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The beer dangled loosely from his fingertips, condensation making the dark bottle slippery. He took another swallow, grimacing at the bitter, lukewarm taste. He glanced around the too-hot, too-loud, and too-crowded bar, dismissing the dancers, cataloging weaknesses, infiltration points, exits. Stop. There. In the mirror. It was Her.
Looking into her eyes, into John’s eyes, it was hard not to remember John’s last words. “I wish I could’ve given you something better than a one-way ticket to 1984 for your birthday.”
“What? It’s not my birthday, John.”
“It will be. I have faith in you—and my mom. Remember the future is not set. Make your own fate, Kyle.”
Kyle swallowed hard. Anything he did now might wipe out everything he’d ever known. He didn’t think he could bear knowing he might ruin any chance for Connor to be born.
‘Connor is…god…he’s…just everything. Looking into his eyes when I finally realized the camp was overrun—that I was free, I knew I’d follow him into hell.’ Who knew hell would be a Los Angeles dance club in 1984. Adjusting the gripon his sawed off shotgun, he returned to the present, glancing around the club once more.
‘Better enjoy this birthday, Reese. It’s probably the last one you’ll have. She’s so beautiful--Shit! Shit!’
The ugly hunk of junk crossed his line of vision.
‘Stupid piece of—Get down. Dammit, why won’t these people get out of my line of fire?’
He squeezed off three more shots before finally reaching her. Holding out his hand, he asked, demanded, pleaded, “Come with me, if you want to live.”