Chapter 1: 1776

I unlock the door to my apartment. As it slams behind me, a chill runs down my spine. I glance behind me, ensuring that I’m still alone. Quickly, I flip the lights on. My vision refocuses, initially blinded by the bright kitchen lighting. A figure comes into focus.

“Hello, Cassidy,” he says, quietly.

I glance to the side, looking for more people. The rest of the apartment is empty. Habitually, I have my hand resting on the pocket knife in my purse. I quickly release it and approach the man, my boss.

“Hi, Chance. Why the drop in?” I ask. He pats a letter, which rests on my kitchen counter.

“It’s happening, soon. We think it’s going to be you,” he whispers, slowly walking backwards, “Check this out by the end of the week and get back to me.”

As he finishes the sentence, he slips out the window, onto the fire escape. I watch him cautiously close the window from the outside, before disappearing from my sight. My feet take me slowly towards the envelope. Breaking the seal with my index finger, I open the letter. It’s addressed to me. The familiar, neat printed handwriting of a older man indicates the author to me, immediately: Benjamin English.

His handwriting details updates regarding the case of the Congressionalists. Recently, they’ve run a successful test, seeming to have acquired the last of the resources needed. He anticipates it’s beginning within a month. This sends a rush of panic into my body. I never believed it would occur. It’s preposterous. It’s impossible.

I rest the letter back into its envelope, ignoring the pressing nature of it. What happens happens. If I’m chosen, then I’m chosen. I pop a frozen dinner into the microwave before settling down on the couch. I’m four episodes away from finishing the latest season of Grey’s Anatomy. I press play on the first of the four and select autoplay. Half-way through the first, I open a bottle of wine, enjoying the warmth of my own presence. By the end of the second episode, the bottle of wine is empty.

Light creeps into my eyes. Ugh. Morning.

My alarm clearly hasn’t gone off yet, so I roll over and reach for my pillow. Did I fall asleep on the couch? My hand digs into a substance, which is neither the texture of my bed sheets nor the couch fabric.

Having grabbed a fistful of dirt, I snap my eyes open. I’m outdoors. The blue sky rushes into my vision, met by the sight of tall pine trees. I’m in the woods. In a dress. An old-fashioned dress. I wipe my hands on the stiff, scratchy fabric.

“Hey,” A man’s voice says from behind me. My heart drops. His voice sparks just enough fear for me to stand up quickly and back away from him.

“Who are you?” I mutter, my body involuntarily trembling a little.

“Max. Who are you?” he asks. I strain my eyes, trying to recognize or decipher him. He looks generic: blond hair, green eyes, tan skin. But, I don’t know him. What happened? A momentary rush of panic fills my chest. Did I get kidnapped?

“I’m Cass. Why did you take me here? What do you want from me?” I spit, now breathing heavily. A lump forms in my throat. His eyes glare at me.

“I didn’t take you here? I just woke up here with you and the other two!” His eyes dart from me to two people asleep on the ground. A bird crows from above us. My strangest observation is our clothing. Max wears a colonial costume, it seems. A Paul-Revere hat rests on head, matching only his tailed suit jacket.

“You mean to tell me that we just woke up in the middle of the woods?” I threaten. My brain feels busy, attempting to process where I am. Where was I last night?

“Yeah? Probably happened at Jason’s party last night. I’m sure we’re not far from his cabin.” he responds, looking around. I hold my breath for a moment.

“Look, I don’t know who Jason is but you need to tell me what the hell is going on,” I say, more sternly this time. This Max guy is starting to get defensive. Suspicious.

“I don’t know anything more than you do. I got pretty drunk last night. Who knows what happened.” I realize, now, that my jaw has been hanging open. I close it.

“Hate to break it to you, but I was drinking wine on my couch, last I remember,” I say, referencing my Grey’s Anatomy binge.

“Hello?” Says a second man. We both look behind us. My heart skips a beat as the man’s large stature is obvious, now that he’s standing. I’m overpowered. I should have run. I inhale deeply.

“Okay, doofus, wanna tell me what’s happening?” I ask the second man. He’s taller than Max, wears an old-fashioned suit and looks just as confused as I feel.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Who are you again?”

“I’m Cassidy. What is going on?” I ask, louder this time.

“Been trying to figure that out,” Max says, “I’m Max by the way.” He seems only mildly irritated by the situation, as if he has at least a slight of idea of what is going on here. My concern is only growing. Someone here is lying to me.

The second man responds to Max, “My name’s Elliot. So nobody has any clue where we are?”

“I mean, I assume we’re not far from Salem,” Max adds.

“Salem? Like Oregon?” Elliot questions, running his hands through his dark hair.

“No, Massachusetts. Obviously... That is where you guys are from, right?” I clench my jaw. Massachusetts? This certainly just got a lot weirder.

“Uh, no. Last I remember, I wasn’t even in the United States,” I respond, honestly. Neither of the men reply back. In fact, Max has gone quite pale.

“Elliot?” I question. He blinks rapidly as if he’s trying to wake himself up from a dream. Maybe this is a dream; though, it feels pretty real.

“I’m from Richmond. Virginia,” he says quietly.

“Odd,” I mutter.

“May I ask why you’re both dressed like it’s 1800?” Elliot asks us, still blinking as if the dream will suddenly stop. I glance down at my own attire, which only perplexes me more.

“I’ve literally never seen this dress before,” I say, “And hate to break it to you, but are too!” My fists are clenched at my side, unintentionally. I release them, red marks left by my fingernails.

Elliot looks down at his outfit, puzzled. Max looks around, as if the woods would give us some kind of clue. I check out the construction of my dress. It feels authentic? I glance back up at the boys, just Elliot pulls a gun from his pocket. My stomach tumbles.

“Oh, shit!” Max exclaims.

“What the hell man?!” I yelp, still frozen in place.

“I’m telling you guys. I don’t know where this came from. I definitely do not own this gun,” he says. I don’t believe him. I don’t trust him. I remain frozen in place, my shoulders raised in defense.

“Uh, I have one too,” Max says, puzzled, pulling a clean handgun from his suit. My eyes widen. If I am going to survive, I need pay more attention. I watch both of the men. Max holds the gun delicately, strategically. His fingers deliberately avoid the trigger, yet safely handle the barrel. Weird. Elliot, conversely, holds the gun confidently, gripped for action. A natural. Hunter? Policeman?

I hear a crinkling leaf behind me. I glance and see the other, younger girl getting up. Maybe I can trust her.

“Where am I?” she mumbles.

“Good question,” one of the boys adds.

I swallow the lump in my throat and explain the very little information we have. Elliot suggests a walk, to see where we are. I still don’t trust these people. Perhaps this is some kind of sick joke. Or a test? For work, maybe? We wander through the woods, hoping to find a cabin or the edge.

“So how old are you guys?” The other girl, Belle, asks.

“21,” I say.

“Also, 21,” Max says.

“I’m 23,” Elliot says, “So, we’re all pretty young, huh?”

“I’m 16,” Belle murmurs.

“Did you just say sixteen?” I spit at her, without thinking. I turn towards her. Getting a better look at her chubby-cheeked face, I can see her youth. Elliot’s eyes widen. If she really is 16, I can trust her. But, the boys, I’m not so sure about.

“Yeah,” she says almost nonchalantly. I continue to analyze the others. Max walks with a bounce of sorts, while Elliot walks more subtlety. He’s quiet-footed, spy-like. Belle trudges, loudly. She’s a little out of breath. Perhaps only because she’s walking at the speed of 2 adult men, a foot taller than her.

“Can we slow down a little? I can’t keep up,” she gasps, at last.

“Sure, Belle,” Elliot says kindly, slowing his pace.

“Wait,” Belle says. We all turn to face her and stop in place. She pulls a small piece of paper from her dress pocket, “It’s a note?” I glance at the boys, they seem intrigued.

“Elliot, Max, Cassidy, and Belle,” she reads...

“What the hell is going on?” Max mutters. I bite the inside of my cheek, unknowingly.

“So, you’re all FBI?” Elliot asks. I glance around at the others.

“I’m not. I’m a forensic crime scene specialist.” Max says. His handling of the gun checks out. So does Elliot’s.

“I’m not anything,” Belle says, “I mean, my father’s the Vice President but that doesn’t count for anything?” I glance at her. She did look familiar. But, that doesn’t add up. It just doesn’t make sense. Why would that even be relevant here? Why would the CIA need her? Elliot interrupts my train of thought, pressing Max with a question. He appears to be just as suspicious of the situation as I am. I don’t feel safe here. This doesn’t make any sense.

Belle continues to read, “Belle, stop reading,” Elliot spits. My heart is pounding out of my chest. Time travel?

“Am I crazy or did that just say we...like...time traveled to 1776?” I ask, out loud. Color drains from Belle’s face. Her hands tremble, holding the letter.

“That’s what I heard too,” Max says, now straining his neck to read the letter for himself.

“That’s not possible!”

“Apparently it is,” Belle says, “If you keep reading, it appears that we’ll be jumping years after each successful mission. Fulfilling some sort of mission to make American history flawless.”

“That’s insane. This has got to be some sort of cruel joke,” I say. Max and Elliot look at the paper. I can sense Belle’s genuine fear. Her breathing is heavy, despite the fact that we have been stopped for a while now. And, as I attempt to read the paper, her hands continue shake ever so slightly.

“You guys think we’re in one of those social experiments or something?” Elliot questions.

“I don’t feel like they’d include a 16 year old girl in that though,” Max notes. Something isn’t adding up. I don’t like this. I don’t like these people. Why would the CIA do this? It can’t be real.

“Well, maybe she’s an actor. Or all of you! That would explain... a lot,” I spit. They seem confused, not anxious. I still feel unsafe, but I now consider that maybe these 3 aren’t the ones who put me here.

“There’s an imposter among us!” Elliot jokes.

“Did you just reference Among Us... like the video game?” Belle says.

“My niece is obsessed with it. Or was. Is it irrelevant now?” Elliot processes. How are they having a normal conversation? We just found out we time traveled and they’re talking about the relevance of video games? This has got to be a social experiment.

“As real as this seems, I’m not sure if I trust any of you yet. Can we just keep reading? What else does this crazy paper say?” I say, frustrated with their sidetrackedness.

“Look, it’s got date after date. I mean, there’s Abraham Lincoln’s Assassination, World War One, 9/11: this is crazy,” Max exclaims.

“How many?”

“18. I think.”

“Is the world not going to be completely different when we return?” Max questions. We all just blankly stare at each other.

“Let’s see if we can find the city. Prove we haven’t gone absolutely insane? And that this isn’t a social experiment? ” I suggest, glancing at the others. Belle nods nervously. We continue walking through the woods. I’m trying to figure out if these people seem genuine. Because, why would the government choose us? There’s literally a 16 year old girl. I mean she does look familiar. You know, maybe she is the Vice President’s daughter. But, even if she is, why the hell would they put her here?

We stumble upon the town. It’s quiet and secluded. Nothing like modern day Philly. The others look as stunned as I am. This can’t be real.

“This is wild,” Max mutters.

“Should we go talk to someone?” Belle asks.

“I mean, probably,” I answer, but one moves. “Elliot or Max, you need to talk to said person. If we’re really in seventeen-seventy-whatever, Belle and I can’t exactly just talk,” I continue.

“I’ll go,” Max volunteers. That feels weird. The forensic scientist volunteered? I don’t trust him. He jogs down from the hill and enters the town square. I can see the ocean and busy harbor. I glance at Elliot and Belle who stand beside me. Maybe they can help me figure this out. Certainly, I can’t trust Max. I just need to figure out why.

“This is pretty crazy, ain’t it?” Elliot says. I’m beginning to sense a Southern accent in his tone. I’m not the best at differentiating accents, but he speaks with a unique drawl. I catch sight of Max, talking with a local. He waves us down. The three of us trudge down the hill. I slow down, to stand next to Max, who grabs my hand, “This is my wife, Ca-”

“My name’s Caroline, so nice to meet you,” I interrupt. This isn’t my first rodeo. When you meet with random people who don’t need to know the intent of your visit, you don’t introduce yourself with your real name. And, I’m thinking Max made that mistake.

“And this is my best friend, Ell...Eli, and his... this is Anna,” Max stumbles. That was painful, but what do you expect from a forensic scientist?

“Hello,” Elliot and Belle say.

“Beautiful slave girl you’ve got there,” he says. My jaw drops open, momentarily, but then it hits me. Belle’s not white. We really are in 1776. I glance over at Elliot. He’s not white either, is he? The local pays no mind, so I don’t either.

“It is so nice to meet all of you. Where did you say you were traveling from? I haven’t heard accents quite like yours before,” The man asks.

“South Carolina,” I say, knowing they get the brunt of all the jokes; and will hopefully make his accent-curiosity fade.

“I see. Why don’t I introduce you to the South Carolina delegate,” he says. He remains several steps ahead of the rest of us.

“Wait- wait. So we’re actually in 1776?” Elliot asks.

“Yup,” I mutter.

“Well, of course. Why the hell else did he just call me a slave girl?” Belle swears.

“I’m sorry, Belle,” Max says. She just sighs. “But also, no. It’s 1787, that’s when the Constitution was written,” Max explains.

“Whoops.” We arrive at the building. Belle takes a deep breath. I catch sight of her hands shaking. Max cracks his neck, seemingly to look cool, but it just doesn’t. Elliot seems neutral, cold, emotionless. Something about this hints to me that he’s good under pressure, the FBI coming out, perhaps.

The door creaks open.