Interviewer: “Welcome, Sarah. Thanks for joining us today.”
Sarah: “My pleasure.”
Interviewer: “How does it feel to be one of the premiere painters in the country?”
Sarah: “Wonderful. I’m unbelievably lucky. I get to do what I love and get paid for it.”
Interviewer: “And paid quite well, I might add.”
Sarah laughs. “Yes. Quite well.”
Interviewer: “This is a little off topic, but what’s your thoughts on time travel?”
Sarah: “A year ago I would have said time travel always makes for a great story. Now…”
Sarah takes a deep breath. “Time travel exists.”
Interviewer: “And how do you know that?”
Sarah: “I’ve traveled back in time.”
Interviewer: “Oh come on. You can't be serious.”
Sarah: “No really.”
Sarah: “As you know, I predominantly paint gardens. My niece, Meghan Ryan who is also a painter and a good one, I might add, and I were painting in a garden when we discovered an ancient sundial. I remember reading the inscription. It said ‘Fate cannot be altered’. Then I touched it and poof.”
Sarah: “Poof. All of a sudden I was in this vortex of whishing wind, being whirled round and round then the bottom fell out and I was dropped down.”
Interviewer: “Dropped down where?”
Sarah: “In the middle of the battle of San Jacinto.”
Interviewer: “San Jacinto! Did you meet Sam Houston?”
Sarah smiles: “Oh yes. What a sweetheart. He is, was, the most amazing man.”
Interviewer: “So why do you think you were taken back in time, Sarah?”
Sarah: “To find Jesse Adams.”
Interviewer: “Jesse Adams. That name sounds familiar.”
Sarah’s face softens as she smiles. “Yes, I imagine it does. Listen, I’m on a bit of a tight schedule. I’ve got to go.”
Interviewer: “Wait, aren’t you going to tell us about Jesse Adams?”
Sarah’s face lights up. “Only that he’s waiting for me. Thanks for having me. Goodbye.”
Interviewer: “Thanks for stopping by. Goodbye, Sarah.”
Interviewer: “Hmm, I wonder… just who is Jesse Adams.”
Without warning, he exploded into her senses. One moment she was driving alone down a busy intersection, the next he was there. A stranger with black hair, dressed in clothes of another era. But most frightening of all, he had no substance.
"Oh, my God!" Sarah screamed as she slammed on the brakes. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" she sobbed.
The brakes squealed as steel-belted radials dug into asphalt.
Her cat Monet, riding in the passenger seat, went skidding across the seat and onto the floor.
Sarah had a brief impression of a tall, sleek stranger. He was standing in the middle of the road, his arms outstretched. And she could read his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken. Saura. The word whispered through her mind, a bastardized version of her name. Her hands gripped the steering wheel and her whole body went rigid as she tensed for the impact.
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