When He Found Her

"Just because something isn't happening for you right now, doesn't mean it will never happen."

2005- December- London

In the tough times of the 21st century, he was a relic of the past that wasn't supposed to stick around.

Why is he here?

The question was stuck deep inside him, making him feel all lost in this strange time. It wasn't his plan to be here; it was like he accidentally traveled through time, ending up in a place he never knew.

All he wanted was things to be fair. He was trying to catch a traitor who brought him to this time, a person who led him on this unexpected journey.

It took a whole year for him to figure out that he wasn't in 1927 anymore. Now, he was stuck in this weird 21st century, and everything was different from what he knew.

But last night, something changed.

He had been trying for days and months to find the person who brought him to this strange place. It was tough because he had no idea where to look.

On one hand, he struggled to control his inner beast, and on the other hand, he desperately wanted to find a way back to his home, his people, and his time.

On that particular night, a seismic shift transpired within him.

It felt as though a mysterious connection had been kindled in his heart, setting his soul ablaze. The feral urges that had clawed beneath the surface were unleashed in the obscurity of the night.

As the moon cast eerie, silver shadows through the dense trees, where he remained hidden for weeks, shrouded in the darkness like a ghost. But this night was different, something compelled him to leave the comforting veil of shadows and run.

He surrendered to them, letting his body run without purpose, driven by a desperate need to release the pent-up energy and anxiety.

The world around him blurred in the moonlit darkness as he sprinted.

His boots pounded the earth, echoing his urgency. The night air was filled with the haunting chorus of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the woods.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, mingling with the crisp, frigid air. His heart raced like thunder in his chest, each beat an urgent reminder of his existence.

His cargo pants, once pristine and now stolen, flapped in the wind, billowing with each stride. A jacket, the spoils of his thievery, clung to his form, damp with sweat, while his dark brown hair, grown past his shoulders, clung to his brow.

His clothes bore the marks of a thief.

Irony, for he was the greatest thief of all time, having stolen time itself.

His beard, an untamed testament to his exile, matched the sweat-soaked sheen on his furrowed brow. In that pivotal moment, he ran not only from the past but toward an anonymous future, dictated by forces that defied understanding.

His heart raced, the beat of time echoing in his ears as he sprinted through the silent woods. Branches cracked beneath his heavy boots, and his gasps cut through the night air, joining the chorus of the forest's nocturnal sounds.

In the distance, the glow of a house beckoned through the trees.

In the heart of that mad dash towards the distant house, a tumultuous sea of emotions churned within him. Impatience surged through his veins like a fever, every tick of the clock amplifying his restlessness.

Suddenly, as he sprinted towards the distant house, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his skull, causing him to stumble and lose his footing.

His vision blurred into a chaotic swirl of colors, and his legs became ensnared in the gnarled roots of a tree, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"UGH!" He groaned.

A guttural, agonized cry escaped his lips as he clutched his head, trying to stave off the crushing migraine that felt as if it was splintering his very brain.

"Ah!" He gasped, feeling the unbearable heat coursing through his body.

"The hell is happening?!"

The temperature around him seemed to skyrocket, making him feel as if he was burning up from within. He couldn't bear the oppressive heat any longer and violently tore the jacket he had looted from his shoulders.

Desperation gripped him as he grasped at his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling and nails elongating into wickedly curved claws.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and he bit down hard on his lower lip to suppress the feral growl that was clawing its way up his throat.

"What ...." his whispers came out in gasps.

His wide emerald eyes turned into wild golden orbs staring in horror at his own hands, which were now transformed into menacing talons, and his canines elongating into sharp points.

Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, the visceral sign of a savage hunger that stirred within him.

Just as he teetered on the edge of an uncontrollable transformation, a faint but distinctly soothing scent wafted through the air. It wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, momentarily quelling the savage tempest within.

Summoning every ounce of inner strength, he forced himself upright from the unforgiving forest floor, gritting his teeth against the relentless throbbing in his skull.

Each step became an arduous battle, and he clung to the nearby trees as if they were a lifeline.

"Come on... Come on," he muttered under his breath, his words a desperate plea to his own body.

He stumbled and fell repeatedly, frustration and impatience painting his voice. Yet, his unwavering determination fueled him, his heart's rhythm echoing in his ears.

Through sheer persistence, he finally made it to the rear of the house, seeking refuge beside a window.

Amid the medley of fragrances, one stood out - a delicate note, somewhat familiar, kissed with a hint of lavender.

His heart quickened its pace, and his whole frame trembled uncontrollably.

'What in the world was going on?'

Despite the freezing chill in the air, sweat poured from his brow, drenching his dark hair that flowed past his shoulders. His brow furrowed as he fought to regain control.

Taking a chance, he quietly approached the window, peering inside the dimly lit room. A man stood in front of someone reclining in a chair, while on the bed lay a lifeless woman.

Her still form raised a troubling question:

Did they kill her?

"Dad..." A familiar voice sounded, causing his fists to clench involuntarily.

The room's turmoil seemed to blur his vision, he shook his head again and again, and he strained to focus on the ongoing conversation.

"I've made a grave mistake, Dad, and I'm so sorry for everything," the voice quivered with remorse.

"I warned you, son," his father's voice held a deep sigh. "I warned you time and time again, and now our family pays the price. Isabella is gone, and your days are numbered."

The man who had obscured his view earlier slumped into a nearby chair, revealing the figure he had been blocking. The sight of the man on the chair sent a growl rumbling from deep within him.

Jack Sinclair!

That bastard!

As his claws scratched the wall, his rage surged to the forefront. The mere sight of the traitor he had sought for so long threatened to make his restraint crumble, and he felt blood gushing from the tips of his fingers.

Upon seeing Jack's deteriorating state, his initial impulse to pounce on him was momentarily restrained.

In that room, Jack appeared as a shadow of his former self, his haggard appearance reflecting the torment that had overtaken him. His once bright blue eyes now held a vacant, sorrowful gaze.

His tired face showed he'd been through many sleepless nights and heartaches. He looked like a ghost, with pale skin matching the lifelessness around him. Dark circles under his eyes revealed the hours he spent in restless thought, a sign of his suffering.

"Who's there?" The old man turned abruptly, his gaze darting to the window, forcing him to retreat into the shadows.

He couldn't risk jeopardizing his escape, not with the man responsible for his unwanted presence in this era now within his grasp.

Before the beast could react on instinct, Jack's voice reached his ears again, prompting the old man to look back at the scene.

"I know, Dad, and I'm full of regret for what I've done," Jack began, his voice quivered.

The room's heavy silence hung heavily, punctuated only by Jack's shaky breaths.

The old man had left the room for a brief moment, returning in mere seconds. As his eyes landed on a small life cradled in Jack's father's arms, everything seemed to stand still.

The only sounds that remained were the harmonious beats of his heart resonating with hers. In that brief moment, he regained control, and everything that had changed from his eyes to his nails to his canines reverted to its original state, leaving him with one lingering question:

How?

The room brightened slightly with her tiny, warm fingers wrapped around her grandfather's thumb. 

Interrupting the flow of his thoughts, Jack asked his father, "Is she asleep again?"

"I suppose so," Jack's father replied, handing the tiny girl over to Jack, who eagerly accepted her into his arms.

"Scientists..." Jack spoke with a heavy heart. "I was supposed to do something good, something to benefit mankind. When did I become so consumed by greed?"

His words held the raw pain of a man who had lost much.

Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at his father, regret, and guilt etched into his brows. 

"Power is a formidable force, son," his father responded, "It's a battle between your ego and your morality. You mustn't allow your ego to triumph over your moral compass when discerning between right and wrong. Your ego overcame your morality, and that's how you lost, that's how you placed everyone's lives, your life, and your daughter's life in jeopardy."

Jack touched his daughter's face, saying, "They will come for her, Dad. If someone deciphers my theory, they will realize she is the only link. You have to keep her safe, away from all of this. The company is still working on the portals, and you must stop them."

His father reassured him, "Don't worry, son. I know what I need to do." His voice wavered with the weight of the responsibility he was about to undertake.

Jack smiled faintly and turned to his daughter. "What shall we name her?" he asked.

Chuckling softly, the old man leaned back in his chair. "She's your daughter. You should choose her name."

After a moment of contemplation, Jack kissed her tiny forehead and declared, "She's our family's legacy, a torchbearer of our name. I name her Chloe Isabella Sinclair."

"Named after her mother..." the old man murmured.

Jack nodded and was about to say more, but a sudden fit of coughing wracked his body, and as he opened his mouth to speak, his throat constricted.

The old man swiftly took Chloe from his arms, his voice filled with concern. "What's happening to you?"

Amid a violent coughing fit, his son managed to utter words through the blood, his voice strained, "I... I think it's time." He gasped for air, each breath a struggle. "Keep her safe, Dad. She's the-"

Blood spilled from his eyes, nostrils, mouth, and ears. As he crumpled to the floor, his gaze remained locked on his daughter.

"T-take c-car-r-e-e...." his voice trailed in a whisper.

A small, serene smile played on his lips as the light of life extinguished from his eyes.

"Son ..." His father's voice quivered with grief.

The weight of the moment bore down on Jack's father as he watched his son's life slip away.

Tears escaped his eyes, and his hands trembled, reaching out to gently close Jack's unseeing eyes. 

At that very moment, the little girl opened her eyes and gazed at her grandfather, who had shielded her from the heart-wrenching scene and turned her towards the window.

Though she was just a day old, her brown eyes met his greens, and it appeared as if her gaze brightened.

Many questions raced through the beast's mind, but the most important one was:

What was the connection between them?

With the only person who could have sent him back now gone, another set of questions arose:

How would he return to his own time, to 1927?

Was he trapped in this era forever?