it’s not a big deal as far as you or him are concerned, got it?”
“Then why do you need me?” he sneers, his anger matching mine.
“Because I need a distraction, I can’t screw this up again, it’ll mess with the timeline, I need you to keep him away.” If he noticed my slip at all, he doesn’t mention it, instead he lets his shoulders slump, and stares at the ground, lost in thought.
“Who?”
“What?”
“Who do I need to keep away?”
“Ah yes,” I comment, reaching inside the pocket of my stained jeans and retrieving the small notes I’ve been able to keep with me the whole time, “ummm, ah, here it is, one mister B. Littrell,” I state, watching him for confirmation. He doesnt seem to think it the slightest bit weird that I apparently know his name, but seemingly not the one of his friend
A look of pure confusion crosses his face, “Brian? What do you want from him? And why do you have to get it now? In ’99?”
“That’s a lot of questions my boy. This year is the first I know of that he has it in his possession, again, he won’t be missing it,” I reassure him when I can sense he’s about to protest again.
He’s still hesitating, I can feel it. As far as he knows, we’ve only met once before, it would be weird if he trusts me right away. His eyes shoot from me to the back of the alley we’re in, trying to contemplate his options, “Nick, listen, I’m the only one that can bring you back to 2014, I can let you be stuck here as long as I want if you don’t help me. Trust me, I wouldn’t ask this of you if I was sure there was another way. I need you to do this.”
The teenager sighs, nodding slowly, “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I’m not the guy I was when I was nineteen.”
“Dig deep, you’ll find him back,” I smile, a bit squirming under his intent gaze.
“I swear I know you from somewhere,” he states.
“I have a common face,” I reply.
He shrugs, “Whatever. Am I supposed to get back on the bus? Kevin will barbeque my ass.”
“Just get back and apologize, you’ll be fine,” I confirm.
“Okay,” he nods reluctantly, turning around.
“Wait!” I stop him, reaching for another note in my pocket, “This is my number, call me in three days.”
He nods again, accepting the fumbled piece of paper wordlessly. “One last question?” he asks in a small voice.
“Go ahead,” I sigh dramatically with a smile.
“If I’m here, you know, in 1999, then where’s nineteen year old me?”
“Probably still very confused trying to figure out how he ended up on Bendrick Road. It’ll take him a while to walk back to the highway, but he’ll probably be fine.” I inform him.
Nick smiles and shakes his head before he turns around, heading back for the bus. I watch him with a quivering smile, hoping and praying that this time, it will work.
Author's Chapter Notes:
with answers come new questions :P
