"Where's the rest of the S.W.A.T. team I saw pulling up to the front entrance?" I ask.
"That was just to distract you so I could arrest you."
"Why were you all alone?"
"Because I told them I could handle you."
I look around the backseat; outside the car looks like a regular Toyota Corolla. In the back, metal bars separate the front and back seats and hidden police lights line the inside of the windshield.
"How did you know you could handle me?"
"I know a lot more about you than you think, Molly Princhett."
The car comes to halt in front of the police station and she pulls me out of the backseat. I'll be placed in a holding cell for the night until they decide what to do with me.
"I'll give you your phone call," she says, pulling out her cell phone. "What is the number?"
"I don't have anyone to call," I say. "I'm alone."
With those words I realize the weight of my addiction. Above everything else, I've made myself all alone.
"I figured as much," she says.
I look up to see two flights of stairs leading up to a giant brick building. I have a feeling I have nowhere to run.
The officer releases my handcuffs and pushes me into a cell on the lower level. The walls are all cement, with a small toilet to the left and a cot cemented to the floor on the right.
"Tonight's going to be a rough night for you," she says. "Good luck."
"How do you know who I am?"
"You'll find out in time," she says, walking out the door.
4 Withdrawal
I’m cold and lying on a hard surface. I open my eyes to blackness, I can barely see my hands in front of me.
"Hello?"
Silence, no one else is here.
I'm alone, my thoughts engulf me. Why wasn't I able to persuade her? Why does she have green eyes just like mine? How did she know where to find me? So many questions rattle through my brain, all left to be unanswered for the night. I lay down on the bed and count the dirt specks on the ceiling. There has to be a way out of this.
I must have fallen asleep at some point after counting to two hundred; that much I remember. I see a dull light coming through the window across from my cell. I sit up, feeling restless, and wipe away the sweat dripping from my forehead. If I were at home right now, I would already be planning my next move, what I would steal today. I feel a headache begin in the back of my head, slowly beginning to creep to the front. Without anything to focus my attention on today all I can think about is this headache. What the heck is wrong with me? Why can't I focus on how to get out of here? I tighten my hands around the mattress. Pull yourself together; how can I get out of here? An overwhelming nausea hits me and I run to the toilet. I pull my hair back, holding the locks in my hand. This is going to be a long day.
Unable to stand back up, I slowly army crawl back to my bed, flopping back on. I'm not moving from this spot for the rest of the day.
I close my eyes, trying to concentrate. I feel my mind changing, this detox may do more to me then break my addiction. Physically I feel withdrawn, sick and lethargic. Mentally I'm changing. I try to control my thoughts. Persuade myself, but I can't. I'm to weak.
The door slams and I jump. Sitting up, the nausea and pain return. The room spins, several people move around the room. No, just one. I lay my head back down on the mattress. I don't want to throw up again. I turn my head toward the door and I see her walk in. She's wearing a black pants-suit with a white button-up underneath. Her tan skin stands out against the white shirt. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, making her face look stern. She slides the sun glasses off of her face.
"I told you, you wouldn't have a good night."
"What do you want with me?" I say. "Don't I get to talk to a lawyer or something?"
"Well you probably won't be in the shape to talk to a lawyer for a few weeks."
"A few weeks!" I say, turning onto my side to get a better view of her.
"Withdrawals’ early stages can last a few weeks. Then the post-acute stage can last up to two years."
"You’re going to hold me here for two years! That is definitely against the law."
"I'm sure the judge will give me a little leniency when he finds out I have the Emerald Thief."
"That name has actually caught on, wow, I didn't expect that."
"We needed something to call you, after all we've been trying to track you down for three years. Stealing cars, homes, money. You were never going to stop."
"You don't understand. I can't stop."
"You can and you will. I have bigger plans for you."
"Plans? You can't do this! Let me go or charge me with stealing or something. There have to be other cops up there, you can't just keep me here."
"No one knows you're here. This part of the building has been abandoned for years, and if you think the S.W.A.T. team will ask, they were all paid off. You're alone, just the way you've always wanted to be."
She pulls a few granola bars out of her pockets and slides them through the bars.
"If you can get these down, I'll bring you something else tomorrow."
For the next week, she visited in the morning, giving me a few meals and water for the day. Mostly protein bars or some kind of compacted meal. She didn't say anything, then left. The first few days I tried yelling to her, trying to convince her to let me go. I tried to look into her eyes and used all my might to move her thoughts, but nothing worked. I just ended up vomiting again. I was left alone.
I wake every morning with the same sickening nausea and headache. You don't realize the luxury of Tylenol and a toothbrush until you’re without them. I lay down and force myself to eat, usually spilling half the water down my shirt. The insomnia kicked in after the first few nights. I knew it was coming. I've read about withdrawal before. That's why I've never forced myself to stop. Some people die from withdrawal. I pace the room when I am able, trying to get the restlessness and anxiety to leave, but it never does. My mind constantly drifts to all the horrible things I've done.
To start, there are my parents. Who knows what they're thinking of me. They've probably assumed I'm dead at this point. Or do they know I'm the Emerald Thief and resent me even more for what I've become? There was the cute blond couple in Austin whose wedding rings I still have in my apartment, the brown-eyed girl in Las Vegas, who gave me her grandmother's bracelet, the single mother now without her Taylor guitar; the list could go on forever. What have I done? Why am I like this?
Suddenly, I feel remorseful for all the lies, stealing and hate I've caused. Never before have I looked back and thought I was wrong. I had always blamed others for causing me to steal. Finally, I've started blaming myself.
After days without sleep, I finally drift off. All I see in my dreams are people crying, their eyes red and swollen. I am happy for the reprieve when I wake. I sit up and am relieved to find the room no longer spinning, the nausea has passed, and today I actually feel like eating.
The door opens after a few moments and she walks through, wearing her usual blazer, dress pants, and white button up underneath.
"It looks like you're feeling better," she says, handing me a bowl of oatmeal.
"Yeah, my head's not spinning and the nausea is gone."
I take a bite of the oatmeal, apple cinnamon, my favorite. I sit down on the bed, maybe today she'll actually talk to me.
"How long have I been in here?" I ask.
"About ten days," she says.
"Why are you keeping me here and who are you?"
"All right, you've been here for ten days and have corroperated, so I'll answer some of your questions. My name is Detective Rebecca Stilwell. I first heard about you, the Emerald Thief, when you were in Cali and stole a unique artifact from the Wainwright National Museum. The guard could only remember your emerald green eyes and the rest was a mystery. He said you were innocent, that he knew you hadn't st
olen the artifact, but I knew of the magic you held over him.
As you can see I have the same Emerald eyes as you. I have struggled with addiction, poverty and pain. I found myself lying in the street. Rain poured down from the sky, washing away the tears. I was beaten, broken, all to steal a high end black market watch. I decided then, material possessions wouldn't fill the hole in my heart. I locked myself in the bathroom for days with only granola bars and water. I felt the nausea, the vertigo, the mental anguish. The same agony you've experienced the last few days. I went the police academy, hoping a life of saving others could help redeem me. I met my fiancé, I fell in love. All because I was able to break my addiction.
A few years passed. I decided to hunt you down, move place to place like you did, follow leads, and hunt the trail. Eventually I knew I would catch up to you. I need the artifact you stole from the Wainwright Museum."
"How do you know I have the artifact?"
"Because I know you're the Emerald Thief."
I look her over for a moment. She stands tall and lean. Her back in perfect posture. Her face narrow and withdrawn, always one step ahead. Her eyes are the same bright color I see when I look in the mirror. I feel a pull when I look into them, but I am able to resist. Is this the same pull others feel when I plant my thoughts into their minds? What does she want with me? The artifact I stole from the Wainwright Museum was just a sundial. I didn't think it was anything special. I just wanted to steal it because it was held under security. I wanted to test myself. But, why does Rebecca want it? Does it have some sort of magical property?
"Why do you want the artifact?"
"Now let’s not ruin all the fun in one day."
"Why should I tell you where it is, then?"
"Because you are on the inside of the bars and I am on the outside."
"Are you going to let me out of here?"
"Yes, we're going to your apartment."
"My apartment?"
"I'm pretty sure that’s where the artifact is."
5 Plans
We pull up to the curb in front of my apartment. The ride over was quiet; I have so many questions for Rebecca yet not one comes out of my mouth.
"Lead the way," she says.
"How did you know where my apartment was?"
"Like I said, I've been following you for a while, Emerald Thief."
"If you knew where I lived and that I had the sundial you wanted, why didn't you just take it and leave me to rot in that jail cell?"
"I have something planned for you."
"If you need me to steal something, then why did you bother having me go through withdrawal?"
"These things take time, and I can't be letting you out every day to steal your petty little coats and jewelry. Plus, I don't need you to steal something for me."
"Then what?"
"Enough with the questions already. Just show me where your keeping the sundial."
I open the front entrance to my apartment. The entryway opens to a large white-and-gold-trimmed room filled with couches and small tables. To the left is a small room filled with mailboxes. Straight ahead lies the elevator. My penthouse sits on the tenth floor. I lead the way slowly, taking my time, trying to think of a way out of this. I'm still not sure of Rebecca's intentions and why she's so keen on getting the artifact. What could a simple artifact really do?
I decide on just going with the flow for now, something in the back of my mind tells me to go with her. Is Rebecca persuading me? I walk into my apartment, leaving the door open for Rebecca to enter behind me.
“So, this is what penthouse apartment living looks like," she says sarcastically. "I'm sure I'll never see an apartment like this again."
"Yeah," I say. "I'll just grab the sundial from my bedroom."
I stare at the sundial for a few moments, trying to see something different. I close my eyes; the sundial fits perfectly in my hand. I feel the cold metal against my skin; I smell the rust beginning to form on the outside from age. My hand gives a slight jerk and I open my eyes, steadying myself. The sundial looks like a small bronze plate with etchings of Roman style numbers along the outside. Etched in the center, a sun appears with flames spreading to the Roman numerals, almost as if the sun is trying to encompass the letters. Placed inside, the triangle sits on top of the sun, giving shadow, relaying the time.
"Did you find the sundial?" Rebecca says, entering the room.
"Yes," I say, turning around to reveal the sundial in my hand.
"Ah, I've waited a long time to find this," she says.
Tears begin streaming down her face. I feel bad for her, despite everything she's done to me over the last week.
"What does the sundial do?" I ask.
"This sundial allows you to go back in time."
"Can anyone go back in time?"
"That's the catch, only those of us with the power to persuade, those with the emerald eyes can convince the sundial to do our bidding."
"You’re saying that you have the same ability that I do?"
"Yes."
“You're the first person I've met with the same emerald green eyes. I knew when I saw you, you were different. I saw your eyes, I felt a pull on my mind coming into the apartment. You were trying to persuade me to come with you. I have so many questions? How does this gift work? How do you control it? How are you a detective?"
"Yes I was trying to pull at your mind. I wanted you to come with me. I wanted to make this easy. I don't know much about our abilities. I have only met one other person like us. I have learned to control myself as well as others. Control becomes a daily struggle, but I have managed self-control."
"Who was the other person like us? What were they like?"
"I don't know much about him. He was the leader of the black market I was trying to rip off. I imagine he makes great deals with the help of his abilities. I felt him trying to pry into my mind. He didn't even need to look me in the eyes. I could feel his thoughts in the back of my mind. There must be a way to develop the abilities, control them, but after all that had happened I wanted nothing to do with this gift. I fight to keep the addiction at bay. I need your help to finish what I've started. I'm afraid my powers have been inactive for so long, I don't have the power I once did. Whereas, you have been very active lately."
"I can't go back in time with you! There are laws of physics and time travel. It’s not possible. I don't know what kind of crazy idea you have in your head, but you can't go back in time."
"I'm sorry, but I can't release you until you help me. I will lock you back in a jail cell.”
6 Back to the past
I stand in the middle of my bedroom shaking. I feel as if the wooden beams may fall down on me at any moment. Go back in time? That can't be real. I know I have special abilities. Yet, I often question whether I might be some sort of psychopath, who only thinks she has powers, who should live in an insane asylum somewhere. There is no way you can go back in time; she must be mistaken. Yet, there she stands next to me, eyes fixed, shoulders holding her head up strong. Rebecca believes in the sundial with all her heart; she thinks were going back in time.
"Are you ready?" she asks.
"Wait, I can't just go back in time with you. I'm not going to help, this sundial is just an artifact, nothing more."
She pulls out the gun strapped to her hip.
"You will; this will work. It has too."
I see a longing and desperation in her, as if she's only ready to give up after one last try.
"Why do you need to go back in time, anyway? Isn't there some law about not messing with the past or something?"
"Some things in the past need to be fixed and we are going to fix them."
Her eyes blaze, pulling back the gun. I hear the click of the bullet sliding into place. She aims the barrel at my heart. My lips part, a scream is choked in my throat. Sweat beads gather on my forehead. My heart races with adrenaline. Am I ready
to die?
"Are you in?" she asks one last time.
"I don't think I have another choice," I say.
Her arm lowers. Sliding the gun back into the holster.
"I was convinced you would say that."
She lifts her right hand, revealing the sundial in the center.
"Okay. Place your hand over the sundial."
"Okay."
"Now we are to concentrate on the date. Move the days backward slowly, first thinking of days, then months, then years. Move the date back to the first November 2010. It's early in the morning; we are on the battlefield of Afghanistan. We are crouched behind a Hummer; guns blaze and fire burns around us. That's where we're going back to, November 1st."
I feel pulsating and zapping, as if I was hit by lightning. Energy flows out my body and into the sundial. My hands tingle yet, burn at the same time. I tighten my eyes, pressing the lids tightly together. My arms tense, my muscles cramp. All the energy drains from my body. My feet leave the floor. I’m floating like a bird in the night breeze. My eyelids begin to release, but I resist pressing them together. I hear a crunching noise and my feet press against the ground. Dirt bounces off my cheek. Bam! Bam! The noise increases in volume, becoming louder with each passing moment. Slowly, I open my eyes. Where am I? What is that noise? Bam! I duck. Throwing myself against the ground.
I see Rebecca crouched by a camouflaged Hummer. I crawl over. Keeping my stomach low to the ground. I push up onto my knees beside her.
Gunfire. A yell in the distance. Wind whips. My hair pulls past my face.
"Rebecca!" I yell. All the noise makes hearing nearly impossible. "Rebecca, where the hell are we?"
“Afghanistan,close to where I wanted us to be."
"Can you at least tell me why we are here?"