The present

As the memories flood back, I cannot help but remember the first time I met her. I can still recall the day as clearly as if it were yesterday. I, who was yet assigned another unexciting article, and her — Skylar Rivers — who somehow managed to get stuck in my timeline, 242 years before she was even born. Skylar was a strange girl; she was unlike anyone I’d met in my life. She had an energy about her, a sense of adventure that dragged you in, even from a distance. Looking back, it’s hard to believe that I would willingly put the life I knew on the line for someone I barely knew or that I would find myself risking everything for her. But that’s the thing about life, isn’t it? It has a way of constantly confronting us with unexpected things or people, forcing us to face our deepest fears and desires.

It was the year 2005 when I started my career as a journalist in Dublin. Having moved from a small country town where cows outnumbered people, I was excited to chase my dreams in the city, even if it meant turning night into day and living in a tiny flat above a pub. It was yet another busy day, as I got home late at night, only to find the pub owner, a sixty-five-year-old man called Hamish, standing outside his pub, looking as pale as if someone had told him he’d run out of whiskey on a Saturday evening.

“Hamish, what on earth are you doing out here staring wherever?” I asked, suppressing a yawn, not ready to deal with his nonsense today.

He looked at me, his eyes wide open, and remained silent for a few seconds before I realised, he was completely pissed. „Ethan, lad, ya won’t believe it! There’s somethin’ strange goin’ on back there,“ Hamish started to explain agitatedly, pointing at the alley nearby. At that point, I already didn’t expect to get any sleep tonight.

“I bet it was just a bunch of people fooling around. Just go inside, Hamish; we can deal with this another time.” I muttered irritably, eager to dismiss his drunken ramblings and retreat to the comfort of my flat.

“I tell ya, boy, there was a bloody bright light and a loud noise, even the regulars were bothered by it. If someone’s burning me pub down this evening, you’re in for trouble too, so much I can say.” Hamish slurred and pointed at my flat.

“No one’s going to burn your pub down, Hamish. It’s the lifeblood of some people here. I promise I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious. You know I’d be the first up for news.” I persuaded him, hoping to finally get on my way.

Hamish eventually went inside after eyeing me critically, mumbling something like “Only if it’s one of your usual yawners,” accompanied by a “Bloody hell,” as he shoved himself through the front door.

After standing there for a few more seconds with a puzzled expression, thinking about what he said, I also went inside and went straight to bed. Lying there, looking at the ceiling, a part of me wished that there was some truth to what he saw — just to have a single interesting thing happen in this city, or in my life, to be honest.