Standing in a phone booth staring down at the 1994-'95 Yellow Pages Tristan couldn't help but be constantly reminded it wasn't 2020 anymore. More importantly, it had been that way for almost two weeks now and he was getting desperate. So desperate, in fact, that he had pounded in the same number almost a dozen times now and hung up. He had leaned his head in frustration against the glass for so long that it had thawed some of the ice that had formed on the outside of the construct.

The inner conflict had risen to a crescendo. He had to do something. He had a plan, but it wasn't a great one. In fact, if Tim were conscious, he would probably relate how terrible of an idea it was until Tristan would have to relent and give up on the thought altogether. The lack of a comrade to throw ideas by meant that even the worst ones were the best available to him.

He pressed the cold keypad again and inserted several quarters. He breathed out loudly and waited. The ring tone started and he fought against himself to slam the handle back down on the receiver. It took several rings before the other side picked up, the handle clunking clumsily before a squeaky, young voice answered almost overly-politely.

“Edmund residence, how can I help you?”

He was completely focused on speaking to his father. “Is Rick Edmund there?” he asked, attempting to be as nonchalant as possible. Of course, fooling a child wasn't difficult, but he didn't want to get cocky.

“Just a moment, please.” He paused for a second and muffled the receiver, though not enough that Tristan would miss the next words uttered loudly. “Daaa-ad! Phone!”

Tristan blanched visibly and hung the phone up quicker than he ever had in his entire life. A vision came to him. His father, drunk in the mid-afternoon, screaming at him for playing a phone prank. He had been grounded for a week after that. This had happened. This had...always happened.

His dirty blond hair fell down over his eyes as he slumped back against the glass wall with a loud sigh. He could feel himself breaking. It had been too long, and the cash he had brought with him was stretching thin. Tim seemed no better than he had been when he had first been rushed to the hospital. Tristan had said he didn't know the man, but having spent the past few weeks by his bedside, he doubted anyone believed that. He had taken the two back in time so they could find a way to save his mother and Tim's parents from a plane crash only to have shown up almost two weeks late. And now Tim was in a coma and there was absolutely no silver lining on this shit cloud.

A knock woke him from his depression, but it didn't force his eyes open, nor did it make him move at all.

“New York still has tons of phone booths. Find another one,” he grumbled, sniffing loudly as he felt his emotions pressing back against their confines.

“And what if I'm just looking for a friend?” a familiar, female voice asked as the door slowly slid open and Jess, the nurse from the hospital peaked in. She was in her early 20's, with a medium build, with dark, almost black hair and brown eyes.

Tristan stood up quickly, clearing his throat and wiping the tears from his eyes. He took a quick moment to clean himself up as he stood up and stepped out of the booth.

“Hey, Jess. Look, I'm sorry, I...”

Jess interrupted him before he could continue. “I just finished my shift and I'm starved. I've been craving Smiling Pizza all day. Why don't you come with me so I don't have to eat alone? My treat.”

Tristan choked back a response and nodded, following her as the two walked down the cold, snow strewn street. Jess jumped into conversation right away, leaping over how she had found him. She went into her day and what else had gone on, complaining about the on-duty doctor and a nurse who loved to give her a hard time.

They each grabbed a pepperoni slice and a coke and took a seat at a table in a corner. Tristan hadn't realized how hungry he was until he took that first bite. He could feel himself salivate as he continued to take bite after bite. Jess watched him with a slight smile.

Taking a sip of her drink, she broke him from his gastronomical reverie. “So, what is Tim like when he isn't sleeping every hour of the day?” she asked, innocently, brushing a black strand of hair back behind her ear.

Tristan looked up from his bite, trying not to look surprised by her question, but failing miserably. “Tim? Who's Tim?” Tristan was a terrible liar.

“Come on, Tristan. You've been in the hospital for weeks now, watching over a 'John Doe' that you supposedly have never met before. We don't get a lot of good mysteries around here, and rarely do we have the time to solve them. I've caught you chatting with him from time to time. You're comfortable with him, you obviously know him. And you've called him Tim I don't know how many times. Anyone else would have called him 'John'.”

Tristan took a short sip and nodded. “Busted,” he remarked, chagrined. “Does this stay between us? I can't afford for things to go badly here.”

Jess chuckled. “The closest I get to mystery in my life is the rare occasion when someone hasn't spoiled The X-Files before I have the chance to watch my taped copy of the new episode. Mum's the word.”

Tristan laughed, for the first time in what felt like too long and nodded while Jess took a big bite of her pizza. “Ah, so nurse by day and video pirate by night, huh? Okay, you got me. Tim is my cousin. How he hurt himself, that's still a mystery to me, too – that part is the truth. The reality is, we aren't supposed to be here. I have limited funds, but we have no one who can help us, no one to get us out of here. I'm...lost in a city I know all too well, if that makes any sense at all.”

Jess finished chewing, shaking her head. When she finally gulped the bite down she smiled sheepishly. “No, it really doesn't make sense, Tristan. What do you mean by, 'we aren't supposed to be here'? That's the weird part. You obviously know the city well enough, you aren't foreign, and yet you're hiding your cousins identity. Are you criminals? Are you hiding from the police or something?”

Tristan grinned and shook his head. “No, that would almost be preferable. I...I don't know how to explain it, Jessica. I...It's all way too much for anyone to understand.”

Tristan recoiled slightly when Jessica placed a hand on his. He relaxed and slid his hand back under hers as he saw the serious look on her face. “Look, Tristan, I've had a really great time getting to know you, but the mystery is killing me. I'm a sucker for mysteries. I think we've gotten pretty close over the last little while and I'm a healer, too. That doesn't just mean that I stitch people up. It means I help in any way I can. So please, what can I do to prove to you that you can trust me?”

Tristan remained silent for quite some time, considering his options. He took another bite of his pizza, snapping the long lines of gooey mozzarella before they made a mess of him, chewed, and swallowed. He took another drink of his coke and then pointed at her. “Do you have a credit card? How close to the limit is it?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Credit card? Yeah, I have one. I only use it for emergencies, though, so there isn't much money owed on it.”

“Good,” he responded quickly, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Jessica laughed nervously. “Give you my credit card? Now I'm afraid you ARE a criminal.”

Tristan pushed his hand a little closer. “This secret is huge...the mystery is huge. It's worth it. Besides, I could run off and spend the limit easily, but you can report it stolen and you'll get everything back anyways. I just need you to know that you can trust me. You'll either get it back when we're done with this conversation, or I'll run off and you can call the bank and maybe catch me before I spend everything you've got.”

She eyed him long and hard, but after a short while, she sighed and rummaged through her purse. She pulled out an American Express card and passed it to him slowly. “This is a big deal. You remember when these used to get you into restaurants that wouldn't take Visa or Mastercard? This was my ticket.”

Tristan smiled, slid it into his back pocket and shook his head. “No, I don't remember that at all. In fact, I read the newspaper every day just so everything around me makes some kind of sense.” Jess didn't know how to take this and her worry increased when she saw her card disappear. “You want mystery, Jessica, alright, here's a mystery for you.”

He pulled out his wallet and slipped his license from the plastic sheath. Handing it to her he could see her eyeing it strangely. “That's pretty,” she started as she reached for it. “What state is that from?”

Tristan remained silent as she took it and looked it over. Her voice changed from a normal volume to a hushed murmur as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. “Wait, is this new? They just changed the licenses in '92. Why would they...you were born in eighty...what? That's not right. You'd be...” Her mouth dropped some as she frantically scanned the license. She flipped it several times, scanned it for any irregularities(of which there were many, but none that made it feel any less than real). She went over every detail, held it up to see if the faces matched. Tristan chuckled at this.

“I got a haircut right before they took that. It's grown out a little since then,” he said, tussling his hair a little.

“This expires in 2021,” Jess whispered, holding the card up towards Tristan. He took it back and slipped it back into his wallet.

“Yeah. Big mystery. You might enjoy this one if I can get you to believe me.”

She shook her head. “It has to be forged somehow. Why...how. What is going on, Tristan?” She was still whispering, afraid someone else might hear them.

Tristan waved his hands and shrugged his shoulders some. “Look, I don't know how to explain it, but I think I have an idea. Do you watch The Simpsons?”

For the first time in several minutes, Jessica relaxed. “Everyone watches The Simpsons.”

Tristan smiled and nodded. “Good. Perfect. And you like mysteries, so here goes: This summer everyone is going to be talking about The Simpsons. As unlikely as it is to believe, they're going to have a murder mystery cliffhanger.”

Jessica seemed disappointed. For her, his story was falling apart. “Really? That seems kind of dumb.”

Tristan's eyes widened. “Oh, it's not. It's a classic parody on Dallas' 'Who shot JR.' People love it, but no one knows who the killer is. There will be bets on it and everything.”

Jessica is beginning to get annoyed, not understanding what is going on. “Okay, so The Simpsons do it again and make something that everyone loves. What does this prove right now?”

“Not a thing, but I still have your credit card and I haven't dashed yet, so I've earned some trust. If you suspend your disbelief and just believe me for now, you'll see. If I'm lying or telling the truth, you'll know in September when the new season starts.”

Jessica tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Really? You don't have something a little more immediate?”

He sighed. “I didn't memorize the lottery numbers if that's what you mean. I'm still a kid right now. I don't remember very much about this year at all, except for those episodes.”

“That's nine months from now,” she said, disappointed.

“Yeah, well it's twenty-five years ago for me,” he shot back.

The two were silent. Tristan finished his slice, not looking up. He had screwed up. He shouldn't have told her any of this. He had no one to trust. He was alone in a way that made every other time he had felt lonely seem laughable. As he chewed on a crunchy piece of crust he reached into his back pocket and retrieved her credit card. When he attempted to pass it, she pushed his hand away.