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9.

Defeated, I sit in silence on the first stair of the staging, next to Brian, carefully raking my free hand through his damp hair. I try not to watch Roland prepare my bandmate for what appears to be a transfusion. It’s too crazy to think about. The silence lingers on, while Roland seems to be content by my lack of comments on the matter.

“I led him to that park,” I mutter, finally revealing what’s been pressing on my mind for over an hour now, “he’s gonna hate me for this, he’s never gonna forgive me, never gonna trust me again. How is that not messing with the timeline?”

Roland gives a non-committal shrug, finally sitting back, done with his work. “He’s most certainly not going to remember any of this. He’s just gonna wake up in his room, wondering why he feels so weakened, but he’s gonna be fine. And you’re gonna tell him that.”

I scoff, “Forget it, I’m not playing, I don’t want to have anything to do with this anymore.”

“Yes you will, you’re gonna wake him up in a few hours inside that hotel room the two of you share, and you’re gonna tell him that if he doesn’t want to faint in a public area again, it’s better to start eating a little more. Kid looks like a twig on legs.”

“Maybe I should just tell him the truth.”

“Oh you should,” Roland challenges threateningly, “I bet he’ll really like that story, if he will at all believe you.”

I sigh in frustration, feeling helpless tears threaten to spill out as I watch the blood slowly drip from Brian’s arm into a plastic sealed bag. “So what, you’re gonna just drain him dry?”

A soft smile plays on Roland’s lips, “Of course not.”

“How much blood do you need?” I ask, not believing I would ever ask such a question.

“About two units, maybe two and a half, but don’t worry, I brought spare, we can fill him up again, when we need to,” Roland replies, pointing at the plastic bag of medical supplies.

Incredulously, I shake my head, smiling in spite of everything, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Roland shrugs, tapping the IV lightly, “Once,” he offers curtly.

“Great,” I mutter, my stomach dropping. “Are his lips supposed to get blue?” I ask, shooting upright.

“No, they’re not,” Roland frowns, “it’s a bit soon, but I think we’ll need to start that other IV now, if we don’t want him to bleed out.”

I swallow thickly, staring at Roland, then at Brian in horror. “What should I do?” I ask, uneasy.

“Just watch his blood-pressure and warn me if the first number drops below 90, okay? Okay.”

Chewing my lip, I watch the small screen beside me like a hawk. I don’t even dare to blink as I see the number turn from 97 to 96 and I nervously fumble with the restraint on my wrist.

“All set,” Roland announces after a few moments, “It should be going up again now.”

I look up, “I’m not even gonna ask how you know he’s B-neg.,” I mutter with a sigh.

Roland smiles mysteriously, “I did my research.”

“Unbelievable,” I comment, sitting back while I try to rub the warmth back into Brian’s fingers again, “It’s a good thing he’s unconscious, cause he would throw a fit if he could see this,” I say, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation I find myself in.

“Yeah, I know he would,” Roland mutters purposefully. I watch him for a few seconds. He doesn’t look worried, just a bit tired and I instantly wonder how old he is again.

“Why are you doing this?” I try for the 30th time in one hour.

He just sighs and shakes his head, “Just… desperate measures, I guess... I mean, have you ever found yourself in such a big mess, you would do anything, really anything, to change things?”

I scoff, unbelieving, “How’s taking his blood gonna change anything?”

“Forced recapture,” Roland mutters and I instinctively know it’s something he hasn’t meant to say out loud. He clenches his jaw, “You’ll understand once, but until then, it’s better you know as little as possible about the timelines. Just believe when I say I’m only trying to help you and your friend here.”

“Why’d you take me? I mean, you don’t really need me like you said you did, right?”

“Maybe not in this timeline, but you will play a very important role in others,” he answers cryptically.

“So what, you just shoved me back in ’99 to give me a taste of what it’s like? How’s that working out?”

“It works out if you ask as little questions as possible,” Roland grumbles.

“Unless-” I say, trailing off, my head spinning as the thoughts race through my mind, “Unless it wasn’t as much as to get me here, as to keep me away from there…” I think out loud, jumping up, “What’s gonna happen in 2014?! What am I gonna do?”

“Only you know the answer to that question, Nickolas,” Roland replies, but I can see he’s lying.

“I’m gonna do something bad, aren’t I? That’s why you brought me here, to prevent it!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, it is not about you! If it was, would I be sitting here draining your friend of his blood? No! Not everything is about you Nick! I just need you to understand that! I can’t do this on my own, but I can’t risk too many people knowing about it either.”

“Who are you?” I ask stonily, “I bet Roland isn’t even your real name.”

“It’s my dog’s name,” he offers. “Looks like we’re done here.” He points at Brian as he finally starts unhooking the tubes and needles. Without casting it another glance, he shoves his stuff, including the now two filled IV bags of blood into his plastic bag again and starts cleaning the place of fingerprints. I sit and watch, a bit astonished by the sudden end of our trial.

“Are you going to help me get him back in the car, or-?” Roland-who-is-not-called-Roland questions.

I snort angrily, holding up my bound wrist for him to see.

He nods, understanding, “Ah, right, sorry about that. There’s a pin next to circle thingy, if you pull it out, you should be freed.”


I hang my head shamefully. I should have thought of that.

After I followed Roland’s instructions, I pick Brian up gently, carrying him out of the building. It’s a very good thing he’s still unconscious. That way he doesn’t have to know what happened to him tonight. Roland was right, I can’t tell him the truth, whatever that may be. Besides, it actually is a little too easy to pick my friend up and carry him around, considering his weight. Maybe he’ll believe the lies.

Cause I’m starting to believe more and more that he’ll be better off if he just believes the lies.