Cherry Creek, Colorado, United States - 2014

I went to the Cherry Creek Mall the Saturday before senior year began with the intention of buying a few new shirts and maybe a pair of jeans or two. My best friend Ian Caldwell told me it was time I expand my interests. I'd grudgingly agreed that maybe he was right. Senior year could quite possibly be the year I found my niche in the grand scheme of things. I'd finally burst out of my shell, as Ian so humorously put it.

What I hadn't counted on was walking into the lady's restroom five minutes after making it to the mall and finding some guy passed out on the floor. I came to a screeching halt, throwing out a hand to brace myself against the wall.

"What the hell?"

The guy was sprawled out beneath the paper towel dispenser with one of his arms thrown across his face, and he was snoring quietly. It was strange enough finding a guy sleeping in the women's restroom, but what was even weirder was his getup. He was wearing a suit with a black bow tie and cummerbund that didn't look like they were bought at the Men's Warehouse. His shoes were leather and stuffy looking and definitely something you wouldn't find at Payless.

Actually, this guy seemed like something you wouldn't even find in this century.

I got a good look at his face when he moved his arm, turning over in his sleep, and my first thought was, holy shit.

As unusual as it was finding this guy passed out in the restroom, there was no denying that he was pretty damn fine. He seemed handsome in an old-timey, classic sort of way, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jawline. Any girl would kill to have eyelashes as long as this guy's, and even though his dark hair was a mess, it still managed to look stylish. The only thing that marred his almost perfect face was the thick gash across his forehead, dried blood caked around it.

No wonder the guy was unconscious - I would be, too, with a head wound like that. But how the hell had he wound up in a girl's restroom?

Well, weed had been legal in Colorado for a while - maybe this guy smoked a joint on his way to an audition for Jane Eyre and got into a bit of trouble. He looked young enough to be a frat boy from DU or one of the other colleges in Denver. But did frat boys normally go around dressed in suits? My guess was no.

Except that still didn't answer my question as to how the guy even wound up in the restroom at the Cherry Creek Mall in the first place. And what the hell was I supposed to do now?

My eyes narrowed as I stared down at the guy. He was still snoring away without a care in the world.

I could just leave and find another restroom. Let him be someone else's problem. The more compassionate side of myself disagreed with this, reasoning that if I were in the same situation, I wouldn't want to be left alone. And technically, he was injured.

I blew out a sigh in defeat. It was the right thing to do. Maybe senior year would also turn out to be the year of the new and improved Callie - the one who didn't always think of awkward or difficult situations as someone else's problem. I deserved an award for my ability to worm my way out of any situation I felt wasn't worth my time.

The guy seemed harmless enough - actually kind of pathetic with the way his lips were turned down in a pout in his sleep - so I crept closer to nudge him in the side with the toe of my sandal.

"Hey. You're going to have to wake up, buddy."

I got no response. He remained fast asleep, still snoring.

"Hey," I repeated, this time louder. "Wake up."

The guy let out a groan, turning his head to use his arm as a pillow. "Do be quiet. I am trying to sleep."

Oh, shit. This guy was English?

I suddenly found him all the more attractive. I'd probably find him even more attractive if he were to just wake up and get the hell out of the girl's restroom.

"YOU CAN'T TAKE A NAP ON THE FLOOR OF A PUBLIC RESTROOM, YOU IDIOT."

So maybe I shouldn't have shouted at him - or kicked him with so much enthusiasm - but it did the trick. He shot up like a rocket and immediately whacked his head on the paper towel dispenser.

"Oh, bollucks." The guy groaned loudly, massaging the top of his head. "What in god's name...?"

"Nice of you to join the land of the living," I said, fighting back a laugh as he kept grumbling under his breath. His overly dramatic facial expression was a little funny.

He stopped rubbing his head as I spoke, looking around with interest that slowly began to turn into something like horrified fascination. When his eyes landed on me, they widened to the size of saucers. His jaw dropped, the color draining from his face, and he made this strangled, gasping sort of noise. He was looking at me like he'd just seen a unicorn in the flesh.

"What?" I said, glancing down at myself. "Do I have a stain on my shirt or - "

The guy screamed. He scrambled his way to his feet, lost his balance, and banged into one of the sinks, all while keeping up a high-pitched scream I never thought a guy of his size could ever possibly make.

I was so alarmed by his sudden outburst I did what any other girl my age would - I screamed myself, leaping back a foot, almost landing ass backwards on the floor.

"What the hell was that for?" I gasped, clutching at my chest.

"Who the devil are you?" the guy said in a strangled, breathy voice. "And where on earth am I...?"

His face fell as he took in his surroundings, and he quickly began to turn green. "What in...I don't...but..." I listened to his babbling turning into nonsensical mush for a few moments, and then he stumbled around and proceeded to throw up in the sink.

I grimaced, feeling a little sorry for him. I was going to assume this was his first experience waking up after a night of heavy drinking and didn't quite know how to deal with a hangover.

"You okay there?" I asked when the guy's shoulders stopped heaving.

"No," he moaned weakly. "No, I am not...not okay."

"Maybe you should take it easy on the booze next time," I suggested.

"I'm not inebriated," he muttered, more to himself. "I didn't even have any brandy at the..."

Brandy? Who the hell drunk brandy in this century? My great-grandma Jean did, but she was pushing ninety, so that was okay.

The guy was continuing to mutter to himself, and I caught a few snippets of "dinner party at the..." and something about a man with burned face.

I felt sorry for the guy, I really did. Hangovers were a bitch. Not that I had much experience with hangovers, but I'd taken a dip into my dad's liquor cabinet out of boredom more than once.

Except I didn't have time for this. I wanted to get done shopping as soon as possible, and then go home. Ian was coming over later with Indian takeout, and we were going to watch all the recorded episodes of America's Next Top Model on my TV.

"Look, buddy," I said. "Hangovers are nasty, I get it. But I've got things to do, so why don't you - "

"I am not intoxicated, if that is what you keep implying," the guy snapped, whipping around to glare at me. "This...has to be some sort of dream."

"It's your dream to wake up in a girl's restroom? Weird, but hey, if that's your thing."

"Do not mock me," the guy said through gritted teeth, still glowering at me. "How else would you explain all of this if not for a dream?"

"All of - what?" I said, confused.

"This!" The guy made a sweeping gesture to signify all of the restroom. "What is this exactly?"

"Um. Handsoap?"

"And what about this contraption!"

He jabbed a finger at the paper towel dispenser, and the movement triggered the motion sensor, causing it to spit out a paper towel. The guy let loose with another blood curdling scream, scuttling backwards.

"Would you quit doing that?" I snapped, wincing at the echo in my ears. "What the hell is your problem? It's just a paper towel."

"A - a what?"

"A paper towel!"

"A towel made out of paper?"

I smacked a hand to my forehead. I felt like I was developing a hangover just from looking at the guy. He was a total mess. His clothes were more disheveled than I thought, a few tears in his jacket here and there, and his hair was sticking up all over the place. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his lips were doing that damn pouty thing again.

"Did you smoke a joint recently?" I blurted. "Maybe you did a little Ecstasy? Acid? Bath salts?"

Drugs seemed like the only plausible explanation for this guy's wackadoo behavior. Or he just had an irrational fear of paper towels. I was going to go with the former, though. Mary Jane was probably not a good friend of his.

"I beg your pardon?" the guy said indignantly. "Did I do what?"

"It's okay if you experimented a little," I reasoned. "People are lying if they say they haven't at least tried a little bit of a controlled substance."

"You...are you implying I partake in drugs? That I frequent opium dens?" He sounded awfully offended, his chest all puffed up as he glared at me. I honestly just wanted to laugh at his reaction.

"Uh. I'm not so sure we have too many opium dens around here, but okay."

The guy did one impressively feminine eye roll as he ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more of a mess. "I suppose I couldn't expect anything more from a Lady of the Night. Drugs, I ask you."

"Excuse me? Lady of the Night?" It took about every ounce of patience I had not to reach out and slap this asshole across the face. "I am not a prostitute! Do I look like a hooker to you?"

Instead of answering, the guy's eyes zeroed in on my legs. It was the strangest thing, because I swear I'd never seen someone's face turn that red so quickly. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but all that came out was this awkward, spluttering noise, and it didn't take very long for me to realize what he was getting at.

"Just because I'm wearing shorts does not make me a prostitute," I snipped. "It's ninety friggin' degrees outside. Like I'm honestly going to wear jeans."

"Jeans?" the guy repeated, still trying and failing to quit looking at my legs. "Not...not a dress?"

I started laughing. This situation was quickly becoming more and more ridiculous by the second. This guy couldn't possibly be serious. "A dress? Get real. This is 2014. Girls are allowed to wear what they want now. Corsets haven't been used for about a hundred years, too. And dammit, stop looking at my legs!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Look, pal. You really don't need to be so touchy. It's not that big of a - "

"Madam, I must politely ask you to cease your inane chatter and tell me the date."

Now I felt even more offended. The guy apparently had an advanced vocabulary, but that didn't mean he had to use it to be a dick.

"Okay, rude much?" I said, going hand on hip. "Just because you said politely doesn't mean you were actually being polite, you know."

The guy heaved an exasperated sigh. "Do forgive me. I have never been one to disagree with a lady. Would you kindly tell me the present date?"

He might as well have been asking where the holy grail was with how urgent he sounded as he stared at me imploringly.

"It's August 24th," I answered with a heavy sigh of my own.

"Yes, but of what year? Not a moment ago, you said it was...was..."

"2014. That is the current year, yes."

The guy stared blankly at me for several moments, seemingly lost in thought, and I could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain. "But I could have sworn it was..."

He didn't believe me.

"What, do you need proof?" I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped the screen, holding it out for the guy to inspect. "See? August 24, 2014."

He snatched the phone out of my hand and held it close to his face, eyes narrowed. "What the bloody hell is this?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting out a laugh. "It's a cellphone."

"A cellphone?" The word sounded foreign and unnatural coming out of his mouth, and it was even weirder watching him forcefully tapping around on the screen. "What is this contraption used for? Can you send telegrams with it?"

"Okay, okay. Calm down, pal. You seriously - "

"Madam, I must insist you quit calling me pal. My given name is Percy."

Of course, I thought with an eye roll. Percy. Such a stuffy name seemed so fitting.

"Okay, then I insist you quit calling me madam. My name is Callie."

Percy stopped vigorously shaking my phone and looked at me with a confused expression. "Callie?"

"You got a problem with my name, Percy?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes. "And you know what? Give me back my cell phone."

I reached out and tried to snatch it out of his grip, but he held on tight, refusing to let go.

"I demand to know what kind of sick joke this is," Percy said adamantly, actually having the audacity to hold the phone over my head so I couldn't reach it. "I distinctly remember the year being 1887, yet you tell me that I am actually in the twenty-first century?"

I stopped trying to make a leap for my cellphone, going rigid as I processed what he just said. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Percy snapped, and his voice had taken on a note of hysteria, cracking up an octave. "It is supposed to be 1887, but...I swear that I..."

Now I really was convinced this guy was nuts.

"Look. Percy." I gingerly gripped his shoulders, trying to get him to stop swaying back and forth, but I quickly took a step back when he looked like he was about to spontaneously combust with my hands on him. "Go home, okay? Grab a burger and fries from McDonald's or something, go home, and just sleep it off. You'll be fine."

"Believe me, I want to go home," Percy said desperately. "But this - this 2014, you say - is not my home."

I was halfway convinced a mental hospital was actually his home.

I managed to snatch my cellphone back when he lowered his arm, distracted by the intense inner monologue he seemed to be having. I sincerely hoped he wasn't about to faint, because he sure looked liked it.

"Well, good luck to you, Percy," I said, inching my way towards the exit. "I've got planes to catch, boats to ride, that sort of thing."

I quickly turned without waiting for his response and made a mad dash from the restroom.

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And....here we have Callie! Don't forget to leave a comment (maybe even a vote, too) sharing your thoughts! :)

- Ally