Becoming A Founding "Father"- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Forty-Seven: An End?

"Apologies," I say, my voice a whisper. "Where am I? Who are you, miss?"

"Oh, you must be so confused." She smiles softly. "Don't worry, I'll explain everything- I'm Doctor Anderson and you're in a hospital."

"A hospital..?" No way on earth is this a hospital. The room is way too clean- and white, of all things- no blood is splattered on the floor, there is no smell of death- rather, a strong smell of... alcohol? And who is this lady, calling herself a doctor?

This is the point where the voices say something completely unrelated.

"Well, I'm not that type of doctor- blood's not a favorite of mine," she chirps, far too chipper. "How are you?"

God, she's so rude, too. "I'm alright, thank you for your hospitality- though the bloodletting is not necessary, I feel quite fine." Her lips, a painted red, press into a thin line. "I'm sorry for my... intrusion? I have someone waiting for me in New York, so I should set off as quickly as possible. Is there any way I can repay your generosity?"

The lady ignores her question, instead exhaling slowly. "Well, they're definitely not waiting anymore, I'll tell you that."

"I... beg your pardon?"

She shakes her head quickly. "I'm sorry for being so confusing, but what year do you think it is?"

"Seventeen-eighty-two," I answer without waiting a beat. Her expression doesn't change. "It's seventeen-hundred-and-eighty-two, is it not?" Another moment. "Have been unconscious and missed New Year?"

She doesn't answer and I look around. The walls are made of a strange brick that is as smooth as water, and I cannot tell where the light is coming from. Above me is a lantern, but I cannot tell where the candle is. I finally look at the thing making the constant noise- it's a clunky grey block, with a screen that shows several lines, constantly changing in a pattern.

I look back at Miss Anderson. Her breeches- which she should not be wearing- have a rectangular dent where the pocket is. It quite suspiciously looks like the device I own... in my backpack.

Silence. A pit forms in my stomach.

"Oh," I breathe out. "Oh, God fucking damn it."

The fact that she wasn't phased by my language confirms my theory, and it makes me ill.

"Welcome back?" She practically asks with a huff.

It's like my head has been dunked in water. My chest feels so tight, but it's not restricted at all- wait, why on Earth is it not restricted?

"Whoah, easy there, pal," she suddenly says, rushing to my side. "You're alright, everything's fine, you're not in trouble or anything!" And she stood there, a hand on my back as I slowly calmed down.

The silence is so loud. All I can hear is my breathing.

"What year is it?" I muster up the courage to ask. Another beat, and, slowly, she sits down on the side of my bed.

"It's two-thousand twenty-three."

"Two-thousand," I repeat in numb shock. I always knew I came from far away, but to get the specific number made everything so jarringly clear. I thought it would be closer, this is- this is- I travelled exactly two-hundred and forty years.

Travelled. Have I travelled? My head snaps to the woman- no reaction from her- and sharply ask "What the hell happened to me?"

I wasn't sure what exactly I was asking. How did I travel? How did I get here? Where did she take me? Why did any of this happen to me in the first place? Did it even happen? Was it real or fiction? Am I just insane?