4 Who are you?

I WAS STARING into a mirror. No, a darkened window that showed my startled reflection. Only it wasn’t me. The girl that looked back at me was ... just not me. She was pretty. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes but they looked startled like something had just slapped her. She was wearing a shawl and a dark dress that was buttoned up all the way under her chin.

Oh my god! It happened. I’m in a different person. I’m so sorry, Kyle. What do I do now?

“Who are you?” My host was panicking. How did she even know I was here? I didn’t try to do anything. I was panicking. She should just go to sleep or something.

I tried to pull back, but she hung onto me like I was a bad dog. I tried to take control, but she tightened my leash and held me down. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! Pa said.

“Who are you and why are you here? Go away!”

She was talking to me! She knew I was here! I could feel my heart in my throat. I could see the wrinkles in my forehead. There were tears leaking out of my ... her ... our eyes.

Don’t be scared. I don’t know if I was thinking it to myself or to her, but she heard me.

“Scared? You just jumped into my head. I can feel you. I can hear you. Who are you?”

Ramie. I felt compelled to answer.

“I have been possessed. I will not let you have my soul, demon!” She was beginning to hyperventilate. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. Her lungs. What was happening? “Demon Ramie, by the power of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I command you out of this sacred temple of the divine and consign you eternally to the flames of hell from whence you came,” she screeched at me. The words screamed in my head. To my ears she barely whispered—could hardly speak.

I don’t actually think it works that way. Stony silence. I want to go home. I don’t believe any of this. Maybe she couldn’t hear me anymore. But I could feel tears still dripping from my ... our eyes. I jerked her head back toward the dark window. Bitch. I gave her the finger. She jumped back and snatched her hand down in her lap. Hah! You can’t deny I’m here and still fight me for control. Where am I?

She refused to answer. I reached up and tweaked her left nipple. Oooh. Sensitive.

“Stop it! All right, you are still here. I will go to a priest. I will not be possessed by Satan’s damned minion.”

Stop cussing me. I’m not damned. I’m not a minion. I’m not evil. I’m just scared. Just like you are.

“Why? Why are you here in me?”

I don’t know. Honest, I don’t.

“Miranda, you’re talking in your sleep again,” the woman next to us spoke. “Wake up, dear. Now you can start over.”

“Yes, Mother,” the girl said.

So you’re Miranda. Nice to meet you, too. You don’t have to speak out loud. I can hear your thoughts.

“You can’t!” she thought. At least it wasn’t out loud.

I can. Please talk to me. Please tell me who you are and where I am.

“I am a poor sinner and you have come to torment me for my sins.”

No. I don’t give a damn about your sins.

“You are a foul being.”

I’m not. Really, I’m not. I’m sorry I’m here. I don’t want to torment you.

“Why are you here?”

My Pa told us he was a time traveler and we didn’t believe him. But it’s nothing like he said.

“That is impossible.”

That’s what I said. But here I am. When am I? What date is it?

“Good Friday, the fourteenth day of April in the year of our Lord 1865.”

Oh god! No!

“Do not take the name of our Lord in vain, Demon Ramie.”

No. It can’t be. I’m dreaming. You aren’t real.

“I’m real. It is you...”

Miranda, it’s the day they shot President Lincoln!

“What? No! They can’t. Who?”

An actor. John Wilkes Booth.

“But we’ve just won the war. Lee surrendered. That’s why we are traveling.”

I was afraid to say anything. I tried not to think. When I held my breath, I realized Miranda was struggling.

“Let me breathe!”

I’m sorry. I forget that when I do something it affects you, too. I wish I was in my own body. I don’t mean to make your life miserable.

I tried to relax and just be a rider, watching the world through Miranda’s eyes. Pa said he could give control to his host and just watch. But Miranda’s thoughts were flashing all over.

“Are you still there?”

Yes.

“How do you know the president will be killed?”

It’s history for me. A long time ago. Pa’s a fanatic about Lincoln and Kennedy. He lectures me every birthday. I had to write a paper about it for school.

“What can we do?”

What? What do you mean?

“I cannot sit idly by while my president is assassinated. You said you did not know why you were here. I do not know why you are here. Has this murder been committed already?”

What time of day is it?

“Nearly dawn.”

It happens tonight. Ford’s Theater around ten o’clock.

“We must tell someone.”

And end up in a loony bin? How could you tell someone that a person from the future invaded your head and told you that the president would be shot while attending a play? They would lock you up.