In
the
Wrong
Year
Amabel Daniels
In the Wrong Year
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by the Author
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 Amabel Daniels
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions
Dedication
For all of you:
Nurses
Doctors
Therapists
Pharmacists
EMTs
LEOs
Scientists
Grocery Workers
Food prep
Truck Drivers
Teachers
IT people who make homeschooling possible
Postal Workers
All of you essential people busting your asses to fight back the hell of 2020,
Thank you
Chapter One
Eek. Eek. Eek. Eeeeek.
Sharp shrieks blasted, stabbing me awake.
I flinched and squeezed my eyes shut tighter.
Too soon. Just a few more minutes, please.
The darkness went silent again. I whooshed out a long breath, trying to reclaim the bliss of an addictive deep sleep. I couldn’t remember where I partied last night or how I’d gotten home, but, damn, it must have been a hell of a—
Party?
No. That couldn’t be right. Finals waited for me in just four days. Even a mediocre slacker sophomore like me knew better. Because if I didn’t pass these courses, I’d be further from graduation as it was. I didn’t want to be in college for a minute longer than necessary, even if I had picked my major as the result of losing a bet with an online gamer friend. I didn’t care about a piece of paper saying I’d taken classes when I couldn’t make up my mind about what I truly wanted to do with my life. But my aunt Helen insisted I attend, albeit undecided. Like it was such a horrid crime to not know what my career should be. No matter my “wishy-washiness,” as she’d coined it. Appeasing her meant passing grades. Or maybe her threat of ceasing my allowance did the trick.
Regardless of why I let my aunt browbeat me into college, there was no way I’d gone out and hung with coworkers into the wee hours of the morning. Sure, I had moments where I lost to temptation, who didn’t? But no. Not after barely scraping by last semester. I’d learned my lesson once. I wouldn’t have chosen a good time versus decent grades again.
Eek. Eek. Eek. Eeeeeek.
When did I change my alarm tone? This one was too demanding. Hell, anything was too taxing right now.
On a groan, I frowned, securing my shut-eyed state. Bile rose in my throat, and I wracked my brain, thinking back. Obviously, I had gone out last night. If I’d been sober all evening, a hangover wouldn’t be trapping me to bed like this, my gut twisting and acid rising. Rolling to my side, curling into the smallest ball of a human possible, I whined a softer groan.
Damn, did this hurt. From my toes to the tips of my hair, I was…wretched.
Scratch that, I was going to retch. Swallowing hard, I resisted the urge to puke and wrapped my arms around myself. I cuddled into the blankets, relishing the peaceful blackness behind my eyelids.
Just a few more minutes. Seconds. A little more sleep and—
Eek. Eek. Eek—
“Damn you!” I blindly reached out for my nightstand to the right, but my hand smacked into the wall.
“Ow!” What? The pain did more than force me awake. Sleep faded as I tried to make sense of slapping a surface.
The wall?
Where was my nightstand? Unless I’d tossed and turned into a complete one-eighty on my bed, the small table had to be there. I always kept the head of my bed to the wall opposite the door—the better to see a boogeyman break in, some kind of chakra crap of facing the sunrise, whatever—which meant my nightstand would be over…here?
Blinking, I grappled for orientation. As my vision cleared some, I ceased groping the wall. No doubt about it. A goddamn wall stretched where my nightstand should have been next to my—
“Oh, no.” I jerked up, the need to vomit worsening as I moved too fast.
My bed? No. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way I wasn’t in my bed.
I blearily stared at the room. Yellow walls—not my dark green—closed in on me. IKEA prints of watercolors hung unevenly across from me. My mirrors and sketches, absent. Heaps of clothes weren’t scattered on a dull, unpolished hardwood floor, instead, a questionably clean rug waited below.
“What the hell…” My heart raced, hammering the ache in my head even harder. I sat up faster, scrambling from the unmade bed—not mine. Bright pink and sunny yellow plaid bunched as I escaped the sheets. It was all too…bright. Peppy.
And so not mine.
In my haste to get out of this stranger’s bed, my ankle twisted in the comforter, and I fell to the floor.
I sucked in a breath at the impact. Damn. It!
If I had to be waking up as some Goldilocks in a stranger’s bed, I wanted to know something about how I got here. Crashing to the peach rug would only alert someone I was awake.
And just how the hell did I get here? Where was here?
I huffed my hair from my eyes and craned back toward the closed door. Footsteps weren’t approaching from beyond, so I crawled to the door and snicked the old-fashioned lock. Imagine that—an honest-to-God doorknob. There. Privacy. A moment to calm my racing heart and figure out what was going on.
On my hands and knees, a fleeting sense of déjà vu hit me. This position. I’d done it before. Shaking my head, I tried to focus. No, not like that. I mean, sure, I’d done it like this, doggy style, but not—
Focus, fool. Fo-cus.
I’d been on my hands and knees not long ago. Phantom pain burned in my palms, or it had recently. Breathing too hard for just waking, no matter what I’d gotten up to last night, I raised one hand and studied it, wobbling like a three-legged animal learning how to walk.
Smooth, pale skin. The beginning tips of tats below my wrist. It was all…perfectly normal. Me. My flesh as I’d always known it. Yet, as I remained hunched to the ground, I couldn’t shake the blur of a memory. I’d been…down last night. Trying to get up. Injured?
I reached to my stomach. Beneath the fabric of my long-sleeved shirt, I clutched at my skin. I felt…nothing, again. No blood.
Blood? Why would I assume I’d be bleeding on my abs? Had I been injured? My instincts were haywire. None of this made sense.
I sank back to my haunches and lifted the black shirt—at least that was the same. I’d worn this vintage Imagine Dragons tee to work last night. Even if I’d woken in a stranger’s bed, I was in my own clothes. Small relief. An even bigger relief, as bizarre as it was in my mind, was the sight o
f my unmarred, pasty white flesh. I stared at my stomach, my fingers trembling as I held my shirt up.
Why would I have been hurt? My skin was unmarked, yet, I was sure of it. I felt it, somehow. I—my body, at least—knew this pain. Had suffered this attack, whatever it was.
The needling memory of an injury slipped from my mind as I took in my surroundings. I frowned, trying to grasp the fleeting idea of having been shot.
No. Not shot. Stabbed.
I rubbed at my temples, standing on shaky legs. Again, that instinctive confidence. I had been stabbed. I was innately certain of it, an automatic awareness.
Stabbed? Where were these ideas coming from? Were these stubborn figments of a dream?
I slowly stretched to my full height, all five feet and eight inches of it, taking inventory as I straightened. Other than this god-awful hangover headache…I was fine. No cuts or bruises. Still, I smoothed my free hand over my abs, waiting for the conviction that I was still messed up from booze. I raked my hand through my short pixie-cut hair and concentrated. One hand on my head and the other rubbing over my stomach, I couldn’t help but test out my ability to pat up high and make circles below. Oh. Yay. Check out this trick. I was still in control of my body, at least.
Rolling my eyes at my silliness, I dropped my hands.
“What the hell did I drink last night?” I whispered to myself as I stared at the room.
Nothing stood out to me, and I failed to place the bedroom. The only pictures were of the lilies on water and sunsets. Clothes were neatly hanging in the closet. A retro-styled sticker of U of Jamesin was stuck to the side of a dresser.
All right. Something familiar. My college. Aunt Helen’s alma mater too. My mom’s as well before she’d dropped out to hook up with a “bum”, as my aunt had told me.
Okay, so I was in a classmate’s room, and perhaps I was near campus. I couldn’t find a single clue to identify whose room this was, but it was clear a dude hadn’t been renting this space.
Had I…experimented last night? I raised my brows at the unlikely yet feasible possibility. I didn’t play that way, but I’d always kind of, sort of, wondered. Didn’t everyone in college go through this phase?
Did I— No. I was sure no frisky business happened last night. But…I was in some chick’s room. Had I gone a little too far with a basic human curiosity about my gender, coupled with inebriation?
Before finals? I snorted. Yeah, right. Besides, I’d slept with Freddy two days ago, and he was one hundred percent male. One hundred percent male who didn’t know how to pleasure a woman, but still. Since I’d finally given in to his goofy flirting, we’d hung out a couple of times this week, and I gave him a chance of seducing me. Even though he didn’t excite me, I felt bad enough for him that I invited him to my room, but Jesus, he clearly needed more practice with the female anatomy. And maybe learn how to use his tongue.
I can’t believe he couldn’t tell I was faking it—
Freddy.
I frowned deeper, remembering…
Reaching for the memory…
A bare hint.
He’d been there with me, wherever I was last night. Freddy, my lab partner in Chem, had been there when I’d been injured. Stabbed, right? But…I wasn’t stabbed. Again, I checked the skin of my stomach. Still the same. Slightly pudgy, smooth, pasty skin.
Eek. Eek. Eek. Eeeeek.
I growled, narrowing my eyes at the offending alarm. Why the hell would I have chosen that ringtone? I patted the blanket, seeking the tab. At least I hadn’t lost it. God knew I didn’t have the money for a replacement again.
Where was it? I didn’t feel the small rectangular block on the bed. Following the shrieking sounds, I got to my knees and searched under the bed. There, the offending noise blared from that under the corner of a pillow. I stretched my arm and grabbed it. Or…not?
I slumped to the bed, leaning on my forearms on the mattress as I brought the tab to me.
Tab? No. This wasn’t the miniature tablet device that everyone possessed. It was…
I jerked back as it went off again. Eek. Eek. E—
The button I pressed on the side was similar to the one on the flat tab I had. But this was no tab—miniature tablet—holographic or otherwise. Bringing the slim, flat device toward me, I squinted. The last time I’d seen one of these things…
“No. Way.”
A smartphone?
A huff of laughter escaped my lips. Shaking my head, I tapped at the screen, waiting to wake up from this hallucination. Of course, I’d seen a smartphone before. They were nonexistent now, replaced by an array of tabs. The smartphone exhibit was the coolest thing I could recall from an eighth-grade field trip to the Museum of Modern History.
“Oh, I remember a class trip six years ago, but I can’t remember last night?”
Still, a smartphone! Such a bulky item that people used to be so obsessed with. An ancient thing from the past didn’t belong in some college girl’s room.
Another laugh shot from my lips. Maybe it was a gag gift? Some kind of toy? It was lit up, though, like it was on… Rotating it in my hands, I noticed how heavy it was compared to my tab. As I turned it faceup, I skimmed the words illuminated from the top.
Val Marien.
Didn’t ring a bell.
“Oh, crap.” The clock read ten after ten. My first class would start in a half-hour, and I had no idea how far I was from campus. I had to get out of here. I stood quickly, then in the next breath, almost fell as suddenly. Halting mid-step, I locked my stare on the screen.
I was holding Val Marien’s smartphone.
At 10:11.
On January 5th, 2020.
Um. Say what?
My heart thudded as I fought to catch my breath.
It seemed I’d gotten so wasted I fell back in time fifty-one years.
“2020?”
I tapped the screen, and the numbers remained the same.
“Oh, sure. I couldn’t have woken up in any other year than 2020?”
Chapter Two
Yeah, right. 2020.
This was shaping up to be a morning I’d never forget.
Hey, remember that time I got so drunk I time traveled? Ha! Good one, huh?
It was the lamest line ever, and one my English Lit prof wouldn’t care to hear. But if I didn’t leave now, I was sure to be late.
After another glance at the primitive screen, I studied the room. I searched around the bed, finding nothing I could have brought with me. Forget this ancient cell phone. I needed my tab. Unlike this heavy thing in my hand, my tab held everything I needed to function. Keys, money…everything.
It was unlikely I’d driven myself anywhere last night, so my bike was probably back at…well, wherever I’d decided to get so messed up. Still, I needed the means to leave one way or another.
Rubbing at my face, I gave up searching the room. No point delaying it, I had to face the music or whoever I’d shacked up with last night. I marched up to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. Silence greeted me. All right. Perhaps I was alone here.
Here…being an apartment?
Stepping out of the bedroom, I gawked at all the space. Damn! Not only had I apparently crashed with some girl last night, I’d found a rich one.
So. Much. Space.
Giddy at the discovery and at ease with my solitude, I rushed through the apartment. A real apartment, not a cramped studio like I’d lived in most of my life. I pushed one door partly open to see a huge toilet with some kind of a handle? You had to touch it? After peeing?
The wide basin thing stunned me next. It was the funniest mockup of a shower stall I’d ever seen. Did people swim in there? Tight fit for aquatics.
And these two…statues near the sink? Were they pieces of artwork?
I poked a finger at one and water streamed out.
“Whoa!”
Huh. It was a sink. I slanted my brows. I’d found a bathroom. A whole room just as a bathroom? Wow.
Scoffing a laug
h to myself, I hustled on, arriving in a wide-open space. A couch denoted this area as a living room. I could at least identify with that piece of furniture. My couch and I were best buddies. However, this one was leather, as bizarre as that could be. Leather! From an animal!
Leaning closer, I sniffed it and traced a finger along the surface. The soft, velvety coarseness had me crinkling my nose more. It had the same smell as that antique watch I’d seen in Aunt Helen’s vanity once.
My God. Leather? It would be like sitting on…on an animal while chilling. Freaky. Was this girl so rich she had ties to the black market? Because leather had to have been outlawed…heck, I didn’t know. Sometime around when I was born? At least twenty years ago, well before the last of the cattle were captured.
The absurdity of finding myself in a true apartment, with rooms, and uncluttered walls, ample freedom to just move around. It stunned me. Only the elite, upper five percent had digs like this. All this… I flung my arms out and spun, taking advantage of the freedom to actually pull off that feat. Space. This was nothing like my room. And Aunt Helen paid a pretty penny for me to get into the better tier of student housing. No one lived like this, in such luxury of space, at least no one I knew.
My twirl around the room ended abruptly. Whoa. I teetered to the side, losing my balance as I faced the opposite wall. Maybe spinning wasn’t a wise thing to do hungover as I was. I blinked at what arrested my attention this time.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I whispered the words, still so disoriented in this unusual place to speak at a normal tone. Maybe I was still dreaming. Slowly, as though approaching a rabid animal, I walked toward the huge, 3D…thing.
This massive slab couldn’t really be a TV. I glanced back at the couch, positioned right in front of it as if for optimal viewing. Was it a TV?
“What in the hell?” I stroked a finger along the plastic edge of the box hung on the wall. The empty screen sure made it seem like a TV. A…what were they called? Flat screen? Well, yeah. It was flat. But why was it jutting out from the wall a couple of inches? And what was this border framing it?
In the Wrong Year (Double-Check Your Destination Book 1) Page 1
