Free Prince of Time by Sarah Woodbury

Tillman, my research was in the Roman era, I’d done some medieval stuff. I looked over at David. He stood silently, his hands resting loosely at his sides; not pressing; just waiting. Who is he? And what is up with his friend?
    “Where did you get this?” I said.
    He didn’t answer, and I thought he wasn’t going to, but then he said, “From my father.”
    “Well, it may be very valuable, but it might take some time to value it and find a buyer. I don’t really have the resources to do either. Have you tried the museum?”
    “We don’t have time. We need to get to Bryn Mawr as quickly as possible. If I left it with you, would you give me enough money to rent a car?”
     “What?”
    “We need to get to Bryn Mawr.” David repeated.
    “Do you expect to rent a car in my name? Do you have any idea how much trouble I would get into if you were caught?” I said.
    “My aunt lives there. I think.”
    I gaped at him. “Why don’t you just call her and she can transfer some money into your account if it’s that dire. Keep your knife. You don’t need me.”
    I shoved the knife at his chest and he took it. “Take your gear, too,” I said.
    Wordlessly, he bundled the weapons in his arms. Then, “Please,” he said. “Please listen. Please don’t be afraid of us. We’re lost with no money, no identification, and no way to get home. I have no account into which I could transfer money. My parents aren’t in Pennsylvania. I realize that you’ve already helped us more than you think wise but please don’t run away.”
    I couldn’t look at him. I opened the door of my car and got inside, but was shaking so hard I kept missing the button for the door locks. I managed to jam my key into the ignition, and when the car rumbled comfortingly to life, I took a deep breath and shifted into reverse.
    Calmer, I pulled out of my space. David stood, arms full, watching me, his face totally expressionless.
    I drove home. I found an empty space to park and hoofed the last four blocks to my apartment building, purposefully not thinking. Come to think of it, I spend a lot of time that way these days . The entryway was dark, as it usually was, and I grabbed my mail and let myself into my apartment. The door closed behind me and I sighed as I leaned back against it, exhausted .
    I hadn’t slept for nearly thirty-six hours, as I’d woken up at six o’clock the previous morning. I tossed my keys and backpack onto the floor near the cushions that doubled as my couch, and stumbled into the bedroom to fall face-first onto the bed, or what passed for my bed, since it was comprised of foam pads I’d picked up at a fabric store on sale.
    They were soft, though, and I twisted onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. At least my apartment wasn’t as Spartan as that of another graduate student I knew—his bedroom lampshade consisted of an old t-shirt stretched around a coat hanger.
    I threw my arms up over my head, my thoughts streaking back to that first night in college, alone in my dorm room as my roommate had already found a better offer in some guy’s bed. I’d lain there, freezing cold since I’d made the mistake of taking a late shower and my hair hadn’t dried. I’d never been so isolated in my life—alone surrounded by hundreds of people, probably many of whom were as lost as I. Overall, the loneliness had lessened as I’d grown older. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to it.
     
    * * * * *
     
    In the morning, after fifteen solid hours of sleep, I woke with a nagging feeling that I’d forgotten something. I usually had forgotten something; I had just too many late nights and too little sleep. I found in graduate school that there was always more work—another article, another hour on a paper—and when I wasn’t working, I felt guilty. Consequently, it was rare for me to have my head entirely clear. I staggered into the kitchen and panicked when I found that I was out of coffee. I grabbed a diet cola out of the