Free Flight to Freedom (Flight Trilogy, Book 3) by Mike Coe

the perfume fully developed on the skin and the top note had evaporated. He inhaled a second time.
    Nothing yet.
    It’ll take a few minutes .
    He took a sip of coffee waiting anxiously for a sneeze. Just to be sure, he pumped another squirt of Angel on his arm and drew in the fragrance. He waited approximately three minutes.
    Nothing.
    His heart raced.
    I should be sneezing by now .
    Concerned too much perfume would draw attention, he took his coffee and left the store. Sitting in his car he pumped the star-shaped dispenser a third time, sending a mist into the cabin of the car. He inhaled deeply and coughed. He waited a minute.
    Still nothing.
    I don’t understand .
    Frustrated, he tossed the bottle of Angel on the passenger’s seat and started the car.
    Grace must have sold me a dud .
    He backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit.
    I’d better get this stuff off or Keri will wonder why I smell like a woman .
    He stopped the car and wiped his forearm with a Starbucks napkin. He sniffed his arm. The oils in the perfume were still emitting a strong scent of the fragrance. He took the napkin, spit on it, then rubbed his arm hard, until it was hot from friction and the napkin almost disintegrated. He sniffed his arm again. The scent of Angel was still strong.
    I need something strong … some type of cleaning fluid .
    He searched the car for anything he could use to rid him of the prissy-smelling fumes. Between the seats he found a small half-filled bottle of hand sanitizer. He squirted a liberal amount on his arm where he had previously applied the Angel perfume and rubbed it back-and-forth with his hand. A strong scent of alcohol quickly replaced the sweet fragrance of the perfume. Once the sanitizer evaporated, he lifted his arm and sniffed his skin. It was clean and fresh—free from the fragrance of the perfume. He lowered the windows.
    Turning onto the street, it hit him hard. “Ahhhhhh….chooooo!”
    Now we’re talking . Bring it on !
    His eyes began to burn and itch, much worse than any of the other times.
    Burn baby burn .
    Tears flooded his vision making driving almost impossible. “Ahhh….chooo!”
    Yeah … that’s it . Sneeze your head off .
    His nose dripped like a garden hose, but he managed to whistle the tune to Angel until he arrived back home. The house was dark and quiet. He headed straight to the bedroom where Keri was still in bed sound asleep and then into the bathroom. He washed his face and blew his nose. Thankfully, the sneezing had subsided. He was hopeful he could get back in bed without waking Keri.
    “Is everything okay?” Keri said.
    “Ahh…choo!”
    “Are you getting sick?”
    “No, I’m fine. I went down to Starbucks and I must’ve gotten a whiff of something I’m allergic to. I just need to lie here and sleep it off. I’ll be fine in an hour or so.”
    She would not remember anything about his other allergic attacks leading to his previous two dream regressions, as they were not a part of her present—and only—reality.
    “Okay, I think I’ll go downstairs and let you sleep. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” She closed the bedroom door as she left.
    According to his numbers theory, he expected this dream would take him to the year 1984—nine years earlier than his last dream. If so, it seemed only logical his dream maker would choose Saturday night June 23rd. That night had defined his future more than any other day in life.
    As he relaxed, he imagined sitting in his 1964 Chevrolet Impala parked on the circular driveway in front of Keri’s old home in Buckhead.
    Sleep came quickly…
    * * *
    Where am I ? This is not right . Where is Keri ?
    Ryan sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. He was in the kitchen of a previous house where he once lived. It was early morning. The black of night was slowly yielding to twilight, releasing the once colorless world from its prison of darkness. He was in California. He was alone.
    The TV was on,